Something in Fern’s tone gave Evie pause. “He said he told you?”
“Aye, he told me.” With a thoughtful smile, Fern pushed herself higher among the pillows. “But dinna be afraid. I would never bring harm to the woman who taught my brother how to love.” She patted the bed again. “Please, sit. I swear I would never risk yer life by sharing anything that Quinn said.”
“You trust me then?”
Fern gave a soft laugh. “Ye saved my life and the lives of my bairns. I’d say that’s fair payment for my trust.” Then her mirth left her just as quickly, and confusion puckered her brow. “But I canna imagine how such a thing could come to pass.”
“I wish I knew how it happened.” Evie rose and strolled over to the window, unable to sit still. A gentle breeze fluttered across her hair with a refreshing caress. She smiled. Fresh air and sunshine. Arguably, the best medicine for healing minds as well as bodies.
“Would ye go back if ye could?”
A few days ago, she would’ve answered that question without hesitation. But now? Without taking her gaze from the waves sparkling beneath the sun, she barely shrugged, then shook her head. “Only if Quinn agreed to come with me.”
“A fair enough answer.” Fern blew out a heavy sigh. “I canna imagine how strange everything here must seem to ye.”
“It is strange.” Evie wandered back to the cradle and touched tiny Evalie’s soft cheek. “But it’s getting better thanks to Quinn.” Thanks to Quinn. But what would happen to her heart if the killer succeeded? She looked up and locked eyes with Fern. “Someone tried to kill him again. A man dressed like the Munro warriors.”
Fern clutched a fist to her chest. “When? Where?”
“Today. In the woods to the south. An archer.”
“I knew they werena pleased to be here, but I didna think them so filled with hatred.” Fern’s attention shifted to her children as a pained expression pulled her face tight. “They asked to stay here. All three of them did. Almost begged to stay because Annag’s father is such a cruel bastard.”
“Then why would they want Quinn dead?”
“It makes no sense.” Fern twisted the hem of the bedsheet in her hands. “Unless one of them was Annag’s lover, but why now? The woman is dead. Why would he wish to kill Quinn now?”
“Who else might want him dead?” Evie needed as much information as possible before she went downstairs. She always thought things were simpler in the past, but so far, that theory had disproved itself.
Fern’s expression hardened as her scowl locked on Evie. “Gilbert hates him because Quinn doesna attempt to hide the fact that he thinks my husband a useless fool.”
“Does he hate him enough to kill him?”
“I fell in love with Gilbert because he is a decent and gentle man. Gentler than any of these warriors who think the best way to settle a disagreement is with a blade.” Worry dripped from her words. “I dinna think—nay, I pray Gilbert is not the one responsible for these acts against my brother.” She plucked at the coverlet as if doing so helped her think. “But ye said ye recognized the man as one of the Munros.”
“I didn’t see his face. His cloak and armor, but nothing else.” She knew what she needed to ask but dreaded it. “Where is Gilbert? Is he here?”
Fern’s hands trembled as she pressed them to her cheeks. “Nay,” she whispered. “He said the tanner in the village needed help with his books. So, he left early this morning.” With her head bowed, she covered her eyes. “Gilbert would never have done such a thing. I know in my heart he wouldna.”
“I have to get downstairs now. Quinn has ordered the Munros brought before him.” Stricken with guilt at having stirred such trauma in Fern’s mind, she backed toward the door, wishing she hadn’t troubled the poor woman in her weakened state. “If just the two are brought forward, we’ll know the third to be the assassin. I’m sorry I bothered you, Fern. I’m sure Gilbert told you the truth.”
“I pray ye are right.” Fern stared down at her lap, lost in her thoughts. “I truly pray ye are right.”
“I’ll let you know what happens,” Evie promised. Although, she felt sure the servants would keep their mistress apprised of everything much quicker than she could. “Again, I’m so sorry to have upset you.”
Fern managed a half-hearted smile. “Find the person trying to kill my brother. No matter who it might be, ye ken?”
“I will do my best.” She hurried from the room and headed down the main stairs that would take her straight to the library behind the hall. Rumblings from the large gathering room filled the passage as she exited the stairwell. At least it didn’t sound as though anyone shouted in anger—just the conversations of several men.
When she stepped through the arch, she spotted Quinn, Dugan, and Rosstan. They stood close to an ornate chair placed in the center of the dais where the head table had sat during the feast the night before. The long, heavy oak table and its chairs now waited beside the far wall. The chair on the dais resembled a throne. Massive. Legs carved with intertwining knots and arms the shape of enormous paws of a mighty beast.
Quinn turned as if sensing her presence. He smiled and held out a hand. “Come, m’lady. Join me.”
Dugan and Rosstan both gave her a respectful bow and backed away. Each took a stance beside the exit to the left of the chieftain’s chair. Evie noted they both kept their hands on the hilt of their swords.
She glanced around the room but didn’t see the warriors of Munro anywhere. Several men, their weapons in plain sight, meandered among the benches and loitered in the center aisle, but not the Highlanders in question. Servants flitted here and there. Cleaning tables. Polishing candelabras. Readying the room for the evening meal.
“Any sign of them yet?” she asked as she edged closer and kept her voice low.
