“Send word to Moreen and Lorcan,” he said firmly. “It’s not a request—it’s an order. I want to question both of them.”
His mother reached out to touch his shoulder. “It’s good to see you well again, Cormac. Emma was right. You do look better.”
But it wasn’t about him anymore. Whoever had been harming his family had gone too far when they’d hurt Emma. The thought of her suffering, fighting for her life, enraged him. No longer would he stand aside and accept that he was going to die. He would find the culprit and bring them to justice.
Abruptly, he realized that she had endured exactly the same thing, watching him grow ill while struggling to survive. But he’d accepted the inevitability of his own death. She hadn’t. His brave Emma was determined to fight for him. He could do no less for her.
He returned to her bedside, and seeing her so pale, so sick, only heightened his worry. Cormac leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, but she didn’t awaken. For a moment, he studied his wife, suddenly realizing how much he needed her. He’d once believed that he could wed any woman, and it would be enough, so long as she could provide him with an heir.
But right now, an heir was the furthest thing from his mind. He only wanted his wife whole and well again. He wanted her to awaken beside him each morning, to hear her laughter and feel her touch upon his skin.
His mother was standing at the doorway, and Cormac said, “I want you to take her back to the cottage. Would you do that for me? Tend her and make certain she gets well again.”
Josephine nodded. Her eyes held a softness he’d not seen in a long time. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”
The words seemed to unlock a dormant part of him. This marriage was always meant to be an arrangement, and he’d never imagined that it could become something more. But he realized now how much he admired Emma’s courage and her determination to overcome challenges. He wanted to share new experiences with her and spend the rest of his days at her side. Even if she never had a child, it didn’t matter to him anymore.
“She is everything to me.” He couldn’t imagine losing her, and the attack had sparked his own determination to find out who was trying to poison both of them.
But more than that, it gave him hope that—if they did find the answers—he might live. And a lifetime with Emma was worth fighting for.
“I’ll go with her after the physician looks at her,” Josephine promised. “I’ll have a footman bring us there. She will get better,” his mother insisted. “I promise you.”
He crossed the room and embraced her. “Thank you.”
Cormac went to a small escritoire and pulled out paper, pen, and ink. His mind was roiling with distractions, and he stared at the paper, trying to think. What had he planned to write down? Was it a list? What good would that do? He closed his eyes and set down the pen. It had only been a means of occupying his time to prevent him from thinking about what could happen to his wife while they waited for the physician.
He shut down the thought immediately and tried to focus on what lay ahead. His mind drifted to thoughts of Hawkins. He hoped his secretary would agree to take the position here to help Emma. He’d been so grateful for Hawkins’s strong sense of organization. The man was constantly writing things down.
Abruptly, a thought struck him like a bullet from a gun.
There were others who had always been writing—first his grandfather, then his father, and finally, his brother. All had died from the same illness, and all had written their stories in the diary.
His grandfather’s book was crumbling apart, but Cormac planned to search through it for answers. There had to be something in the pages that he hadn’t thought of before. A name that was mentioned or perhaps something that connected the three men.
With one last look at his wife, he left to find out who the true threat was.
*
Emma awakened laterthat night to find a physician poking and prodding at her. She was exhausted, but when she looked for Cormac, he was not there. Only her mother-in-law Josephine stood in the corner.
“I understand you think you’ve been poisoned,” the physician said. “What makes you believe that?”
Emma blinked at the man. “I—I don’t know what caused my illness. I just felt sick to my stomach.”
“I’ve a purgative for you,” the physician said. “Drink this, and it will empty the contents of your stomach. If there is any bad food or something causing you to be sick, that should help.”
The idea of spending the next hour bringing up the contents of her stomach sounded awful, and Emma turned her face away from the man.
“Is it possible... that she could be pregnant?” Josephine asked. “Could this be a miscarriage?”
The physician turned back to her and then shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. If it were a miscarriage, we’d know with certainty. This does seem to be a malady related to food.”
Relief flowed through her, and Emma took a breath. “Where is Cormac?” She wanted to see him again to ensure that he was all right.
“He sent for Lorcan and Moreen and plans to question both of them in the library, I believe.” Josephine took the vial from the physician and said, “Thank you, that will be all.”
Just as he was leaving, Nuala came to the door with another footman. “I’ve brought tea. How are you feeling, Emma?”
