Aileana barely paused before marching into the yard and around the corner. She searched the dusky, pink-tinted gloom, trying to find Duncan. A low groan drew her gaze to the spot. He sat on the ground, his back against the wall. Even in the low light, Aileana could see the gray cast to his skin and the sheen of sweat on his face. His head was tilted back, his eyes closed.
“Duncan?” She stepped closer to him. A tiny stab of shame pricked her. Swallowing, she said more loudly, “Duncan, can you hear me?”
“Aye, I hear you,” he growled under his breath. “But don’t come too near me, unless you want to share in whatever’s gripping me in its jaws.” He groaned again, wincing as he bent forward. His arm clenched around his middle. “It’s got me in the gut.”
Aileana took another step toward him, ignoring his weak gesture warning her away. “Don’t worry; I’ll be fine.” Her lips pressed together with guilt she refused to voice. “Can you stand?”
Duncan swung his leonine head, peering at her through tendrils of lank golden hair. His mouth was tight with pain.
“Stay away, Aileana. I’ll not have you falling sick again.” He grimaced. “Don’t make me move to stop you.”
Ignoring him, she leaned over and reached out to help him up. As her fingers grazed against the iron-hard muscles of his arm, he stiffened.
“Nay, I said!”
His command reverberated off the walls of the courtyard, making her jump back. A flare of anger shot through her, and she planted her hands on her hips. “Dragon’s breath, Duncan MacRae, stop pretending to be so noble, and let me help. I’m not like to die from what ails you.”
Her breath caught as he lifted his head in a slow, deliberate motion. His silver stare pinned her to the wall as he ground out, “And how would you be knowing that?”
Her cheeks heated and she looked away, stomping over to the well to draw a cool bucket of water. She didn’t trust herself to meet his gaze. “I know enough of healing illnesses to be sure that it is nothing too serious. Even if I did take sick, it would be over in a day. Your discomfort will fade as quickly if you heed my advice.”
She knew that he stared at her, until, from the side of her vision, she watched another pain wrack him. Seeing it, Aileana rushed forward and tipped a ladle full of water to his lips. “Drink, but just sips. It will help what’s in you to be flushed out.”
Duncan grunted in response, but he drank. When he’d had enough, he waved her away. “Send Kinnon to me. I’m going to my chamber, and I don’t want you helping me to get there.”
“Nay. I’m here. I’ll do it.”
He took a deep breath, his hand clenching his belly. “Do as I ask, Aileana. I’ll need his strength to help in dragging me up the steps.” When she bristled, Duncan tipped his head back and groaned again. “Christ, lass, don’t make me beg.” His skin took on a greenish color, and his lips tightened.
Another lance of conscience stabbed her. She took two steps backward, driven away by the unfamiliar tone of pleading coming from this strong, unyielding man. There he sat, the giant felled by little David’s slingshot. Yet somehow, she didn’t think that God was on her side as He’d been on David’s. He wouldn’t support the kind of trickery she’d used last night.
Duncan’s eyes opened, and Aileana’s breath caught, so strong was the entreaty in his iron gaze. She could resist no longer. Without another word, she dropped the ladle into the bucket and ran to the kitchen, holding her hand to her breast as if that would help to still the pounding of her heart.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to feel guilty. Duncan deserved it. He’d disregarded her feelings; he’d led her down a merry path, kissing her when she was ill, then denying it later. He and Nora deserved every pang they felt until the herb’s effects wore away.
Then why did she feel as if she’d driven Duncan’s claymore straight into her own heart?
The question reverberated through her mind with the incessant clang of a kirk bell. But before she would allow herself to consider the inevitable answer, Aileana threw a baleful look at the herb pantry and hurried into the great hall in search of Kinnon.
A soft tittering from the left side of the table drew Duncan’s attention. Two of the MacKenzie women sat, heads together, whispering behind their hands. Every now and then one of them glanced at him and fluttered her lashes before falling into a fit of giggling. It was beginning to rake his hard-won calm like the sting of nails down his back.
Shoving his broth away with disgust, he pushed himself to his feet. He knew the root of their laughter; it had been building since he fell ill yesterday. Everyone believed that Nora MacKenzie had finally enticed him to her bed…and that she’d given him a dose of sickness in return.
But he knew better. He knew the real culprit.
Duncan pushed himself to his feet and stalked to the hearth, his gaze narrowed on the object of his thoughts. He watched her fiery head tilt forward, her teeth flashing as she laughed at some bit of witticism one of the others offered. She was entirely too jovial. A complete change from the solemn, somber Aileana he’d come to know after the plague.
And he could think of only one possible reason for her sudden transformation.
She’d been the cause of his and Nora’s illness. Yet the idea that Aileana would stoop to such foul practices seemed at odds with what he thought he’d learned about her. The contradictory images warred in his mind. Aileana mixing a brew to prevent the plague, Aileana bent over his kin, nursing them until she fell ill herself…Aileana standing over him in the yard, her guilt-stricken expression making him feel far more ill than the rolling of his stomach.
The truth couldn’t be denied. The facts led to no other alternative. And there was more than just his sudden sickness to make him certain he was right. Though it hadn’t been him, Norahadbedded someone this week. Young Gil had taken her to his pallet, and she’d gone gladly, stung as she was by Duncan’s frequent rebuffs and thinking to make him jealous with a more willing bedmate. Only Gil hadn’t taken sick. Just himself and Nora.
And he himself had shared a trencher of stew with her at supper two nights ago. A well-seasoned dish, if he recalled, steeped with an odd taste he’d struggled to place at the time.
Aye, it seemed more than likely that Aileana had brought on his bout of misery. But why?
The answer he’d been resisting as heartily as he could spilled over him now like a shower of ice, making his teeth grate and his fists clench. He’d known it all along but just refused to believe, holding on instead to false comfort. But the truth was that Aileana hated him, enough, it seemed, to incite her to poison him.But had she wanted him to die?
