He reached for her again, intending to grab her wrist in a crushing grip, and this time she jammed the broken end of the chair leg into the meat of his forearm. It didn’t do much real damage, but the sharp, jagged splinters dug into his skin, and he howled, more from surprise and anger than pain. He wrenched his arm away, which probably did even more damage, and she took her opportunity.
Her arm shot out, slapping across his mouth, and she popped the two yellowberries between his teeth.
Gregor choked and spluttered, taken by surprise. He staggered backward a little, his hand flying to his mouth. He’d crushed the berries between his teeth, Emma could see the watery, blood-red juice dribbling out from the corner of his mouth.
Nobody ever expected yellowberries to have red juice, but they did.
If Gregor recognized the sour taste of the berries, he didn’t let on. He spat, growling with rage, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Emma began to count. Yellowberries were a famously fast-acting poison, although perhaps he hadn’t eaten enough. What if they weren’t yellowberries at all, and she had somehow made a mistake? There’d be no saving her now.
Then, Gregor began to cough. It started as a clearing of his throat, then the coughing grew louder, slowly but surely. His eyes widened with panic as his throat began to close, and he clawed at his neck.
“What… what did ye do… ye witch?” he rasped, then his legs gave out.
Emma backed rapidly away towards the staircase, the chair leg still clutched in her hands. She’d seen death from yellowberry poisoning once before, and it wasn’t pretty. Above the sound of Gregor choking and foaming at the mouth, arms and legs flailing wildly, she heard the distinctive splinter and smash of a door being kicked in.
She gasped, turning and running up the stone steps.
Have they found me?
“Somebody help me!” she yelled, hammering on the resolutely closed door of her prison. “Can anyone hear me? I’m down here! Downhere!”
The door to McCade’s study swung open with acrash, swinging crazily on its hinges. The man himself cowered in a corner, wedged behind a desk.
Thomas stood in the doorway, eyeing the man. His sword was gripped in his hand, blood dripping from the point to pool on the floor.
“Thomas, we found another man,” Dominic murmured. “Hiding behind the bar. He’s unarmed and says he surrenders. What should we do? Take him to the dungeons?”
“Is his name Simon?” Thomas asked, not taking his eyes off the cowering McCade.
Dominic frowned. “Uhm, I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Find out. If it is, don’t lay a hand on him. Not yet, anyway. Where is Flora?”
“She’s coming. Still no sign of Gregor.”
Thomas nodded. “I see. He’ll turn up soon enough.”
Dominic followed his gaze, spotting the terrified McCade in the corner. “What about him?”
“I’ll deal with him,” Thomas responded. “Lachlan McCade here needs to learn a valuable lesson.”
“I didn’t mean to encroach on yer business,” Lachlan wheedled. “I have money, ye know. Ye can have everything. The Sinner is a fine pub. I swear I’ll never—”
“It’s not about the pub,” Thomas interrupted. “I could forgive that, ye know. It’s about ye laying hands on the woman I love.Thatis not something I can let go easily.”
Dominic glanced sharply at Thomas. “The woman ye love, eh?”
“Now’s not the time, Dom.”
“Fair enough.” Dominic glanced at Lachlan again, his lip curling. “I take it we’re not taking him back to the Keep.”
“No, we’re not. I’ll not be long.”
Dominic nodded and retreated down the hall. Thomas stepped into the room, kicking the half-broken door closed with his foot.
“Ye should never have laid hands on her,” he hissed. “Ye will pay for this with yer life.”
