Events had reached a point where her father had become a serious danger. If all went well, MacDowylt would eliminate that danger for her. And if not?
She knew of a potion or two that would do the trick. And wouldn’t poison be an ironic death for her father? Perhaps she would use the very one he’d used to rid himself of her mother.
“You dinna think I ken what you did, do you, Father?” she whispered in the direction of the door.
But she did know. She’d learned the herbs from her grandmother when the woman had come on a visit from France after her mother’s death. She knew the signs, and she remembered what her mother’s face had looked like when she’d found her that morning.
Agneys had no intention of ending up as her mother had.
Long, tense moments passed before the sound of retreating footsteps reached her ears.
Finally.
She let out the breath she had held and strode to her bed, propping the small mirror against the covers so that she might have one last look at herself.
The nightdress she wore had belonged to the laird’s first wife, making it inappropriately snug across her ample breasts and around the curves of her hips.
Inappropriate, but perfect for her needs.
“Oh!”
She’d almost forgotten about her hair.
“Wearing yer hair loose is something only for unmarried lassies. Especially now, to show respect for the laird’s memory, you must be seen as the lady.” Her old witch of a maid had made the annoying claim this very morning as she’d pulled Agneys’ hair into the uncomfortably tight and ugly braids.
Agneys removed the bindings and worked her fingers through her hair, fluffing the golden locks over her shoulders and around her face.
She smiled as she considered the humor of her situation. In light of how she had dressed for tonight, an inappropriate hairstyle hardly mattered.
With one last admiring look into the mirror—and one last adjustment of her breasts to ensure they were displayed to their best advantage—she tossed her cloak around her and peeked out her door before slipping into the darkened hallway.
Two doors down, she stopped. She could do this. She could do anything to save her own life. And if she didn’t free herself from her father, it would eventually mean her life, she had no doubt.
One deep breath to settle her nerves and she rapped her knuckles lightly against the heavy wooden door, puttingherplan into action.
***
When the knock sounded on Malcolm’s door, he looked up from his tankard, his gaze locking with his brother’s.
“You dinna think the fool is back to have another go at changing yer mind, do you?” Patrick shook his head, mirroring the disbelief Malcolm felt.
With a shrug of his shoulders, Malcolm stood. “Only one way to find out. Let’s invite our guest in.” He motioned toward the entryway, waiting as Patrick crossed the room and threw open the door.
“Looks as though we were wrong, Colm.” Patrick’s grin when he stepped aside to reveal their visitor said it all. “I’m guessing this might be a good time for me to go check on our men, aye?”
Malcolm nodded his agreement, his gaze fixed on his lovely visitor. “Dinna forget to close the door on yer way out.”
He’d seen this one before, perched on the dais next to the MacGahan laird.
“Would it be the MacGahan’s widow herself I have the honor of hosting in my bedchamber?”
“It is,” the beauty murmured, seeming to float across the room to stand in front of him. “I’ve a proposition for you, MacDowylt.”
With a flick of her wrist, the ties of her cloak came loose and the garment fell to the floor at her feet.
Little wonder the old laird would wed something as desirable as this. His body responded to her immediately, but even in his surprise he had the good sense to keep his weapon between his own legs until a time of his choosing.
“I’m sure you do.” He gave her his best leer, attempting to put her on the defensive. “And I must say, yer a fine-looking piece for a woman who’s rumored to be with child.”
