Page 47 of Highlander’s Sweet Poison

Jealousy struck him, hard, but that was not the biggest threat. Tearloch tried to hold back the crowd without swinging his sword, but they moved as one, nearly bowling him over as they ran toward Jillian.

Terrified for his wife, Graeme urged his horse forward and thundered toward them. By the time he reached them, Jillian and the others had disappeared into the woods. “Halt, by orders of yer laird!” he thundered. “Whoever lays a hand on my wife will be executed before sunset!”

The crowd gasped and turned. Dismounting, Graeme advanced. “I will remember every single one of yer faces, and if any harm should come to my wife, I will look for each of ye first, mark my words. My wife is no witch, and I am no bewitched fool, or have ye so little faith in yer laird?”

Ashamed, they averted their eyes. Turning, he nodded toward his guard. “Find Jillian and her friends. See to it that they return to the keep.”

Sheathing his sword, Tearloch tore off into the woods, and Graeme turned to the two older women. “Did ye name my wife a witch to send a mob after her?” he asked quietly.

Margaret quickly shook her head. “Nay, my laird. I said nothing of the sort. I took offense to her giving Kylie a place to stay in the keep since the lass is good for nothing, but I would never call yer wife a witch.”

Jillian was supposed to have mediated between two suitors, and instead, she’d invited the wayward lass into his home. That was a problem he’d deal with later. “Nora,” he said quietly, “Dinnae think that just because yer husband is an elder, I will spare ye exile. Treason against my wife is treason against me.”

“I repeated a rumor,” Nora said, her chin held high. “‘Tis not my fault the crowd decided to go after her. I never sent anyone to harm her, and that is the truth.”

Was it really so easy to turn his people against someone? Just a few well-placed words in the right ears and his wife could be dead by the end of the week. Fear gripped him. This needed to end, today.

Knowing that Tearloch would get the women to safety, he returned to his keep and dispersed his guards. Within two hours, a crowd had gathered—enough that word would spread quickly. Standing in front of the doors, he addressed his people.

“When I buried my uncle, ye all knelt before me and pledged yer allegiance. I did not once question whether or not ye were loyal, but ‘tis not been a month and already there is dissection. Do ye doubt my ability to lead ye?” he roared.

“No, laird,” the answer returned.

“And yet, when I return from the loch with a wife, ye all whispered witchcraft, and just today, a handful of ye attacked my wife, so let me be clear about this. Jillian MacSeaver is no witch and no murderer. She has asked for time to earn yer respect, but I wonder now if she should even bother, or are ye all so weak that ye would believe a filthy rumor over my oath to protect ye? From this moment forth, any who attempt to harm or slander my wife will feel my wrath. To speak against her is to speak against me. Are we clear?!”

After a stunned silence, heads nodded.

“Good. Disperse the message. This had best be the last time that I hear the word witchcraft uttered about my wife!”

Turning, he headed for the door and saw Tearloch waiting for him. “Is she well?”

“Aye, a head wound, but she claims ‘tis nothing to fear. With yer permission, I would take my wife home and see to her.”

Graeme nodded and raced up the stairwell toward his chamber. Throwing open the door, he stopped suddenly when he was confronted with two lasses. In his fury, he’d forgotten all about Kylie.

“Graeme.” Jillian rose. “I dinnae know if ye have heard, but Margaret was going to kick Kylie out—”

“Enough,” Graeme interrupted her. “Kylie, ye may find yerself a room in the guest quarters. Pick out any chamber that ye like. Go on.”

“Kylie, I will show ye,” Jillian said as she stood, but Graeme quickly moved to block her path.

“I need a moment alone with my wife,” he told Kylie. “I am certain ye can find yer own way.”

“Aye, laird.” Kylie said, but she looked at Jillian, and it was his wife who dismissed her.

Alone, he stopped inside and closed the door. Uncertainty flashed on his wife’s face. “Yer wound?”

“It will swell, but I will be fine.”

Clenching his jaw, he started to pace. “I know ye will be displeased, but I have had a word with the people, and if anyone so much as whispers the word witchcraft, there will be consequences. Anyone who hurts ye will be seen as a traitor.”

“Damn it, Graeme, ye should not have done that. Ye knew what ye were getting into when ye married me and brought me here. Ye have to give them time.”

“Time to love ye, Jillian? Because that is what most people do, aye? At least most men. They love ye until ye deny them, and then they whisper ‘witch.’”

Her eyes grew wary as she took a step back from them. “Where is this coming from?”

His chest tightened. “Ye turned to another man, Jillian. When ye were hurt and scared, ye turned to another man. I saw ye take his hand.”