Page 50 of Highlander’s Sweet Poison

“How far?”

“Half a day’s ride.”

“Bridgette, go with him to the keep. Find Graeme or one of his guards and tell him that you’ll need an escort. God willing, the Armstrongs wilnae fight ye on this. I’ll need a whole basket of the greenest leaves ye can find. There is milk thistle in the woods.”

“I know where,” Davy volunteered.

She smiled down at the boy. His willingness to save his sister tugged at her heartstrings. “Then we will get some tonight so we can cure it while we wait for the leaves.”

One of the men frowned. “They say ye are a witch.”

“I amnae, but if it makes ye feel at ease, look at the children. Make no mistake that they are dying. Perhaps a witch is what ye need.”

Graeme could hear the muffled voices behind closed doors and threw them open without hesitation. Conversation ceased, and heads turned his way. The elder members were seated on one side of a long table, and Alan stood on the other, obviously already finished with an impassioned speech, no doubt.

Baldie rose first. “My laird, we are in session.”

Grabbing a chair, Graeme dragged it to the end of the table and sat. “Aye. I can see that,” he said as he sat and stretched his long legs up to the table. As if bored, he twirled his finger in the air. “Carry on.”

The elders looked at each other, and Baldie cleared his throat. “Laird, ‘tis customary to wait for an invitation into our sessions.”

“Are ye saying something that ye have no wish for me to hear?”

“Alan wished to speak to us...”

“Oh.” Graeme turned his head to his brother-in-law and cocked it innocently. “Then ye have something that ye wish to discuss without me present.”

“I will speak with ye in time,” Alan said. “For now, I wish to address the council.”

“Ye may continue, but I amnae leaving. Only a coward would go behind my back in a bid to usurp me.”

Alan’s face grew nearly purple with rage. “Ye have allowed a witch into our midsts! This cannae go on! Now ye have threatened to exile anyone who speaks against her. ‘Tis obvious that ye are addled over her, and I, for one, wilnae sit back and watch ye destroy the mighty MacSeavers!”

Silence fell over the small group, and Graeme tapped his fingers on the table. “The mighty MacSeavers,” he mused. “Tell me, Alan, where was all this passion when Fletcher MacSeaver was chasing every skirt in the village. Did ye know that he purchased an English bride, drunkenly hid her away on the loch, and then forgot about her and married Beth?”

The council exchanged uneasy looks. “We thought it best to keep her there. There is no need for us to have an English bride as our mistress,” Monroe said finally. “But we did check on her frequently to make certain that she had everything she needed, and since she wed Theo, it appears that all is well.”

“But ye didnae think Fletcher so unhinged that he needed to be removed as laird. How about when his bride orchestrated the murder of two Armstrong brothers and nearly killed four additional lairds? Did ye go before the council then, Alan?”

“That isnae the same.”

“Nay.” Furious, he stood and knocked the chair back so hard that it slammed onto the floor. “‘Tis not the same because that was an error in judgment that could have cost us the whole clan. If the king had wanted to, he could have disbanded us! But ye are here now because of a woman with no proof that she did anything wrong. Tell me, Alan, did ye lust after her and feel spurned when she turned ye down? That is where the rumors of witchcraft started. A woman of great beauty and a mind of her own. Is her only sin that she wouldnae spread her legs for ye while she was wed to yer best friend?”

“Ye lie!” Alan shouted.

“Enough!” Monroe roared. It was so rare for the old man to raise his voice, but one look on his face and Graeme could see that he’d had enough. “‘Tis clear that the laird is right. All the rumors of Mistress Jillian have no grounds, and to take such a matter to the king would make us look like fools. I, for one, think the woman is delightful and I wilnae allow such superstitions to move me. Are any of ye foolish enough to tell the king that ye believe our laird’s wife be a witch?”

Baldie opened his mouth, but he quickly closed it and slumped back. The others murmured their quiet nays.

Alan gaped at them. “Ye cannae be serious! If ye wilnae take action, then I will!”

That was exactly what Graeme had been waiting for. “I accept yer challenge,” he said loudly. “We challenge at dawn tomorrow, and for the sake of my sister, it need not be until the death, but make no mistake, when I win, if ye continue in this manner, ye will be stripped of yer status as a MacSeaver and banished.”

The man hissed, but before he could say anything, the doors opened and Robbie hurried in. There was something akin to panic in his eyes when he whispered in Graeme’s ear, and Graeme snarled. “Escort the men to Armstrong lands with my seal, and God willing, Creighton will allow them to enter.”

If there was anyone to distrust a MacSeaver, it would be the man who’d buried two brothers because of a MacSeaver mistress.

“What is this? Are we under attack?” Baldie demanded.