Highlander Assassinated (Highlander In Time #16)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

I t was nice to have a project to keep her busy as those first few days dragged strangely by. There was a considerable learning curve in just about every other aspect of her life, from putting on clothes to eating breakfast to using the bathroom — so the training she undertook with Amelia and Niall, respectively, felt oddly familiar by comparison. They may have been teaching her to use unfamiliar weapons, but at least it was something she knew how to study.

Amelia, for her part, was a terrifying weapon all on her own. Lissa quickly revised her impression that she’d be going along to the Manor as the whole group’s bodyguard — Amelia could absolutely handle herself. She trained with Amelia in the mornings, glad to have a sparring partner who outclassed her so completely — getting your ass kicked was the best way to improve, as far as she was concerned. She’d always been pretty good in hand-to-hand combat, but she’d never been a professional boxer. And Amelia was as gracious as she was talented — there was no hint of ego as the other woman knocked her on her ass over and over again. That was what made her an excellent choice as a horse riding teacher. Fighting was one thing — Lissa was confident enough in her basic competence as a fighter that her ego could endure being taught by someone who was better than her. Horse-riding was a different story. She was actively embarrassed by how bad she was at that — but Amelia proved herself a patient enough tutor that Lissa was able to get a handle on the basics reasonably quickly. At least she knew she could mount and dismount without looking like a complete buffoon.

And in the afternoons, she trained with Niall. She’d been surprised when he volunteered to teach her how to use a dirk — she’d imagined that he’d spent most of his youth studying diplomacy, not scrapping in the yard. But it seemed that MacClaran boys all learned to fight, even those who moved away from the Keep at a young age. A dirk was a long-bladed dagger, she learned — a traditional Scottish weapon, which went some way to explaining Niall’s fondness for it. Still, he was insistent that their lessons were only to be drawn on in the event of a dire emergency.

“These men have been fighting with swords all their lives,” he warned her, those blue eyes full of worry. “This is a last resort, you understand?”

It was a very easy promise to make, especially once they’d covered the basics and she began to get an understanding of just how good these men were with these blades. Even the blunt wooden weapons they sparred with hurt like hell when they struck her — Niall had revealed an unexpected ferocity when it came to sparring, refusing to pull any punches on account of her gender. Very few things could have endeared him to her any more — she committed with all the more ferocity to her training. On the second day, Amelia wandered out to join them, saying she was enjoying having a new training partner and wanted to keep the fun going. Lissa had a feeling that there was more to it than that, though — that Amelia, like the rest of them, was just grateful for some distraction from the gnawing sense that time was creeping past, and that sooner or later, awful news would reach them from the Manor.

Progress was slow on the diplomatic front. Hamish and Niall were able to meet with the famous Sir Baldric in the village, who promised that he was doing everything in his power to make the inquest consider inviting the relevant witnesses to testify. Unfortunately, Baldric’s power was considerably limited by the fact that he was Weatherby’s servant, and the delegation didn’t respect him nearly as much as Lord Weatherby did. Still, Niall insisted on remaining positive. It was good to have a man on the inside to feed them information, even if Baldric didn’t have quite as much sway over proceedings as they might have hoped. And it sounded like the inquest was likely to drag on for quite a long time — something that Sir Baldric suggested, but did not entirely confirm, might have been deliberate on Lord Weatherby’s part.

“It’s promising,” Niall told her over dinner one night, clearly as much to reassure himself as to reassure her. “Things could certainly be going a lot worse. It’s good to know Weatherby’s on our side, at least a little.”

“And the longer they take, the more likely it’ll be that I’ll be a champion swordswoman in time to challenge them all to a duel. Joking,” she added at the stricken look on Niall’s face. “Joking. Like I said, the blade will remain hidden until all other avenues have been exhausting, including punching, crying, begging, and poison.”

Niall frowned at that last one. “I didn’t know poison was among your skills.”

“But crying and begging, those you were fine with?”

That won a little chuckle, but he still looked intent.

She shrugged, turning her gaze down to her plate. They’d been in the habit of having dinner together after their training sessions in the courtyard — usually in her quarters, Niall stopping on his way through the Keep to bring up an ample helping of whatever had been made for dinner. Sometimes she wondered if it was inappropriate, for a woman to have a man in her quarters alone late at night… weren’t there all kinds of medieval social mores she might be transgressing? Still, it hadn’t worried her enough to risk actually asking anyone — in truth, she didn’t want to be told that she should stop. Plausible deniability meant she could keep sharing her evenings with a handsome Scottish man who was a dab hand with a weapon and, even more delightfully, was clearly absolutely obsessed with her.

“It’s not a professional competency or anything, but I do know a fair bit about poisons,” she said with a shrug. “I read a few Agatha Christie novels when I was in high school, and I got pretty obsessed with poisoning and assassination and whatnot for a while.”

“That’s…” He bit his lip, a familiar expression coming over his face. It was the look he always wore when he was resisting the urge to bring up the subject of his wife. But what did that have to do with poison? “Never mind.”

Lissa leaned forward, her brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?” She waited, let the silence between them stretch out. She’d learned quickly that Niall wasn’t a man who could be rushed — but if you gave him enough space, more often than not he’d explain himself.

“My wife,” he said eventually, his breath hissing out through his teeth. “She… when she died, it was… sudden. Unexpected.”

Lissa nodded. He’d told her about the tragic loss of his young wife — they’d only been married for a year or two when she’d fallen suddenly ill. Doctors had been called to the house, but none of them had been able to figure out what was wrong — and a week later, she’d been gone. Lissa had assumed that the unexplained nature of the death had something to do with the curse. But from the look on Niall’s face now, he had another theory.

“I wondered at the time — and I still wonder — whether it really was an illness that claimed her. She’d always been so healthy, so vibrant… and then she fell sick overnight. Part of me suspected that she’d been poisoned.”

“Niall, that’s awful,” Lissa said softly, reaching out across the table to take his hand in hers before she could think better of it. He looked up, clearly surprised by the contact — there was something uniquely intimate about it, for all that an hour ago they’d been rolling around in the dirt together. This was different. “Do you have any idea who might have done it?”

“No,” he admitted, looking exhausted. “She had no enemies herself, of course. But given the possibility that the poison had been intended for me, or her death intended to punish me… well, it could have been any number of people, given my line of work. Advocating on behalf of Scotland earns you a lot of enemies among the English, and a surprising amount among the Scottish, too. But I had no information to go on, no way of even identifying what the poison could have been that killed her — I knew I’d only sound like a grief-stricken madman if I’d consulted anyone about it. I sound like that now,” he added, with a rueful little chuckle.

Lissa shook her head firmly. She hadn’t let go of his hand — he was holding it now, and the warmth of his skin was distracting.

“I don’t think you sound like a madman,” she said frankly, winning a little smile from him. “I think you lost someone you loved, and it makes complete sense to still be hurting from that.”

“She was… very trusting, that’s all,” he said softly, after a long silence.

Lissa found herself almost holding her breath. Niall hadn’t told her much about his lost wife, about the woman whose destiny was apparently so closely linked with her own — she found herself surprisingly eager to hear more.

“Naive, some said, but I always liked to think she just saw the good in people. She never could tell when someone was lying to her, or when someone wished her ill… I suppose I imagined that I was good enough at that for the both of us.” He exhaled, looking sadder than he ever had. “But I was wrong.”

“You were also working against a curse,” Lissa pointed out softly.

“Aye, that’s true.” He sighed. “Hamish reminds me of that often. It was much the same problem that led to the loss of his own dear wife — couldn’t keep herself safe. I imagine it shocked the life out of him when he realized what Amelia could do.”

Lissa chuckled agreement, thinking of her formidable new friend. It was hard to imagine an identical version of her who didn’t have her competence on the battlefield. “That’s interesting,” she said, a thought occurring to her. “The difference between them, I mean.”

“Aye, Hamish and I have discussed that,” Niall said with a smile. “Our lost wives, returned to us as warrior women. I doubt it’s a coincidence.”

That was enough to make her blush. Niall squeezed her hand, smiling softly across the table at her. The look in his eyes stayed with her for the rest of the evening… and even followed her into her dreams.