Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
I t took her a long time to get to sleep that night. Her heart still pounded alarmingly in her chest every time she thought about the kiss — or about the way Niall had looked at her when they finally drew apart. God, she’d thought she’d had it bad for him already… but this, she could already tell, was going to be a whole new world of problems. Trying to keep the worst of the dopey smile off her face, she’d bid him goodnight and closed the door … but that wasn’t enough to get him out of her mind. It wasn’t long before the giddy rush gave way to worries, and she found herself tossing and turning, struggling to sleep for the first time since the first night she’d arrived.
This was a bad idea, right? She shouldn’t have let Amelia get into her head with all that stuff about going along with it, about how maybe she actually was the same person as his wife had been. What did that matter, at the end of the day? She didn’t share any of that woman’s memories, she didn’t even share her name. And it wasn’t fair on Niall for her to take advantage of his love for a stranger, his grief at her loss, his relief at what seemed like her returning from the dead. She shouldn’t have kissed him. Honestly, she shouldn’t have been flirting with him as much as she had been. She should have paid attention to the pangs of guilt she felt whenever he smiled at her. That was her intuition, warning her to tread carefully, and she’d ignored it.
She confided as much in Amelia the next day, grateful as she did to have found such a fast friend in such a strange set of circumstances. Amelia was sympathetic and supportive, and though she clearly disagreed with Lissa’s conviction that it would be best to take a step back, she didn’t press the issue. Lissa had been dreading the afternoon sparring session, knowing she’d have to say something to Niall about what had happened last night, about slowing things down. But when he showed up with a piece of paper in his hand and a worried look on his face, she was relieved to realize that the universe had very kindly provided a distraction. Amelia, clearly noticing that this was where her train of thought was going, shot her a meaningful look, which she ignored. If fate was responsible for her being here, fate was also responsible for this marvelous distraction from an uncomfortable conversation.
“Is that from Weatherby?” she asked quickly, nodding to the letter. “Are we finally allowed to head over there?” It felt like they’d been waiting forever — and she knew how worried they had been getting about Weatherby being stuck with all those English lords in his house with only Sir Baldric in his corner.
“It’s from Sir Baldric,” Niall said, shaking his head. “I’m afraid we’ll need to cancel our training this afternoon, ladies. My apologies — but this isn’t good news.”
“What’s wrong?” Automatically, she moved around to Niall’s side, wanting to look over his shoulder at the letter — then reminded herself, belatedly, that she was meant to be keeping her distance. She pulled back — and Niall looked up, clearly noticing the motion. Confusion and worry flickered briefly in his eyes, and she opened her mouth to explain, but before she could, Niall returned his gaze to the letter with an awkward little cough.
“Lord Weatherby has fallen ill,” he said, frowning. “Very ill, from what Sir Baldric is reporting here.”
“Is that — unusual?” Lissa glanced at Amelia, unsure of what to make of this. Though she knew that the Keep hosted a couple of twenty-first century medical professionals, which had gone a considerable way to improving medicine and health outcomes for the people of the surrounding area, not to mention drawing a few accusations of witchcraft, it wasn’t as though it was unheard of for people to get sick.
“It sounds unusual,” Niall said, his brow furrowed. “Sir Baldric says he’s been having strange fits and muscle spasms, reporting pain in his body, and growing anxious and paranoid after meals. He’s an anxious and paranoid man in general, so it’s significant that Sir Baldric makes special mention of it.”
“I get pretty miserable and paranoid when I get the flu,” Amelia said, though she sounded doubtful.
But Lissa’s mind was racing.
“Does it say anything about flu symptoms?” she said sharply. “Coughing, runny nose, fever, anything like that?”
“That was what Lord Weatherby’s doctor asked,” Niall said, tapping on a section of the letter then shooting her a look of admiration. “Baldric said he seemed confused about what was causing the sickness.”
Lissa had heard enough. “How quickly can you get a message back?” she demanded, both Amelia and Niall looking surprised at the sudden shift in her voice. “Today?”
“Yes, of course, the distance isn’t very great,” Niall said, frowning. “But why?”
“You said it yourself — we don’t trust these visiting Englishmen, right? They’ve been blocking the real witnesses from taking part in the inquest, they’re clearly up to something — and they’ve been incredibly rude to the Laird at every opportunity… would it be safe to say they’d prefer a verdict of murder?”
“It’s — probably our leading theory,” Niall admitted, frowning. “But what does that have to do with Weatherby’s illness?”
“Weatherby’s holding up the inquest,” she said frankly. “They want him out of the way, so they’re poisoning him.”
Niall and Amelia both looked stunned — but as she said it aloud, she felt in her gut that it was true. “Can you be reasonably sure that your letters to Baldric aren’t being intercepted by the English?”
Niall nodded, still looking shocked. “I seal my letters with wax to make sure they’re private. But?—”
“Then tell him it sounds like his Lord is suffering from strychnine poisoning,” Lissa said, thinking back to her months-long Agatha Christie-inspired fascination with poisoning. “It can kill in high enough doses, but it sounds like they’re moving slowly — less suspicious that way. Tell Baldric to replace his meals with food he’s made himself.”
Niall was nodding slowly, though she could tell from his furrowed brow that he was hesitant. “I worry about causing offense,” he said carefully. “If the English suspect they’re being accused of something…”
“They could use it against the clan,” Amelia supplied, her own face drawn with worry. “I wouldn’t put it past them. They’re obsessed with their pride — and like you said, they’re looking for any excuse to start trouble…”
“Tell him to do it in secret, then,” Lissa said impatiently. “Maybe he brings two meals to Weatherby, claims that one of them is for him, then gives Weatherby the one he’s prepared himself.”
“Is there any way of detecting this strychnine stuff?” Amelia asked.
“Not without a chemistry lab, I don’t think. Not that I know of. They might be able to smell it on the poisoned food, though.” That had been in one of the murder mysteries she’d read. “It smells bitter. Make sure they dispose of the food well, though — it’ll kill pets or livestock.”
“Assuming you’re right about this,” Amelia said, frowning. “Will Lord Weatherby get better?”
She bit her lip. “It’s one of the most popular poisons for a reason,” she said, choosing her words with care. It seemed both Amelia and Niall genuinely cared about this Lord Weatherby, for all that he’d clearly been something of a thorn in the side of the clan for quite some time. Still, their fondness for him clearly went beyond ‘better the devil you know’, and she felt bad for speaking so callously about his illness. “But — look, we don’t even know if that’s what’s happening, right? I could be completely wrong. Let’s hope I’m completely wrong.”
“And if you’re not?” Niall said carefully.
Lissa hesitated. “Look, he’s not dead yet, right?” she pointed out. “So if they are poisoning him, they’re doing it slowly. People can recover from this stuff — it acts on the nervous system, so if he hasn’t been given enough to stop his breathing or something else fatal, and he stops ingesting it, he should recover.” She paused, a thought occurring to her. “In which case, the English will get suspicious that they’ve been figured out. Can you trust Baldric to play it cool?”
Amelia laughed. “Of all the people in that manor, I’d trust Baldric above anyone,” she said with a shake of her head. “If anyone can play this right, it’s him.”
“I’ll get a letter to him — and I’ll instruct the messenger to leave it in nobody’s hands but his,” Niall said. “And if Lissa’s right about what’s happening, I think we’re going to need to head down there, with or without an invitation.”
“Let’s hope I’m wrong,” Lissa said, hoping to lighten the mood a little. “It’s been known to happen. Maybe Weatherby’s just got a nasty flu, and this is all just — paranoia.”
“That would be nice,” Amelia said drily. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”
But as Niall headed off across the courtyard and she glanced back at Amelia’s worried, drawn face, she had a horrible feeling that that hope would prove to be in vain.