Highlander Assassinated (Highlander In Time #16)

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

W atch and wait, that was the plan. And it didn’t take long for that plan to bear yet more fruit. It was that very afternoon at tea that Lissa spotted another sign of foul play. It was subtle, this time — she noticed that the kitchen door had been left open, something that the frantic but competent headwoman would never have allowed. Sure enough, a quick glance through the door revealed none other than Nathan Bell, Codlington’s confederate, hunched over a silver tray. He had a vial in his hand just like the one that Penny had been using, and even as she watched he tipped its whole contents into one of the cups. She ducked out of the doorway before he could turn to see her observing him, and almost ran smack into Niall.

“Bell’s in there,” she whispered, jerking her head towards the kitchen. “I saw him putting strychnine in a tea cup.”

Niall’s eyes widened. “Lord Weatherby’s on his way down to take tea with Bell and a few of the others.”

“Well, it would be impolite of us not to join them,” Lissa said with a smile.

And so it was that they found themselves sitting around in the weak afternoon sunlight — Lord Weatherby had suggested it, claiming that some bracing fresh air might help him shake off the last of his lingering sickness. Lissa and Niall hadn’t had the chance to warn Lord Weatherby about the tea — he and Bell had already been sitting down together when they found him, and the resentful look that Bell shot them as they joined the pair made it very clear that he wouldn’t be giving them the opportunity to speak with the Lord alone. Lissa felt an eerie calm coming over her as a servant carried out the same tray she’d seen Bell leaning over in the kitchen. Pretending to be laughing at one of Niall’s jokes, she paid close attention to the way he adjusted the tea tray — and to which cup he made sure was placed in front of Lord Weatherby.

Niall was telling a story about a daring race he and his brother had once had when they were boys, and Lissa became aware of how uncharacteristically animated he was in the telling of it, throwing his hands everywhere as he described the speed of the horses, the danger of the race… and then, smooth as anything, he knocked over the milk jug, sending its contents flying all over Bell. The man stumbled to his feet, cursing — and Lissa seized the opportunity, quick as blinking, to swap Bell’s cup with Weatherby’s. Nathan Bell, still distracted by wiping the milk from his shirt, and by Niall, who was offering copious apologies, didn’t notice the switch — but Lord Weatherby did. He looked at her, eyes wide — and she winked.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” Bell snapped, all but pushing Niall away as he returned to his seat, milk still soaking into his shirt. “I just want to drink my tea.” He lifted the cup in his hands, and she could see him looking intently at Lord Weatherby, who glanced briefly at Lissa before taking a large swallow of his own tea. Bell looked satisfied at the sight — and with that, he raised his own cup to his lips.

“I hope you don’t mind, sir, but I swapped your cup with Lord Weatherby’s,” Lissa said. Bell froze, his face slowly draining of color, the teacup still against his lips. “Some milk had spilled into it, and I know you prefer to drink your tea black.”

With shaking hands, Bell returned the teacup to its saucer. His eyes were full of horror when he looked at her, and she felt an uneasy twinge in her belly. She’d timed the warning so that he’d stop drinking the tea right away — why did he look so horrified? Without a word, Bell rose to his feet and stumbled back into the house. Niall, Lissa, and Lord Weatherby all exchanged worried looks — and she moved around to his side of the table, leaning down to inspect the teacup. It was still full — he couldn’t have had more than a small sip. But then she caught a whiff of a bitter, acrid smell rising from the cup, so strong she almost gagged as she turned quickly away from it.

“What’s the matter?” Lord Weatherby came around the table to inspect the cup, and recoiled just as Lissa had. “That — that’s the smell I noticed on my dinner, the night I first started to feel sick!” he said, pointing at the cup. “That beast of a man has made another attempt on my life!”

“He looked terrified,” Niall pointed out, frowning. “But he barely touched the tea.”

Her heart was sinking as she put the pieces together. “I think he might have opted for a stronger dose this time,” she said, staring down at the seemingly innocent cup. “Remember how surprised they were by your recovery, Lord Weatherby? I have a feeling he took your apparently powerful constitution into account when calculating this dose.”

The afternoon’s events cast a certain pall over proceedings. Sure enough, when dinner came around, Nathan Bell was not among the English delegation, and Codlington was uncharacteristically quiet on the subject. When Lord Weatherby pressed the matter, clearly wondering — as Lissa was — whether the man had survived the poisoning or not, Codlington snapped that he had fallen ill that afternoon and was resting in his quarters. But from the looks on the faces of a few of the other members of the delegation, Lissa had a feeling that that wasn’t the whole story. Midway through the meal, one of the men excused himself, saying he wanted to check on Bell — Codlington’s furious glance wasn’t enough to deter him from doing so, however, and when he returned, it was to make a pale-faced announcement that Nathan had passed away.

Lissa felt Niall put a hand on her leg under the table, a wordless gesture of comfort that she very much appreciated. She’d known, when she switched the cups, that she’d be putting Bell in danger of consuming his own poison — and when he’d reacted with such horror to the realization, she’d known there was a chance that the dose had been fatal. But she was clear-headed enough not to take responsibility for his death onto her own shoulders. It was his own weapon that had killed him.

There was considerable tension at the dining table as several of Codlington’s men hurried away to deal with the death. Their leader went to join them, but Weatherby raised a hand to stop him, his eyes hard and his jaw set as he instructed his guest to sit back down.

“It’s time we talk about this, Lord Codlington,” Weatherby said, his voice harder than she’d ever heard it. “Why don’t you tell me why your men have been trying to poison me?”

Codlington, to his credit, didn’t crack under the pressure the way that Bell had. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said coolly.

Niall stepped in at that point, telling the whole story of what had happened that afternoon — the cups getting swapped, Bell’s reaction to the realization that he was drinking from the cup that had been intended for Weatherby. Lissa chimed in as well to mention that she’d seen him in the kitchen, too. Codlington listened, stone-faced, and when the story was told, all he offered was a shrug of his shoulders.

“Bell was a glorified mercenary,” he said, his tone shockingly dismissive of a man who by all appearances had been one of his most loyal companions. “I can’t guess at his motives for attempting to poison you, Lord Weatherby, if that is indeed what happened — perhaps one of your enemies paid him to do so. I’m sure you have no shortage of them, overrun as this wretched corner of the country is by Scots.” The venom in his voice failed to get a rise out of any of the Scotsmen present, though Lissa felt her palms itching with the desire to break his nose for him.

There wasn’t much to say after that, unfortunately — there was no way of proving that Codlington had known anything else about the attempt on Weatherby’s life, and after a decidedly stiff round of goodnights, they all headed off to their quarters for sleep. Lissa knew already, though, that she was going to be far too tense to sleep. It seemed that Niall was on the same page — neither of them even bothered undressing when they reached their shared quarters, just sat down together at the table, and took a wordless comfort from each other’s presence.

“The next attempt on Weatherby’s life isn’t going to be poison,” Niall said quietly, echoing a thought that she’d had earlier. She nodded mutely, aware that they were very likely heading for the exact kind of battle that she’d been hoping to avoid. Well, at least she knew how to fight.

The evening dragged by, the cold night closing in around them, but still neither of them felt inclined to sleep. They undressed anyway and slid into bed together — and it wasn’t long before the comforting distraction of lovemaking occupied them for a short while. Still, even that pleasant pastime wasn’t enough to ease the worry in either of their minds, and though they relaxed into the safety of each other’s arms, neither of them were able to fall asleep.

Perhaps that was why they heard the soft scuffle in the hall — or perhaps even if they’d managed to fall asleep, it would have woken them. Either way, they were both on their feet in a heartbeat at the unmistakable sound of a fight. Lissa must have set some kind of record in pulling on enough of her clothing to make herself decent, and the two of them hurtled out into the hall just in time to find Sir Baldric, breathing hard but with a look of triumph on his face. He’d managed to subdue his assailant, and Niall and Lissa both hastened forward to help him secure the captive. As they did, the black hood the man was wearing fell back, and Lissa was surprised to recognize the young man who’d left dinner earlier that night to go and check on the ailing Nathan Bell. Thomas, she remembered from the introductions — Sir Thomas Waybright.

“I was about to turn in for the night when I found him skulking in the shadows here,” Sir Baldric explained. “Are you going to tell us what you were up to, or will we be obliged to use force?”

“I mean no harm,” the young man said through gritted teeth — but neither Baldric nor Niall seemed inclined to release his hands. With an exasperated sigh, he jerked his head in the direction of a pouch around his waist, which Lissa moved forward to open. There was a bundle of letters in it that very much resembled the ones that Baldric had shared at their meeting.

“Explain yourself,” Niall said suspiciously, glancing over the letters as Lissa handed them to him. Sir Baldric moved cautiously back from the Englishman, though the long, wickedly sharp dagger didn’t leave his right hand.

“I’ve lost faith in Lord Codlington,” Thomas said, shooting a worried glance over his shoulder as he did, as though expecting the man to materialize out of the shadows to chasten him for his betrayal. “I held my tongue for the first few years of my service to him — I’ll admit it was my greed that bought my silence. But I can’t serve him any longer. His rudeness is intolerable, and he’s a dishonorable, craven man. Any man who’d rely on a weapon like poison to win his battles…” Thomas shook his head, his jaw tight. “I can’t make up for the evil I’ve enabled while in his service — that’s a matter between me and the Lord. But I want to help you,” he concluded, looking around at the three of them with a genuine light of sincerity in his deep brown eyes. “I’ve stolen those letters from his own desk — he’s yet to notice them missing, but when he does, he’ll know how much trouble he’s in. And I’ll testify against him in any case that’s brought, you have my word.”

“Quite the risk you’re taking, lad,” Sir Baldric observed, keeping his tone neutral. But the look he gave Niall and Lissa was full of relief. She felt the same way. One of Codlington’s own men — one of his long-standing companions, for that matter — turning against him? They’d made themselves a valuable ally here. But as Sir Baldric had pointed out, by joining their side, he’d put himself in danger, too.

Lissa gritted her teeth. The inquest was due to start in barely a few hours. She only hoped they could get through the damn thing without any more deaths… but as Sir Baldric led Thomas away to discuss his testimony, she had an uneasy feeling that they weren’t out of the woods just yet.