Chapter 20
As soon as Duncan passed through the gates he sprang into action, calling guards to help him lift Eliza from the horse, then he took her limp form to the sick room.
“She has been poisoned,” Duncan announced to the healer. “I have given her the antidote, and I think it has worked, but I need you to confirm it and tell me what can be done for her.”
“Put her down on the bed, M’Laird,” the young woman said.
Even though she was only in her early thirties, she had worked in the castle for ten years, learning from an older experienced mentor, and was greatly respected. Duncan had great confidence in her, and her presence soothed his anxiety somewhat as he looked at Eliza’s closed eyes.
She felt Eliza’s pulse and checked her temperature by putting a hand on her forehead.
“There’s nae fever,” she told him. “The poison has been purged fae her body, M’Laird, but we will need tae keep an eye on her.
Gie her this—” She handed him a bottle full of liquid that looked a little like tea.
“See that she drinks this when she wakes up. It would be best if somebody could sit wi’ her till then tae keep an eye on her, an’ call me if she needs anythin’. ”
Duncan nodded, slipped the bottle into a pouch that hung from his belt, then picked Eliza up. He felt a hint of unease as he thought of giving Eliza the tonic, since he had begun to mistrust anything that came out of a bottle, but it could not be helped; he would do anything for her.
The healer looked astonished as she opened the door for him and watched him carrying Eliza upstairs; this was not really acceptable behaviour for a man of his status.
Other servants watched in amazement as Duncan carried Eliza to her chamber. When he arrived in the bedroom, he tenderly laid her down on her bed and kissed her softly.
“I will go nowhere until you wake, my love,” he whispered. He laid his hand on hers and settled down on a chair by her side to wait until Eliza opened her eyes again.
However, the events of the day had sapped his energy severely, and after a couple of hours, Duncan fell asleep with his head pillowed on Eliza’s lap on the bed.
After a short while, Eliza opened her eyes and looked around her. The last thing she remembered was the two thugs forcing her to drink the poison, and after that, nothing. However, now she was in a warm cosy bed with Duncan resting his head on her fast asleep.
She took the chance to run her hand over his beautiful dark red hair, loving its smooth, silky feel under her palms. She was safe.
Presently, Duncan stirred and then sat up suddenly, alarmed. He turned his head to look at her, and when he saw that she was awake, he let out a great sigh of relief.
“Thank god,” he breathed, smiling. “I was so afraid you were going to leave me, Eliza.”
“You should not have risked your life for me, Duncan,” she said softly, picking up his big hand to kiss it.
“You are worth it, Eliza,” he replied, his voice trembling slightly as he gazed at her. “You mean everything to me. I would do anything for you because I love you. I have loved you almost from the first time I saw you.”
“I love you too, Duncan,” she told him. “So much.” Her eyes were glistening with tears of joy.
Eliza sat up and wrapped her arms around Duncan’s neck, then he kissed her, not passionately, but tenderly, sweetly, welcoming her back into his life.
When they drew apart, he smiled and helped her drink the tonic, and they sat silently for a while, holding hands. There was much to discuss, but both knew that this was not the time; it could wait till later. Eliza began to drift off to sleep again, and Duncan kissed her forehead then left quietly.
He marched down to the council chamber, outwardly calm, inwardly on fire with rage, and burst into the Great Hall where the councillors were all seated, discussing the future of his family.
Many of them looked up, startled by his sudden, violent entrance. Duncan raised his sword, which was still visibly streaked with blood. He looked around the hall, which had suddenly fallen silent, then slammed his sword onto the table.
It was only then that he noticed that someone was sitting in the seat at the head of the table that was specially reserved for the Laird. It was Iona. She stared at him, wide-eyed with astonishment.
“So you turned back, I see,” he said.
Blood rushed to his head, but he forced himself to calm down. This was a critical moment—the future of the clan hung in the balance. He would deal with Iona later, and he was looking forward to it!
Duncan pointed to the sword on the table.
“This blade,” he said grimly, “took the lives of two traitors tonight. These two men were too stupid to realise that it takes a great deal more than a sword to defeat a real man, this man.” He thumbed his chest. “It takes intelligence and courage in equal measure, and I have both. Kincaid and Armstrong had neither.”
He looked around at their shocked faces, then went on, “I had an English mother, but my father was Scottish, I was born here, and I am as Scottish as you are. Nobody can take that away from me, least of all a couple of stupid creatures who have neither the wits nor the bravery to wield a sword properly. No, they had to poison and kidnap a defenceless woman to murder her in the hope that I would marry that creature over there!” He pointed to Iona.
Duncan thumped his fist on the table in front of him, causing many of the men to jump in shock. He looked around them all, drawing himself up to his full height, thrusting his chest out and his shoulders back as he picked up the sword again.
“As I said, I have cut short the lives of two traitors with this blade tonight.” He looked around at the councillors and scowled, then swiped the sword through the air. “And any of you who stand in the way of me or my bride will meet the same end!”
The men at the table began to mutter amongst themselves, while Iona got to her feet, her face a crimson mask of rage. “You cannot be serious!” she cried. “You would choose a Sassenach that you bought to be your bride when you can have a good Scottish woman like me? Are you mad?”
Duncan laughed scornfully. “No, I am not,” he replied, his eyes blazing with rage.
“You may be Scottish, but you are most definitely not a good woman. And a marriage between us? That will never happen! I would not marry you if my life depended on it, or if you were the last woman alive because you too are a traitor!”
“But I am—” Iona began to protest, but Duncan cut her off.
“Guards!” he cried, glancing around at the men in uniform standing by the door. “Take her to the cells. She can stay there until her trial begins.”
“Nooo!” Iona let out a long-drawn-out scream and tried to struggle free of the guards as they dragged her away. “You cannot do this!”
Duncan turned and gave her a dark, forbidding smile. “Oh, but I can, My Lady Muck,” he drawled. “I am the Laird, and my word is law. You may wish to argue with me about that, but you will not win.”
He nodded to the guards. “Take her away.”
He turned back to the men in the room. “Swear your loyalty to me now, or I will make every one of you pay the same price.”
There was a split second of silence during which the elders exchanged glances, then one by one they came up to Duncan and swore an oath of loyalty to him. As the last man bowed to him, Duncan breathed an inward sigh of relief.
Thank god that is over and done with, he thought as they filed out.
Now he could go back to the most important matter in his life—Eliza’s welfare.
Eliza was still asleep when Duncan entered the room, but the healer was sitting beside her reading a book and drinking a glass of milk.
“Has she woken up?” Duncan asked anxiously.
“No, M’Laird,” the healer answered. Then she smiled. “But there is nae need tae worry. She is only sleepin’ an’ she is daein’ very well. She had a lucky escape, though. Another ten minutes without the antidote an’ she would have been dead.”
Duncan passed a hand over his eyes, feeling ready to weep at the very thought. His fury against Iona was like a wild thing that had suddenly inhabited him, and he shook his head to try to clear it of the memory of her face. Why had he ever thought her beautiful?
To distract himself, he said to the healer, “Thank you for your help,” he said. “I’m sure you would like a rest, so I will stay with her now.”
“Aye, M’Laird,” she replied, smiling. “I am at your service any time. Call if ye need me.”
Then she left, and Duncan felt grateful that his mother had chosen her so many years ago. He doubted that anyone else would have been so competent or caring.
He called for his dinner and ate it in Eliza’s chamber, watching her sleeping face, his heart aching with love.
Once again, he thought of Iona and what he would have done to her if Eliza had died, but he banished the thoughts at once.
Eliza had not died, and now that she was safe he would make sure that they built a future together with no rebellious clansmen to stop them.
When Duncan finished his meal, he climbed into bed with Eliza and curled up beside her, then slept deeply and dreamlessly until morning.
When he opened his eyes, Eliza’s warm dark ones were waiting for him. Duncan smiled and kissed her softly. “How do you feel?” he asked, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her.
“Much better,” she replied. “But I’m really hungry.”
“We can soon fix that,” Duncan replied, grinning.
A moment later, after he had rung for the food, eggs, porridge, and bacon arrived with some strong tea. Duncan insisted on feeding Eliza, who found that she was not quite as ravenous as she thought.
“You still look tired, my love,” Duncan said, noting the dark circles under her eyes with concern.
“My love,” Eliza echoed dreamily. “I love it when you call me that, Duncan.”
“You are my love,” he murmured, kissing Eliza.
“And you are mine,” she replied,
Duncan’s face darkened, then. “There is one last thing we need to take care of,” he said grimly. “I have summoned Maisie, and I will leave you to decide what you wish to do with her.”
Eliza’s heart ached when she saw Maisie. She looked extremely downcast, kept her gaze on the floor, and her eyes were red with weeping. She dropped down on her knees before she looked up.
“Do you have anything to say to your mistress?” Duncan demanded.
“Aye, M’Laird,” Maisie replied. “I am so sorry. I thought I was givin’ ye a sleepin’ draught, an’ Lady Iona said that if I didnae dae it, she would make my life hell.”
Eliza looked at Duncan, realising everything from the kiss to her being been taken had all been her doing.
“She gave me coin, but she threatened me as well. But I shouldnae have done it, Milady. I am so sorry,” Maisie went on.
“Stand up,” Eliza instructed.
Maisie rose to her feet. Eliza at once took pity on her, thinking of all the ways her father had put pressure on her to do things against her will, and she had no choice but to obey.
She sighed and said, “You betrayed me, Maisie, and I will try to forgive you, but it will take time. I cannot trust you any longer, so I am dismissing you, but if Iona gave you money you may go and live in the village for the time being. I’m sure there is someone there who will take you in.”
Maisie was sobbing, but she looked up in astonishment when she heard Eliza’s words.
“Thank you, Milady,” she said gratefully.
Clearly, she had expected a much worse punishment. She was still weeping as she walked out, but it was with relief, not sadness.
“I would have hanged her,” Duncan said grimly.
Eliza shook her head. “I know what it feels like to be pressured and coerced,” she replied. “She is not a bad woman, Duncan.”
“You are much kinder than I am, Eliza Sinclair,” Duncan murmured as he kissed her again.
It was a passionate, hungry kiss, sealing the promise he had just made to her. Their betrothal was real, and Eliza was going to be Duncan’s bride. When they drew apart, she looked into his fascinating amber eyes and asked, “Is that a proposal, My Laird?”
He smiled. “No, this is a proposal, My Lady.” He knelt on one knee by her bed. “Marry me, Eliza, because I cannot live without you.”
Tears sprang into Eliza’s eyes, and she reached out to cup her face in her hands.
“Yes, My Laird,” she replied, smiling a beaming, radiant smile. “A thousand times, yes.”