Chapter Twenty-Seven
As Maighread charged toward Dirk, his warrior side leapt to the forefront as if he were on the battlefield, an enemy rushing him, but there was no time to unsheathe his sword.
Seeing the dirk in her hand, he instinctively grabbed her wrist and twisted, turning the blade toward her instead.
When she slammed hard into him, the dagger drove deeply into her chest. She screamed like a banshee, her dark green eyes emanating evil, staring him down as if she could kill him with her glare alone.
Warm, slippery blood covered their hands and a moment later, she sagged against him, her breathing harsh but shallow.
"I curse you," she rasped. "With my last breath, I curse you."
"You cannot curse me!" He yelled into her face, determined that she hear him. "You have no power over me, witch."
He released her and let her slide to the floor, her dagger still imbedded in her chest. Given its location, the blade had missed her heart, but it must have damaged her vitals badly for she was unconscious in mere moments… and dead within a minute.
"Good riddance," Cyrus growled.
Dirk was simply trying to catch his breath and calm himself after the surge of alarm combined with his battle instincts taking over and spurring him to quick action.
He inhaled deeply. "Aye." He stared at her, hardly able to believe the person who had wanted to kill him for most of his life was dead.
He was finally free of her evil influence. Forever.
"She got what she deserved," Rebbie said, laying a hand on Dirk's shoulder. "She was a murderess. The only reason she didn't kill more people was because she wasn't exceedingly good at it."
"Not for lack of trying," Dirk muttered, wishing she'd died years ago so she couldn't have poisoned Isobel and Aiden.
Now, he simply prayed they would recover.
∞∞∞
Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dirk observed Isobel's flushed, slumbering face in the wee hours of the morning.
One candle lit her chamber to a dim glow in the darkest night.
Beitris snored on her pallet before the fireplace, but Dirk couldn't sleep.
His whole life hung in the balance, just as Isobel's did.
Watching her thrash about and moan during the past several hours had near ripped his heart from his chest. He wished he could take all of her pain upon himself.
I love you, Isobel.
What if he never got to say those words to her while she was fully aware and conscious? He now realized that to hear those words coming from her lips was his fondest wish. Holding her hand, he stroked his thumb across her small palm, savoring her silky warm skin.
She had to live, she simply had to. But what if she didn't?
God, he could barely breathe when he imagined it.
"Nay. You must recover, Isobel," he whispered and pressed his forehead against the back of her hand.
She wiggled about and groaned in her sleep, then muttered words he couldn't decipher.
He yearned to see her smile and laugh again, to listen to her teasing, playful whispers in his ear. He could imagine nothing better than living out his days with her.
Now he understood why all those tragic love ballads contained so much pain and sadness. The mere thought of losing her gutted him. He'd rather die himself.
Moaning, she shifted about restlessly as if struggling against someone.
"Come back to me, Isobel," he whispered and touched her face gently with his other hand, stroking her smooth, overheated skin. "Stay with me."
She captured his hand in hers and held it possessively against her cheek. She calmed and slept peacefully, her breaths deep and even.
He said a prayer of thanks and made a plea for her life.
Closing his eyes, he imagined what it would be like to marry her, to seal their vows with a kiss before everyone, proclaiming her his permanently.
"How is she?" the whisper came from behind him sometime later.
Dirk turned to find Rebbie with his head stuck in the doorway. "She's been sleeping. Is it dawn already?" No light shown through the window.
"About six. Have you slept?"
"Nay, I'm not sleepy." He had to be sure Isobel was truly well before he would allow himself to sleep. He couldn't lose her.
Rebbie frowned. "You look exhausted."
"It matters not. What matters is that Isobel and Aiden recover fully."
"I'm certain they will."
"How is Aiden?"
"Sleeping peacefully."
Dirk nodded. "Thank God."
After sunrise, Jessie, Nannag, and a few female servants came and went, checking on Isobel while she slept soundly, also bringing him porridge, oatcakes, and other things to eat. His stomach knotted too much for him to eat more than a few bites.
Around mid-day, the room was quiet and empty but for Dirk and Isobel. She opened her eyes and glanced around the room.
Dirk held his breath, noting her skin was a normal color now, not flushed red as it had been for many hours.
"How do you feel?" he asked, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.
"Better." She watched him with a pleasant expression, her eyes still dark but almost back to normal.
He released a breath along with some of the tension that had tightened his muscles. "Do you remember what happened?"
She frowned. "Some of it, but 'tis hazy and confusing. I had the strangest nightmares."
"Maighread poisoned the tart you and Aiden shared," Dirk said, trying to keep his expression neutral.
Although what his stepmother had done angered him beyond reason, after she'd died, his anger had drained away.
Now, all he felt was relief, since Isobel had awakened and the reports on Aiden had been positive.
Isobel sucked in a sharp breath. "Saints! That evil harpy. I remember you talking about poison last night, but I didn't know who'd done it. She was trying to kill you again, wasn't she? 'Twas your tart we shared."
"Aye." Should he tell Isobel that Maighread was dead now, or wait? He didn't want to overset her after her illness.
Isobel shook her head, her eyes worried. "I remember Aiden falling to the floor in the midst of playing music. How is he?"
"Sleeping soundly, last I heard. Hopefully he is stirring by now."
"A pox upon Maighread. Did you arrest her?"
He studied Isobel and the violet smudges beneath her eyes, trying to assess whether she was up to the news. She'd find out soon enough, and he needed to be the one to tell her. "Maighread's dead."
Isobel's mouth dropped open. "Mo chreach! In truth?"
"Aye. She ran at me with a dagger, intending to stab me. My instincts took over. I grabbed her wrist and the dagger stabbed her instead."
"Good." Isobel released a long breath. "I'm glad she's dead. She tried to murder you too many times already."
"Aye. She can no longer harm either of us." He kissed her knuckles, relieved the news didn't upset her, and instead, seemed to calm her.
"Does Aiden know?" she asked, her voice softening.
Dirk shook his head. "I haven't told him yet. He was very ill and sleeping."
"I hope you will break the news to him gently. He is a caring lad."
"Aye." And she was a caring lass. He could hardly contain his joy that she was recovered, but he hid it well. He had never been one for showing emotion.
"How long did I sleep?" she asked, squeezing his hand.
"Since last night, around nine."
She gave a faint grin. "Have you been sitting here staring at me all night?"
His face heated at her taunting tone, though he knew not why. In truth, he was beyond happy that his prayers had been answered and that she was feeling well enough to tease him again. "I had to make sure you were well," he said in a tone huskier than he'd intended.
She lifted his hand, kissed the back then held it to her cheek. "You are a treasure," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
Damn, he hoped she didn't cry or he might do the same. "And you are my treasure, lass."
"Dirk?" she said.
"Aye?"
"I love you." Her words and her wee smile lit up the dark corners of his heart.
Scarce able to breathe, he pulled her up into his arms. "And I love you," he whispered into her ear, but even those words seemed inadequate. "You are my life," he added, hoping to tell her how much she meant to him. "And you near scared the life out of me, Isobel."
"I'm sorry." Her arms went around him, holding him close.
He kissed her forehead, her eyes and her cheeks. Saints, how he cherished her.
She giggled and tears streamed from her eyes.
He pulled back a few inches. "Don't cry. What's wrong?"
"You love me," she breathed, her throat obviously constricted.
"Of course I do, but 'tis naught to cry over." He stroked her tears away with his thumb.
"I was afraid you wouldn't," she confessed.
He gave her an exaggerated frown. "How could I not? You bewitched me and stole my heart."
She grinned. "I wish we could get married today."
"As do I, but we might have to wait a day or two until you and Aiden are fully recovered."
"Oh, m'lady, you're awake!" Beitris rushed into the room. "Thank the heavens."
Dirk released Isobel and rose from the bed to pace about the room.
Beitris fussed around her for several moments, plumping her pillows, asking how she felt, and if she was hungry.
After Beitris hurried out in search of oat porridge, Isobel said, "I'm so glad you don't like tarts."
Dirk gazed into her dark eyes, knowing what she was thinking.
"If you did, you would have eaten double the poison I did and mayhap died." Tears glimmered in her eyes.
Seating himself on the bed again facing her, he kissed her forehead. "Shh. 'Tis over."
Wiping her eyes, she nodded, then gave a wry grin. "I'm thinking I won't like tarts as much in the future."
He doubted that, and she didn't have to worry. He was releasing anyone associated with Maighread from his employ. In addition, he was pressing charges against Levina for attempted murder.
"Maybe you should see how Aiden is while Beitris helps me bathe and brush my hair. I want to be more presentable," Isobel said, attempting to comb her fingers through the snarls of her dark brown hair. "I must look a fright."