By God's Grace (8 page)

 

 

Duncan and Arbella entered the keep, but they didn't get far before Grant and Bryce appeared.

Tall and erect, Grant said, “My laird, there is a situation that requires yer assistance.”

Duncan raised his eyebrow. “Ye mean there is a situation my second canna handle? I am in the middle of escorting a lovely lady to her new quarters.”

Arbella blushed, head bowing low.

“My laird, we are sorry to interrupt yer assisting of the lovely young lass, but ye will want to come and listen. This involves Cainneach's death.”

Duncan opened his mouth to ask questions, but Grant continued, “I have no more details, my laird. All I know is a servant has come forward with information that may indicate foul play.”

Bryce was with Grant. He was huge in stature, yet spoke few words. The behemoth would be more than adequate protection. “Bryce, please show Arbella to her quarters. Tamara will be waiting.”

Closer to Bryce, Duncan whispered, “Stand guard outside the door until I arrive. Nobody goes in or out. Do ye understand?”

Bryce nodded, and Duncan repeated, “No one.”

Duncan faced Arbella, replacing his worried expression with a relaxed smile. He held her hands in his. “Something has come up I need to attend to. But Bryce will escort ye to yer new rooms.”

“Duncan, it isn't necessary. I am certain I can arrive at my destination with a minimal of stress if you would point me in the proper direction.”

Duncan started to question the change in Arbella's usage of language but decided against it. The lass might be trying to astound his men with words. However, Grant and Bryce didn't appear impressed. Dumbfounded, their mouths gaped open in an attempt to repeat the words Arbella had used. Duncan was afraid if he didn't do something to defuse the situation, Arbella would soon have her feelings hurt.

“Well, of course, ye don't need the assistance, lass, and I wasn't worried about yer stress, but my own is an entirely different matter.” Placing his fingers under her chin, he tilted back her head with one finger until her brown eyes could see straight into his green ones. He added, “Ye are so beautiful, I worry another more handsome, gentler soul will come and steal ye from me.”

Tears slipped from the corner of Arbella's eyes, sliding down her cheeks. Duncan used his thumb to wipe them away. She cleared her throat. “If you wish for me to have Bryce as an escort, I would be honored to accept.”

Duncan and Grant sent private looks of understanding. Sometimes women just needed a little flattery and wooing to get them moving in the direction you wished for them to go.

Pleasure abounded as Bryce pointed the way for Arbella, and they walked side by side to the new room.

Duncan waited until Bryce and Arbella exited before speaking. “Now what is it ye are not telling me? How come I haven't heard more about this foul play? My brother has been dead almost four months.”

In a hushed whisper, Grant said, “My laird, yer brother was a healthy man, never sick not one day in his life. One day Lyall comes running into the main hall screeching like a banshee. When we calmed her down, she confessed she'd gone to check on Cainneach, and he was in his bed, dead. When we looked there were no obvious physical signs for his death. The guards and I always suspected some kind of foul play, but we had no leads and no laird. We had to find ye before we could look for yer brother's assassin. And when we got ye back, the elders had all these plans about ye needing to get married, and we just hadn't had the time to look into it.”

Placing a reassuring hand on Grant's shoulder, Duncan released a sigh. “What has happened has happened, and we canna change it. This day, it seems we have been given an opportunity to reveal my brother's assassin. Let's make the most of it.”

“Aye, we will at that, my laird.”

Duncan and Grant walked into the main hall. Where the elders had sat just weeks before was now graced by a dozen household servants. Upon Duncan's arrival, one man stepped forward from the crowd and gave a low bow.

“Laird Duncan, we are honored to be in yer presence.”

“Thank ye.” Duncan whispered, “I wasn't expectin' a welcomin' committee. Where is the source we are looking for?”

Glancing around the room, Grant spoke, “I don't know.”

The servant who spoke stepped forward, as if to touch Duncan, but Grant prevented the action by stepping between them. He muttered, “I believe ye are close enough.”

“Verra well, but if ye wish is to gather information on yer brother's murder, then I must get closer to ye.” All this was said by the servant while a huge grin spread upon his hawk-like face.

Duncan returned the expression. Between clenched teeth, he asked, “Then are we to presume ye are being watched?”

“All the time, my laird.”

Duncan's voice rose for the whole hall to hear. “My cook, bring everyone a drink. I wish to toast to the longevity of our relationship. May I be a decent, understanding laird, and may ye follow my every command no matter how ludicrous!”

The servants burst forth in laughter; hesitant looks made him think some were hoping they were providing the appropriate response.

Duncan paced the room. Arms were placed around the females, shoulder squeezes and back slaps were given to the men, words of encouragement and words of advice were shared. Eventually he came back to the source. They walked side by side for a moment before the informant spoke.

“I must apologize.”

“Verra well.”

“Ye don't understand.” His head shook; a stray tear fell from his eye. “I looked up to yer brother. Cainneach was a great leader.” Taking a shuddering breath, he continued, “My family perished in a fire, my wife, my children. I found work as a bard at one of the other keeps, but it didn't last long. I had nowhere to go, and yer brother gave me work. A verra important work. I was like Nehemiah from the Bible. I was to taste his food and drink before his consummation.”

Duncan refrained from staring at the servant, walking and smiling. The urge to grab the man by his tunic and shake until he received answers was held at bay. Instead he asked, “Did my brother think he was being poisoned? Was there reason to believe such a thing?”

“Aye, he did. Several times he would eat or drink and become violently ill. He believed someone was poisoning him, but he wasn't sure. As I said, he gave me the job of cupbearer. I tested his food before he would consume it.”

“Then how come my brother is dead, and ye are not?”

“I must tell ye I didna realize what had happened until recently. The poison in just one bite was not enough to fell a man with a strong constitution, but yer brother had a healthy appetite. The day before he passed, the men killed a wild boar, and yer brother was so excited, he must have consumed half of it. I believe the poison was placed into his portion of the meat.”

“Let's say I believe ye. Who would have done such a thing?”

The servant paused. Obviously the servant knew more than he was saying about the perpetrator of the crime. Mouth opened to speak, but no sound came forth. His hand rose and grasped the side of his neck as he slumped. Duncan caught the man in mid-fall, lowering him to the ground.

Duncan shouted, “Who did it? Who killed my brother?”

The cupbearer was able to force one tiny sound past his lips, “Wissss…” Then with one last shudder, the man breathed his last.

A small dart protruded from the servant's neck. His skin was turning an ugly gray color. One of the people in the hall must have taken notice of the man, because they screamed. The room disintegrated into chaos. Duncan yelled to Grant, but he had already run up the stairs and was walking the balcony surrounding the room in search of who might have shot the dart.

Unfortunately, the balcony was empty. Grant searched for signs, but there was no evidence in sight.

Duncan sat beside the body. What did “wiss” mean? Was it a person? Could it be the poison?

Although he might not know what “wiss” meant, one thing was certain. There was a murderer in the keep, and they had just taken the life of their second victim.

 

 

A few moments were spent putting away Arbella's things. When Tamara and Arbella finished, they sat down in chairs facing the fireplace, kicked off their shoes, and warmed their toes until they were toasty from the roaring fire. Arbella giggled. Then Tamara joined her.

“Why — why are we giggling?” one of them managed to stutter out.

“I don't know.”

“Me, either!”

When they gained control, Arbella commented, “It's nice to have a friend.”

“Ye consider me a friend?”

“Aye, I do. Probably my best friend — at least, my only friend.”

“My lady, I thank ye, but I don't see how this can be. Ye came from one of the biggest, most prominent clans in all the highlands. Surely ye have friends.”

A sad smile crept around Arbella's dark brown eyes. “I wasn't raised with the Kincade clan. In fact I spent more time here with the Sinclairs than I ever did with the Kincades. Come to think of it, my only other close friend was Alison Sinclair. I haven't seen her in over ten years. Do you know how she fares?”

“Aye, I do. She married one of Grant Cameron's cousins. I believe they even have a few children to speak of.”

“Children? What wonderful news. When my father perished and I moved closer to England with my Uncle Jonas and Aunt Martha, I despaired of ever hearing about Alison again.”

As they spoke, the two women lounged. Her tense muscles were just starting to relax when there was a banging on the outer door.

“My lady, my lady!” came a shout.

Arbella's eyes widened. She rose, opening the door. Outside stood her escort from before. The man was at least a foot taller than her, causing Arbella's neck to arch back when she spoke. “Aye, Bryce, is there a problem?”

“Aye, I believe there may be. I heard a commotion in the main hall, and —”

Arbella interrupted, “And you believe you should go and check it out?”

“Aye.”

“Go ahead. Tamara and I will be fine. We'll lock the door.”

The Scot nodded, spun around, and walked at a fast clip down the hollowed hallway. With a shake of the head, Arbella returned to Tamara.

The maid asked, “What was that about?”

Arbella shrugged. “I'm not sure. Something about a commotion. I'm certain we'll discover the details later. Now what were we talking about? Oh, I remember. Allison.” She grasped Tamara's delicate hands in delight. “Tell me everything you know about the Sinclair family.”