the fluid against her tongue. Gordon’s wife jerked and lifted her chin.
“Forgive me, Mistress, for I know ’tis a bitter concoction.”
The cook placed another measure of it in Jemma’s mouth, and this time she swallowed it. Gordon felt sweat trickle down the side of his face. Every muscle felt as though it was tight enough to snap. The cook kept placing spoonfuls of her brew inside his wife’s mouth until Jemma sighed.
“Better . . .” Jemma turned her head to rub against him before her eyes slid closed and her breathing became shallow. So shallow it sent fear through him once again.
“That will have to do for the moment.”
The cook stood up and blew out a long breath. Her eyes swept Jemma from head to toe, and her face became clouded with serious thought.
“That was an antidote?”
“It’s something I learned when I was a young woman, but I don’t know if it will be doing the job needed.”
Gordon gently laid his wife down and pulled up just enough sheet to cover her.
The cook continued. “Ye see, we don’t know what was used to poison her, so I don’t know if what I mixed up was what she needed or if it came too late. The mistress was working on the books, and no one knows how long she was ill before Ula discovered her. It’s possible that the evil person behind this has already done the wicked deed by stealing her away from us.”
Gordon felt a shiver go down his spine. Anger flashed through him like a spark through black powder. Rage exploded inside him, and the helplessness in his wife’s pale face only made that anger burn hotter.
The cook’s eyes went wide, and horror clouded her face.
“Tell me, woman, why do you look like that?”
The cook wrung her apron with nervous hands. “I sent the girl to serve the mistress cider this morning. I thought it would impress upon her the place she needed to learn was hers. I never thought Anyon had evil in her heart.”
“That bitch tried to drown my wife earlier this week.”
“Lads fight and then they drink together when their tempers have cooled, Laird. I thought Anyon just needed a firm hand to teach her to be content with what God had given her. I never thought she’d turn to murder. It still baffles me; I’ve knelt in church beside her. How could that be—how could so much evil be right there and none of us see it?”
Gordon ground his teeth together. “I don’t know.” He forced himself to think, to make his mind work despite the rage burning in his gut.
“I don’t know, but I do know this. Someone did this foul deed and I am going to see them hanged for it.”
“The Baron Ryppon is on the road with his men.”
Gordon turned and followed Kerry up to the top of the wall. He looked through the spy glass and inspected the flags being carried by the men preceding the baron. Those flags danced wildly because Curan was riding hard. The horses were lathered, and his men were stripped down to only breastplate armor and helmet to lighten them.
“Allow them through!”
There was a hustle along the walls, his men filling the positions in spite of his order to allow the English force to enter. He couldn’t blame them for that, inviting an English party of knights inside the curtain wall would have most of his Scottish neighbors questioning his sanity.
He felt on the verge of losing his mind. He could feel the rage melting his principles until he was nothing but a savage willing to strike out at anything that might have been responsible.
That was not the way to trap the guilty. He knew it and was trying desperately to maintain his wits. Descending the stairs, he went to meet his friend. Desperate times called for equally desperate measures. There was no one in the castle he might trust. Whoever had poisoned Jemma was one of his own. It infuriated him, it sickened him, but it was the truth.
Curan was out of the saddle and moving quickly to meet him.
“She still lives.”
“I want to see her, now.”
Gordon grunted and turned with an English baron following him. His father was sure to rise from his grave tonight for the fact that he was making an English army welcome in his home, but that was a torment Gordon would gladly suffer if he gained what he desired.
Jemma.
That was it. He needed his wife and didn’t want to think about the very real fact that she might not live to see the next day.
Gordon held up a hand and pushed the chamber doors open slowly to keep them from making noise. Whispers came from inside where the nuns were still on their knees praying. They took shifts with their other sisters, an hourglass set on the bed to mark their allotted time.
“Send them out, Barras. We need to talk.”
“Aye.” Gordon crossed the room and stood near the bed. One of the sisters lifted her face. He pointed at her, and she looked at the hourglass.
“Go, Sister. My wife’s brother would be in private with his sister.”
