not doubt that assassins are very clever. I have seen gloves and saddles poisoned, food and fabric, too. There is no decency in these assassins; they will poison bedding and not care that a husband or wife dies along with their intended victim. Poison the wet nurse to get at the child she suckles.”
“I didna take ill and I slept in that bed.”
“Except that your staff most likely changed the sheet this morning before she was found, and if someone truly wishes her dead, they would be wise to use more than one dose.” Justina pressed her fingers against Jemma’s face, peering intently at her skin. “It looks like common toxins such as hemlock or toad stools.”
Curan gave a soft grunt. “You see why I brought her.”
“It is becoming clearer, if not more disturbing, to see such knowledge in one so delicate.”
Justina frowned, the harshest expression that had crossed her lips. “Delicate does not survive long at court. My husband died of poison.”
“My condolences.”
The lady lifted her fair face to stare straight at him. “My only regret is that it took him too gently to hell and that I was not the one who fed it to him. He was a very cruel man and killed too many innocents before his ways came back to haunt him.” The lady suddenly looked older than her years. “And my father knew it well when he wed me to him. That is court; nothing matters but ambition. Not even murder.”
Justina look into Jemma face. “But perhaps some good might come of it now.”
Lady Justina searched his towers. Gordon paced the floor in front of his wife’s bed while he waited. The lady had not enlightened him on the rest of her plan, saying only that she needed to keep the information from as many ears as possible.
“Gordon?”
He turned in a swirl of kilts to discover Jemma watching him.
“Good evening to ye, lass.”
Jemma tried to smile but her lips were dry and the skin cracked. Pain went through them, but it was mild compared to the burning that was in her belly. It was even more than her belly because the fire licked over her back and down into her legs.
But the sight of Gordon soothed her. He moved toward her, and the bed shifted when he sat on its edge. Just that small motion sent pain spiking through her. It must have been plain on her face for Gordon frowned.
“Do not.”
He picked up one of her hands and held it gently between his two hands. “Do nae what, lass?”
“Do not treat me so.” Two tears eased from the corners of her eyes, bringing relief from the dryness she hadn’t realized tormented her, but the salt stung. “You have never been anything but bold with me. I like that.”
“Well then, lass, ye’ll have to be getting well so that we can get back to that.”
He wanted her to, she could see the need shimmering in his eyes. The pain increased, burning hot now that she was fully awake. Poisons were horrible things; some of them took a long time to kill, eating away at their victims before finally snuffing out their lives. She had always known that she would die someday, but it had never been something that she feared. Living had been the challenge when her father died. Now she had a reason to want to cling to life. Her hands tightened around Gordon’s, and the feel of his warm flesh against her own was soothing.
“I love you.”
He flinched, a muscle twitching along the side of his jaw. He leaned closer, laying her hand on her stomach before stroking his fingertips along her cheeks.
“Do nae do that, lass.”
The hard edge to his voice drew a soft smile from her in spite of the pain it sent along her lips.
“But I do and—”
“And ye will nae say good-bye to me now, Jemma. Ye will survive this and ye will be my wife.”
If the force of his will could force fate to heed him, then Jemma would live. She stared at the determination in his eyes, trying to absorb some of it, but her body hurt too badly.
Gordon turned and lifted something off a table that had been placed beside the bed. It was a small pewter cup, such as a child might use.
“Some water will make ye feel better.” He lifted her head and supported her neck with a firm hand while sliding behind her to brace her with his body. “I may take to feeding ye, lass, because it gives me the chance to hold ye.”
“Hmmm . . . I find it strangely attractive myself, except for the part where I recall that I am helpless.”
“Drink, lass, and yer strength will return.”
“Do not drink that.”
Gordon jerked the water spilling onto the bed. With one fluid motion he pulled his sword from where it was leaning against the bedside. There was an answering slide of steel against steel as the knight trailing the boy unsheathed his sword. Jemma felt surprise flash through her, for the knight was Synclair and it seemed as if it had been a long time since she had seen him.
“You must not give her anything that has come through your kitchens.”
Gordon slid out from behind her and lowered her onto the pillow with one arm, but he kept his attention on the boy who was telling him what to do. Jemma stared at the youth, trying to decide what it was about him that she found odd.
“What ye must nae do is surprise me, Lady Justina, else there will be dire results. I am nae in the mood to ask too many questions.”
