Magrath did not speak and neither did he. “The cleansing herbs I left, are ye sure he took them?”
“As far as I ken, they were boiled and given to him,” Leith said. “The color was deep maroon.”
Magrath’s head snapped to him. “Maroon? Sir, the herbs I left to revive him should have given a light golden brew. Whatever gave that maroon brew wouldnae come from the herbs I left.”
Now, Leith was getting antsy, “Yer telling me someone switched his medicine? What herb could give a maroon brew?”
“Sir,” Magrath said, his face grave. “There are three of four herbs that can give such a color but as the others are cures, only one is harmful and might be the reason for all this—‘tis called belladonna—ye call it nightshade. It is a bush that causes death but in light doses it causes madness.”
His heart nearly stopped, “And how long could these light doses be taken to lead up to madness?”
Magrath was grim, “Sir, it could months, years even….”
With every word Magrath said, fear for his father closed around Leith’s chest into a vice grip. His face hardened into determination as he looked out at the stormy sky, slashed through with another bolt of lightning. He was going to risk his life, going into this storm but he would hate himself if he did not try. Do or die, I will save me Faither.
* * *
Mary was jerked out of her sleep by a hand grabbing her head and the blistering pain that came from someone yanking her up to her feet by her hair. She opened her mouth to scream when a hand was slapped over it. Instinctively, she bit down but the hand was yanked away and she was backhanded so fiercely that her vision blacked out for a moment.
She was grabbed again, but she had to fight. Her hands were up and lashing out. The more she lashed out and clawed at her attacker, the more he grabbed at her. He pulled on her hair, yanked her head back and hissed in her ear, “Stop fighting or worse will happen to ye.”
She knew that voice, but the man had not been there in days—Cooper. When she yelped out his name, he yanked her head again and pain blasted through her head. “Let me go.”
“I ken I was right,” Cooper snarled. “Ye are a whore, an English one. A spy too. Who sent ye, Sassenach? Who sent ye to kill our Laird?”
Pain was scorching down her neck and back up but Mary said. “I did no such thing. I have nay done a thing to the Laird. How did you get in here! Leith sent you away!”
Cooper’s laugh was scornful, “I’ve lived here for decades, I still have people loyal to me in this castle, and stop yer lying about Me Laird,” Copper snapped. “Ye cannae talk yerself out of this. Me Lady was right about ye.”
Lady Lenichton!
Cooper released for a moment a bare moment before a twist of cloth was forced between her lips and tied around her head so tightly that it doubled her pain. His sinister voice whispered in her ear. “I ken exactly what to do with traitors like ye. Say yer prayers Sassenach, ye will nay live to see another day.”
Mary choked back her fear and struggled to catch her breath around the cloth. A moonbeam suddenly lit upon the man and his eyes, icy with cruelty flickered as they bore into hers. She shuddered. The devil himself was standing before her.
He grabbed her arm and forced her to walk out. The whole dungeon was dark and his pace was frantic. She tripped over her feet time and time again, but he still kept on dragging her along. The stone steps were slippery, and she barely saw the outline of the edges to them so she could step up on them.
Cooper hauled her out of the keep and into the hands of another man who swiftly bound her hands before tossing her up unto the saddle on a horse. She laid on her belly while he bound her feet. The rope was rough and instantly began to abrade her skin. The ground smelled of wet mud and grass. Shadows were dancing over the ground, and if she tilted her head just that much, she could see the light coming from the castle.
Inside were people that could rescue her—that is if they had not been poisoned against her by Lady Lenichton or Fiona. She could not scream for help, the cloth was so tight it was cutting into her cheeks, and even if she had tried, the castle was too far for anyone to hear her.
The only person who could save her was herself. She kicked and heard a guttural cry. She had struck the man that was binding her—where she did not know—but just knowing that she had hurt him felt good.
Her joy did not last long, Cooper came around and grabbed her hair again. He yanked her head up and growled. “Do that again and I’ll slit yer throat right now.” To bookend his statement, he slapped her again.
Mary’s head was beginning to ring but her gut tightened in resolve. I’m going to get out of this, no matter what it takes.
The man behind her mounted the horse where she lay and shifted her so she lay between his belly and the pommel. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, and as they rode off, her back began to strain to keep her head up. Soon enough, she got tired and had to lay her bruised cheek on the side of the trotting horse.
His jolts made her stomach upset and she had to swallow down what was coming up from her belly. She was constantly in fear of it coming out of her nose. Would that kill her? The
