The Devil of Dunakin Castle by Heather Mccollum

Author:Heather Mccollum [Mccollum, Heather]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Highland
Published: 2017-11-12T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

“Poison?” The word shot through Keir like a battle cry. “How? What poison?”

Grace sniffed Lachlan’s breath again and took his pulse. “I saw it once at Aros. A woman came from Oban to see Joan Maclean, because she was weak and had spots. Her breath smelled of garlic even though she said she hadn’t eaten any. She was weak but without fever, was losing some of her hair, and sweated terribly. And the white ridges on her fingernails looked the same as Lachlan’s. The woman’s brother had experienced the same symptoms and had died. Joan said it was from arsenic poisoning, probably in their well.”

“But no one else here has these symptoms,” Keir said, already knowing the answer to his unasked question.

Grace met his gaze firmly. “Someone must be adding it to his food or drink. Has been for a while if he’s had slowly worsening symptoms.”

“The lad would have said something,” he argued, feeling the fury within him gather like an advancing storm. He grabbed onto one of the four posters, squeezing the hard wood.

Grace shook her head. “It is odorless and tasteless. Joan told me it was the weapon of kings. They used it to kill off anyone threatening their reign.”

“Gòrach pìos de cac.” He swore, the words coming from the tight, nauseous boulder sitting in his gut. “The only people near the lad’s food are kin and the cook. Rab, Dara, Seanmhair.”

Grace walked closer. “You don’t know that for certain, since you haven’t been home, and when you were, you didn’t know to be guarding him.” She laid her hand on his arm, her touch suddenly an anchor in the churning of his fury. “Why would someone want to kill your nephew?”

Fiona walked back in with Dara on her heels. “I thought the spots were nothing. They were faint this morning.” Dara stopped, her worried expression hardening as she spotted Grace. “Ye must be the coward hiding behind Keir’s door.”

“Not now, Dara,” Keir said, barely holding on to the violence within him.

Grace squeezed his arm, and he glanced down at her. She gave a small shake of her head and looked to the two women inspecting Lachlan’s limp hands. “I’m fairly sure I know the sickness.”

“Can we help him?” Fiona asked, her eyes alert, determined, like Keir had seen in the faces of warriors on a battlefield. If steel could fight Lachlan’s illness, his seanmhair would surely take up her dusty sword.

“I believe so,” Grace said. “But we will have to watch him closely. I will supervise all he has to drink and eat. He will need more chicken broth, fresh ale or water—”

“Which I will get from the falls inland,” Keir said. Grace nodded.

“Once Lachlan is conscious, he needs to eat mashed apples, fresh fish, eggs, and oats. If you have any fresh lemons, that would be of help. And garlic should be infused in the broth.”

Dara frowned but didn’t say anything. Fiona nodded after each item.

“What is it called? This sickness,” Dara asked, her arms crossed before her.

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