“No! Your love philter worked perfectly!” Rose spun away and returned, slipping into a crimson velvet bodice with gathered and pleated shoulders, trimmed with gold thread and silk roses. She struggled to hook the front of it. “Jesu! I’m just getting fat!”
Rose was anything but fat—she was lean and muscular—but perhaps she’d been a bit thin a month ago. Her face, previously angular and as sharp as a wolf’s, had filled out, giving her a softer appearance, belying the hard-edged cynic beneath.
Gillian tried to shake off the sleep fogging her brain. “What are you talking about? My love philter worked? How do you know?”
“Because he can’t wait until tomorrow to wed you. He wants to marry you today. This morning.” Rose beamed down at her. “He’s completely smitten.”
Gillian fell back on the pillow, hands over her mouth. She’d been afraid that burning the hair when the moon had not been quite full would render the philter useless. But apparently it had been full enough. A surge of excited anticipation shot through her, and she threw back the covers, jumped out of bed, and embraced her sister.
“Come on,” Rose said. “Our hair will take forever, so let’s get you dressed.”
Gillian perched on her father’s bed in her finest gown, one he’d had made especially for this occasion. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen—a froth of pale pink caffa, silver embroidery, and gossamer white lawnpuffed out through slits in the sleeves and bodice. Her braided hair was coiled at her nape and encased in a silver mesh caul.
Her father had just informed her there would be no wedding celebration. There was trouble at Kincreag, and Nicholas had to return posthaste. After the wedding they would depart. Gillian had been a bit chagrined that it wasn’t his great passion for her that made him rush the nuptials, but it was for the best. Once it was done, it was not so easily undone. Rose also assured her it was a good thing. Away from Glen Laire, her headaches would likely ease. As soon as Rose discovered a means to break the curse, she would come to Kincreag. All would be well.
“Yesterday you began to tell me about Lord Kincreag’s late wife,” Gillian reminded her father.
Alan frowned, scratching the head of his newest pet, a silver-gray Skye terrier. Long, thick hair fell over its face, parting at the snout and hiding its eyes. Another gift from Uncle Roderick. Gillian thought it was very sweet. Uncle Roderick took a great deal on his shoulders, yet he always had time to fash on his poor pregnant wife and make sure Alan had a special pet. Like Broc, this dog seemed satisfied to lie on his master’s bed, panting contentedly. Not that Broc was content to lay around anymore—something odd had happened to the dog. Now that he belonged to Gillian, he was a ball of energy. Stephen currently had him in the courtyard letting him run before putting him in the kennels so he didn’t ruin the ceremony.
“What was I saying about her?” Alan asked. He wasa bit wan today, which made Gillian’s heart heavy after the burst of health he’d experienced the day before. She supposed all the searching for a counter-curse with Rose had overtired him.
“You were telling me that the earl onlyseemsunpleasant, and then you brought up the late countess, as if she had something to do with it.”
“Ah. I remember.” He patted Gillian’s gloved hands. “I’ve been meaning to tell you this, and I’d better now, since it’s certain he will not. The king arranged Kincreag’s first marriage. Catriona Campbell was a very rich widow. She’d been married young to an old man, and he’d died a few years later. He’d had one son and a daughter—not from her, mind you—and they both died shortly before he did. So it all went to Catriona. The king did not like such power in the hands of a woman and so married her off to Nicholas, one of his favorites. Nicholas was very pleased with the match. Catriona was a great beauty in addition to being a financial windfall.”
Seeing the sour look on Gillian’s face, Alan laughed, giving her hand a weak squeeze. “She was not nearly so bonny as you, my love, dinna fash. Besides, there is a big difference between the two of you that Nicholas will no doubt cherish.”
“What’s that?” Gillian asked doubtfully.
“Let me finish. Though Kincreag is a very good friend, he does not speak of his marriage to Catriona. Here is what I know. She was unfaithful to him, but he did not set her aside, because they had a son. When both wife and son died within days of each other, much suspicion was aroused.”
Already Gillian didn’t like this story. It made her belly clench uneasily.
Alan smoothed his hand over the dog’s silky fur. “Then there was the matter of several of her lovers dying mysteriously. And a few of her servants. Afore you know it, the rumors were thriving and the king himself was investigating. Nasty business.”
Gillian’s brows drew together and up with concern. “But it does sound awfully suspicious, don’t you think? What with him being so jealous, everyone associated with her dying, and finally she dies in a convenient accident.”
Alan’s expression grew implacable. “Listen to me, Gilly. I don’t believe Nicholas killed his wife. He told me he didn’t, and I trust him. But if hehadmurdered her, he would have been justified. She was unfaithful. And evil. There was something . . . wrong with her. Something missing in her eyes, from her heart.”
When Gillian said nothing, only stared at her father wide-eyed, he said, “But he didn’t, understand? Just before their son died he’d begun searching for a legal means to rid himself of her. Why murder her and cast suspicion on himself? He’s smarter than that. Besides all that, the king found him innocent.”
“But if hehadkilled her, you believe he would have been justified?” Gillian asked, stunned and uneasy at her father’s sentiments.
Alan nodded. “Aye. She tried to poison him once that I know of.”
Gillian gaped.
“I drank wine meant for him, wine that she’d servedhim. Thank God I didn’t drink all of it—it nearly killed me.”
Gillian covered her mouth, sickened with disbelief. She dropped her hands and said, “How could he keep her after that?”
“She had a way about her . . . a way many men could not resist. Nicholas was quite immune to her by the end, but early on, well . . .” He shrugged. “She was very convincing. She told him it was a remedy to help him sleep. She carried on and on about her concern for him, because he paced the floors at night. It’s no wonder, his son was so ill, he rarely left the bairn’s side. Anyway, she claimed she’d gone to the local healer for a physick. The healer confirmed this but swore she gave the countess exactly what she asked for. In the end Nicholas ruled it a mistake.”
“But it wasn’t?”
Alan shook his head. “Nay, I’m sure of it. There’s more he has never told me, but she was a wicked woman, mark me.” Alan studied Gillian’s horrified expression carefully. “Isobel’s recent actions, bless her, haven’t helped. I think he’s quite convinced that all women are full of wickedness. But once he sees your loyal heart, Gillian, he will not remain so. He is a good friend to me—a very good friend. And I believe he will be a very good husband.”
Gillian fell silent, digesting her father’s story. Even if Nicholas had murdered his wife, she’d deserved it, according to her father. The things he’d said to her last night began to make more sense. Her heart ached dully for the earl, guarding himself diligently against beingdeceived again. Gillian would never do such a thing. Even if she found marriage to him misery, she would never break her wedding vows and would certainly never try to kill him. Her father was right— she’d always been intensely loyal to those who deserved it. And as her husband, Nicholas did better than deserve it; she owed it to him.
