Now, as then, fear kept her rooted in place.
Chapter Thirteen
Something was wrongwith Marcus’s livestock.
He might not have noticed it were it not for Winifred’s blood restoring his heightened senses. His concoctions had always tasted awful, but the most recent mixture had a mildly spicy and sour flavor that could only have come from the blood itself. He lifted a vial to the flame of a candle on his workbench and tilted it back and forth so the thick liquid inside formed a film on the sides of the glass. Before Lucina’s warning, he might have dismissed the change as inconsequential, but now he had to consider the possibility that the hunters were running a much subtler campaign than he’d expected.
What better way to weaken an adversary than to poison their food supply?
He was still considering that problem when his valet, Smith, arrived with his evening flask on a silver tray. The lean, wiry man wore his black hair neatly parted and slicked back with lemon-scented pomade, revealing a high forehead. He was in his early forties but had the weathered look of a man who had spent much of his life laboring beneath the sun.
He was also the only member of his staff other than Mrs. Gillanders and her husband, the butler, whom Marcus trusted with the secret of his nature.
Marcus waved the flask away. “The animals have been compromised. Do not draw from them further.”
Smith cleared his throat. “Shall I procure additional beasts from the village?”
Marcus shook his head. “If this is a hunter tactic, I do not wish to alert them.”
He’d already had his groundskeeper check their wells and feed storage for any visible contaminants, but it was likely too late to discover the source of the problem. Whatever had been done to his livestock might already be affecting him. That would explain the sudden worsening of his symptoms.
He cracked the window open and poured his latest concoction out, then rubbed his temples with his thumb and forefinger. Perhaps Jonathan had been right, and it was time to draw the hunters out of hiding so they could begin a direct assault. Knowing they were nearby, possibly observing him within the walls of his own home, was not helping his already rattled nerves.
“There is another option,” Smith said. “I would gladly bleed for you.”
Marcus clenched his eyes shut. “No.”
Drinking human blood might solve his immediate problem, but he had been down that road before, and he didn’t like the creature that waited for him at the end. Too many innocents had died by his hand. He would not risk further death until he had ruled out every other possibility.
“Marcus?”
He spun around so quickly that he became dizzy and had to throw out his arms for balance. Winifred stood in the doorway behind Smith, looking as pale as a sheet. She glanced between the two men with her brow furrowed. “I-I did not intend to interrupt.”
“You didn’t,” Marcus said quickly. “Please, come in.”
Winifred stepped hesitantly through the threshold as Smith exited. Marcus did not miss the unusually penetrating look she gave the man. It was behavior he’d have expected between his quarreling brothers, not his wife and valet. But that was a concern for another day, as he had more than enough to deal with for the moment.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. Now that she’d come to him, he would attempt to rebuild the trust he’d damaged in the library.
“I owe you an apology. I should not have spoken to you so harshly earlier.”
She was much more than a mere assistant. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he’d bedded dozens of men and women, but none had drawn out his protective instincts the way she did. He had practically strangled his own brother because Jonathan had suggested touching her. If the hunters had implanted her in his life as a spy or saboteur, they had chosen exceptionally well.
She stared at the wall. “Our guests have departed early.”
“They have?” He hadn’t expected them to leave for several days. “Why?”
Her jaw trembled. “Because I married you. My uncle said there is a feud between our families, and I chose my side.”
It didn’t make sense. He’d never even met any of her relatives before they’d arrived, as far as he knew. Perhaps Cordon had been right and the Belltree family was responsible for the murders in Glasgow and the defacement of the tavern in the village.
She wiped her damp cheeks. “My uncle won’t even let me write to Felicity.” Her voice broke on a sob. “I wish I’d stayed in Toronto.”
His heart clenched. She would have had to have been a talented actress to fake such misery. Winifred’s family was not above suspicion, but he could no longer believe she was plotting against him. Which meant she deserved even more of an apology than he’d delivered. He cupped her elbow. “Tell me how to make this right.”
She rubbed her tears away. “Were you serious when you said you can’t leave the castle?”
He sighed but could not regret telling her, given how many other lies he’d told. She deserved better than a husband who kept somany secrets. “Yes.”
