Arthur wanted to listen to her—he truly did. But the pounding in his head was making it nearly impossible. At this rate, he was understanding maybe every other word, painting an incomplete picture of the tale of her life. But he was trying to piece it together.
“Why did they poison Cody?” Ayla asked.
That question caught his attention.
Someone poisoned the lad I met?
“To torture Michael,” Marissa explained, her eyes wide as she recalled the past. “They wanted him to suffer. Wanted him to nae be able to think, to drive him mad after they killed his wife.”
“And yer sister was able to heal him?” It was Amara who spoke this time.
Marissa nodded. “Aye. Freya, Abigail, and I all worked to nurse him back to health. It’s how Freya and Michael fell in love. And it was the first time I ever told Elspeth’s story.”
Arthur had no idea what that meant. Who was Elspeth? Was it another family member he didn’t know about? An event that had shaped her?
He wanted to know more, wanted to ask, but he felt another sharp throb in his head and closed his eyes again.
Everyone around him kept speaking, the noise of it all combining to create a groaning, droning mesh that he couldn’t make any sense of. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to drown out the noise and the light.
He had no idea how much time passed. All he knew was that he was squeezing his eyes shut, trying to drown out everything he could, and the next thing he knew, a featherlight touch brushed over his arm.
His eyes flew open, the bright light making the pain in his skull flare anew. Immediately, his gaze landed on Marissa.
Her brow was creased with worry, her eyes fixed solely on him. It was then that he noticed all conversation at the table had died down, and everyone’s attention was focused entirely on him.
“What?” he grunted, his grey eyes darting to each person seated around him.
It was Ayla who spoke.
“I asked if ye were hidin’ from the council,” she quipped, and Arthur wished that she would lower her voice. “I heard one of the maids talkin’ earlier—they said that they paid ye a visit.”
“The council was here?” Marissa asked, turning her head to glance between Arthur and his sister.
He nodded, the movement sending another wave of pain through his head.
“Aye,” he grunted and then winced. Even the act of speaking was painful. “But I chased them off. They’ll nae bother us today. I’ve had enough of dealin’ with the old men.”
Joseph chuckled, shaking his head at his brother. Ayla and Amara turned their attention back to each other. Marissa, however, stayed focused on him.
“Are ye all right?” she asked, cocking her head to the side as the other three began chatting.
Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but a groan escaped his lips instead when the pressure behind his eyes increased.
“He has a headache,” Joseph explained in a low voice.
Arthur was grateful for his brother, unsure if he’d have been able to give Marissa much of an explanation. Without knowing what else to do, he cupped his hands and rested his forehead in them, staring down at the table.
His plate lay below him, his food untouched. When his head hurt like this, even the thought of eating made him feel as if the contents of his stomach might spill on the floor.
“Does he get like this often?” Marissa asked, directing her question to Joseph.
“Nay,” he answered. “But when the headaches come, they hit him somethin’ awful.”
Arthur couldn’t raise his head to look at the expression on his bride-to-be’s face. He didn’t even want to move. The only thing that sounded even remotely good at the moment was retreating to his bedchambers, darkening the room as much as possible, and burrowing beneath his covers.
But he couldn’t do that. He’d promised Marissa a day at the lake, and he had a cèilidh to discuss.
“I may be able to help him.”
