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"Ye think she killed him," Greer said and it wasn't a question.
Bowie hesitated, but then said, "She was verra angry. In truth I ha'e ne'er seen her like that. She was near crazed with fury. She could ha'e . . ." He didn't finish the accusation, but fell silent.
"Why did ye no' tell me yer suspicions when I arrived?" Greer asked sharply.
Bowie looked away unhappily. "I was no' sure she had killed him. I still am no' sure. How could she ha'e done it? I mean, Allen had called fer a bath ere I got there and the tub was still there full o' water. She could ha'e drowned him in that, but then how did she get him to the loch?" he asked helplessly.
When Greer merely shook his head, Bowie added, "And if she did no' drown him in the tub, but followed him to the loch the next morn and killed him ere he was discovered, how did she manage it? Allen was big and strong. There were no signs o' injury to the body." He shrugged helplessly. "So while I suspected it, I could no' see how she could ha'e done it." Bowie paused and then added bitterly, "And I could no' e'en tell anyone why I suspected her without revealing our relationship."
"Which might ha'e seen ye burned at the stake, or mutilated and hanged as a sodomite," Saidh said quietly.
Bowie nodded miserably. "Which I suppose will happen anyway now that I've confessed all to ye."
Much to Saidh's relief, Greer shook his head.
"Nay, Bowie," he said firmly. "Who ye love is yer business. I'll no' go running to the priest or anyone else with tales."
Bowie looked relieved, but then peered uncertainly at Saidh.
"Oh hell, I'll no' tell," she assured him.
Bowie smiled crookedly. "Thank ye, m'laird, m'lady." He hesitated and then straightened his shoulders and said, "I'll pack me things and be gone by morn . . . unless ye still think I had something to do with Allen and Fenella's death?" he tacked on uncertainly.
"Be gone where?" Greer asked with surprise, rather than answer the question. Although, Saidh supposed his question did that. Greer no longer considered Bowie a suspect. Neither did she.
Bowie shrugged. "I'll find somewhere. But I'll leave yer land and ye'll no' ha'e to look on me again."
"The hell ye will," Greer said sharply. "Ye're me first, and yer damned good at the job. And ye swore yer fealty to me, Bowie. I expect ye to keep to yer oath and continue to serve me as ye ha'e."
Bowie closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were a touch glassy, as if he was fighting tears. Clearing his throat, he nodded. "Thank ye, m'laird."
"There's nothing to thank me fer," Greer assured him. " 'Tis no' as if I'm offering ye light duty with lots o' rest. I'm a hard taskmaster, as ye well ken."
A struggle took place on Bowie's face, and then he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he said, "Er . . . actually, m'laird, while ye expect hard work and obedience, yer a fair maun. So far I've found ye a rather grand laird."
"Oh." Greer looked uncomfortable and then said, "Well, that's because yer a good worker. I've no' had to punish or rail at ye fer laying down on the job."
"I imagine that's so, m'laird," Bowie agreed solemnly.
Greer nodded. "Go oversee the men in the practice field. I would talk with me wife."
"Aye, m'laird. Thank ye, m'laird," Bowie bobbed his head and turned to leave them.
Chapter 18
"I am quite sure he did no' kill Fenella," Saidh said the moment the bedchamber door closed behind Bowie.
"I was about to say the verra same thing," Greer admitted on a weary sigh, and then pointed out, "But that leaves us with Aunt Tilda."
Saidh grimaced at the suggestion. While Bowie had revealed a whole different side to the woman, it was still difficult to believe Aunt Tilda might want to see her dead. Saidh liked the woman. She also thought Aunt Tilda liked her. And, as far as she knew, she'd never done anything that might anger her.
"I find it hard to believe Aunt Tilda would try to kill ye," Greer said suddenly, apparently thinking along the same lines. "She seems quite fond o' ye."
"Aye," Saidh said with relief.
"But I also do no' think Bowie would wish to harm ye, and we ken it was no' Fenella," he added. "And now I am wondering about Allen's death. If she was really so angry that night . . ."
"Just because she was angry, does no' mean she killed Allen. He was her son," she pointed out.
"So, Allen drowned by accident and Fenella was ne'er at risk, but was accidentally killed in yer place," he decided unhappily.
"Perhaps not," Saidh protested, rankling at the idea of someone wanting to kill her. She pointed out, "Fenella could be difficult. Mayhap she made an enemy or two while here and her death has nothing to do with me misadventures."
"So ye think that whoever stabbed her knew it was Fenella and did no' accidentally kill her while attempting to kill you?" he asked dubiously.
Saidh scowled up at him. "Well, ye needn't make it sound so unlikely. 'Tis no' as if I'm such a tyrant fer lady that all and sundry would want me dead."
Greer chuckled at her expression and scooped her up out of the chair and into his arms. He then settled in the chair with her in his lap and kissed her forehead. "That is no' what I mean at all. But Saidh, ye've nearly been crushed by a great huge bit o' the castle fallin' on ye, and took an arrow to the chest. Someone is trying to kill ye. Do ye really think 'tis likely that at the same time someone else jest up and decided to kill Fenella?"
Saidh lowered her head, frustration slipping through her, and then admitted, "I do no' ken. But I came here thinking that Fenella might ha'e been killing her husbands and I was wrong. I do no' want to start doing the same thing to Aunt Tilda."
He pulled back to eye her with surprise. "Ye came here because ye thought Fenella might be killing her husbands?"
"Aye," she admitted, guilt slithering through her. She'd never told him of her part in the death of her cousin's first husband. She probably should have before agreeing to marry him. He might not take kindly to having a wife who was once a party to covering up a murder.
Greer narrowed his gaze on her expression. "Why did ye think Fenella may ha'e killed her husbands?"
Saidh didn't really want to tell him, but felt she had to, and after the briefest hesitation, admitted, "Because I kenned that she killed Hammish."
"What?" he breathed in shock.
Saidh grimaced and then quickly told him the whole story of Fenella's first marriage, the wedding, the wedding night and the following day. She admitted everything, even her aiding Fenella in covering up the murder of her husband and then her worry on hearing of her cousin's other short-lived marriages.
When she was done, Saidh eyed Greer anxiously, unsure how he would take what he'd learned. In truth, she feared he would push her away with disgust for helping to cover up Hammish's death.
"So Fenella stabbed Hammish rather than suffer his abuse," Greer said finally.
"Aye," Saidh breathed unhappily.
He was silent for another moment and then pointed out, "The king had the deaths of the MacIvers investigated and it was decided there was no foul play."
"Aye," she acknowledged.
"Do ye think she killed them?" he asked.
Saidh hesitated. "At first, I feared she had, and then, after talking to Fenella, I changed me mind. But . . ."
"But?" he prompted when she stopped and frowned over the matter.
"In truth, I do no' ken," she admitted, and then added with frustration, "E'ery time I talked to Fenella I came away sure she had no' harmed any but Hammish. But the bit about the feather bothers me still. It seems to suggest she may ha'e killed the senior MacIver as well. But Fenella swore to me that she had nothing to do with the deaths of her other husbands, and . . ." She paused and threw her hands up with exasperation. "Does it e'en matter anymore? She is dead. If she was killing her husbands, she can do that no more, and if she did no' kill any but Hammish, then . . . well, she has more than paid fer it in this life."
"Aye," Greer agreed solemnly. "But what feat
her were ye talking about?"
"Oh," Saidh waved one hand impatiently. "Aunt Tilda was at MacIver for the wedding to the senior MacIver. She was among the women who helped prepare him fer burial when he was found dead the next morn. As she was cleaning him, she found a feather in his mouth and said as how his eyes were bloodshot. She thinks that may be a sign that he was smothered since her bairns had bloodshot eyes too."
"What?" Greer asked with amazement. "What bairns?"
Saidh frowned at his expression, but then realized he probably had little knowledge of his Aunt's life ere coming to take up the mantle of laird. He probably didn't know about the babies she'd lost.
"Aunt Tilda had three children ere Allen," she explained. "All were smothered in their beds by their wet nurse ere they were out o' swaddling. Aunt Tilda caught the wet nurse killing the last child, and I suppose the woman was probably hung or something," Saidh added with a frown. She hadn't thought to ask what had happened to the wet nurse and Aunt Tilda hadn't mentioned it. Shrugging that concern away, she added, "But Aunt Tilda said she had noticed how the eyes of each babe were bloodshot after they'd been smothered. She suspected it must be something that happens when a body is smothered and since she'd found that feather and Laird MacIver's eyes also were bloodshot, she thought perhaps he had been smothered too." She paused and then added, "Although she also said he was old so his eyes were often bloodshot and rheumy, so Fenella may no' ha'e killed him. And the feather could ha'e got in his mouth some other way. Although I do no' ken--"
