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Niels wasn't really surprised. He'd heard the man say more than once that Edith would make a better clan leader, and as far as Niels was concerned, he was right. Still, a laird was supposed to be able to depend on his first to have his best interests at heart, and Tormod appeared more interested in Edith's well-being than his laird's.
"Anyway, I'd best go talk to Father Tavish," Tormod muttered, getting to his feet.
"Would ye tell Brodie that 'twas poison, no' illness and that the killer had no' yet been caught?" Niels asked before he could slip away.
"Aye," Tormod said on a sigh. "I'd ha'e to put that in the message I send. 'Tis me place. I'd also ha'e to tell him I hope he'll return and help find the culprit who killed his father, brothers and uncle." Tormod shrugged. "He'll probably no' return until we sort out this business, but I thought it could no' hurt to try."
Niels relaxed, relieved to hear that Tormod was upholding his position as first. He would have lost respect and trust in the man otherwise. Nodding, he said, "If nothing else, 'twill tell us where he's run off to."
"Aye," Tormod said dryly and headed for the doors to the bailey.
"I'm glad ye asked that," Geordie said quietly. "I was beginning to worry he was willing to sacrifice his own laird."
"He is," Niels said with amusement. "But no' without warning Brodie o' what he faces, and I suspect he'd protect him with his life as well. It does no' stop him from hoping something happens to free him from the man as laird though."
"I can no' blame him, really," Geordie admitted. "By all accounts, Brodie will drain this place dry and leave his people in misery."
"Aye," Niels murmured, his gaze sliding to Ronson. The boy had been listening attentively to every word said, he saw with a frown. The lad was a smart one, and Niels thought now that perhaps he should talk to Edith about taking the boy and his grandmother with them when they left for Buchanan. He didn't think Aulay would mind, and they'd take them on to their own home afterward when it was built.
"Well," Alick said now. "First Saidh, then Dougall, and now you." He shook his head. "At this rate we'll all be married and raising babies o' our own soon."
Geordie snorted at the suggestion. "The hell we will. I've a lot o' living to do ere I settle down and have some woman start whelping," he said with disgust, and then added, "And what poor, brain-addled woman is it that ye think would want ye fer a husband?"
Niels smiled faintly at the insult and then glanced to Rory when he tapped his arm.
"Does Edith ken the wedding will take place today?" his brother asked.
Niels shook his head. "We did no' talk about when we should marry."
"Well, then mayhap ye should go warn her so she can prepare herself," Rory suggested.
"Prepare herself fer what?" he asked with a frown. "All she has to do is repeat the lines the priest says."
"Aye," Rory agreed patiently. "But she'll want to look pretty fer the occasion."
"She is always pretty," he said with a scowl. Actually, she was always beautiful. At least to him. Shrugging, he said, "'Twill be fine."
"Fine," Rory said with exasperation, getting to his feet. "I will go warn her meself. I need to get this broth to Effie anyway. 'Tis probably ice-cold, but she is no' likely to notice or care in her current--Where are ye going?" he asked with surprise.
"To tell Edith we're marrying today," Niels growled, heading for the stairs and adding under his breath, "Damned if I'm letting ye do it."
"Mayhap I should take a bath," Edith said, peering at herself with a frown now that her gown was off. She was filthy from rolling around in the bailey, her hands and arms and the lower part of her legs were all covered in mud. If her face was as bad, a bath was definitely in order.
"I ordered one soon as I saw the state ye were in," Moibeal assured her, looking over the mud stains on the gown Edith had been wearing.
"Oh." Edith smiled at the girl. "What would I do without ye, Moibeal?"
"Walk around all muddy with yer hair in a mess I should think," Moibeal said affectionately.
"No doubt," Edith agreed with amusement, moving to the basin of water on the bedside table to wash away the worst of the mud on her hands.
"I heard Lord Buchanan say that ye were to marry him," Moibeal commented after a moment. "Is it true?"
Edith stopped and glanced around at the question, something in the maid's voice catching her attention. But there was nothing in the girl's expression to explain the queer feeling she suddenly got.
"Aye," she said finally and turned back to the water.
"When is it to happen? Before or after Brodie returns?"
Edith paused in her scrubbing and frowned as she admitted, "I do no' ken. We did no' really talk about that."
She felt sure they should have talked about that. They really needed to marry ere Brodie returned or he might not allow it, and as much as she'd want to tell her brother to go stuff himself, she wouldn't be able to. He was now her laird, his decisions as good as law . . . if he was there to make them, she added the thought grimly.
Nay, they definitely needed to marry before he returned, she decided and whirled to hurry toward the door. "I should go talk to him about that."
"M'lady!" Moibeal squawked. "Ye're no' dressed."
"Oh," Edith muttered with exasperation, and then returned reluctantly to the water basin. Talking to Niels would have to wait until she was clean, dressed and looking less a wreck. He might have second thoughts about marrying her in her present state.
"If ye marry soon," Moibeal said after a moment, "do ye think we'll leave fer Buchanan right away?"
Edith stopped scrubbing at her skin again, her brow furrowing. "I . . . no, I'm sure we . . . Ye do no' think he'd want to leave right away, do ye?"
"If he wants to keep ye safe, aye," Moibeal said firmly. "And ye should want to go too. Ye were nearly killed today, and that poisoning business . . ." Her hand slid to her throat and she grimaced. "I only got a small dose o' it, and was ill fer only a day or two and 'twas miserable. Ye were in agony and seeing things and throwing up fer weeks. 'Tis a wonder ye survived. The sooner we leave here the better."
Edith turned to peer at the younger woman. Voice gentle, she said, "I can no' just abandon Drummond and all o' its people, Moibeal. And I can no' leave Brodie to return all unknowing to a murderer. Besides, who is to say the murderer would no' follow us?"
"What?" the maid squawked, apparently not having considered that.
Edith shrugged and pointed out, "Well, if they are determined to kill me too, they'll probably no' just give it up because I move house. At least here, we ken to expect it and can guard against it. At Buchanan we may ne'er see it coming."
Moibeal's mouth tightened and then she muttered, "A fat lot o' good it did kenning about it today when ye were nearly shot with an arrow."
"Aye," she admitted on a sigh and turned back to the water. "But we did no' expect that. The other attacks were poison, which is a sneaky, cowardly way to kill."
"Cawley was stabbed," Moibeal pointed out.
Edith grimaced. "Aye, but I suspect the killer snuck up on Cawley too. Probably while he was distracted, eating."
"Cawley was always distracted, eating," Moibeal said sadly.
"Aye." Edith swallowed. She really had been fond of the old man. Everyone had been really. At least she thought they had. Most of the people at Drummond had been kind to him, forever finding excuses to send him off to the kitchens, his favorite place. Jaimie hadn't seemed to mind his being there else they would have sent him elsewhere. A good cook was hard to find in Scotland, and Jaimie was one of the best. They wouldn't have risked losing him, but he'd always seemed fond of Cawley, smiling at his chatter as he worked.
"Anyway," Edith said now. "We've learned a lot about the killer already."
"Oh, aye," Moibeal agreed dryly, "To watch out fer poison, stabbing and flying arrows."
"That they are skilled at all three," Edith corrected solemnly.
Moibeal was silent for a
minute and then asked, "And how does that help?"
"I should like to ken yer thoughts on that, meself."
Edith whirled to see Niels standing in the open door and instinctively squealed and tried to cover herself. Only realizing after she'd done it that it was a perfectly stupid thing to do. She was wearing her chemise, and he'd already seen every part of her without it. Good Lord, she'd stood bare inches from him, with naught but her gown twisted around her waist while he--
"Lord Buchanan!" Moibeal said with exasperation, hurrying to wrap Edith's gown around her shoulders. Moibeal, of course, did not think her modesty stupid, since she had no idea what they'd been up to. Scowling, the maid moved in front of Edith once she'd grasped the edges of the gown and snapped, "Ye can no' jest enter a lady's bedchamber without knocking."
"Even if she's to be me wife?" he asked, closing the door and then crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against it.
"Ye're no' married yet, m'lord," Moibeal pointed out with some asperity.
"So, 'twill be all right in a couple o' hours, but no' now?" he asked with amusement.
"Exactly," Moibeal said, and then blinked and asked, "A couple o' hours?"
"A couple o' hours?" Edith echoed, stepping around Moibeal to better see him.
"Aye." He gave her a slow smile, his eyes sliding over her body. "Tormod's gone to talk to the priest. He said we'll be married by sup."
