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"Just over three weeks," Tormod corrected.
"But our sister said her last letter from Edith was a month ago now and she mentioned feeling poorly then," Niels said slowly.
"Oh, aye." Tormod waved that away. "A week before this new ailment, Lady Edith had a bit o' a tummy complaint. She was over it though by the time this new illness struck three weeks ago."
"Ah." Niels nodded. "And her brothers died in a matter o' days from it, but she is still alive but ailing?"
"Aye. She's a fighter, she is. Would ha'e made a fine clan leader. Better than that useless brother o' hers. Howbeit Brodie's well and fine and somewhere safely away while she grows weaker every day." He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as they reached the stairs to the second level. Leading the way up, he added, "I'm amazed she's lasted as long as she has, but she can no' last much longer."
"What are the symptoms?" Rory asked.
"With the father and brothers it was headache, dizziness, trouble breathing and hallucinations. From what I hear 'tis mostly the same with Lady Edith, except she's nauseous on top o' it, can no' keep anything down and weakening more every day."
They'd reached the top of the stairs and fell silent as they followed Tormod to the second door along the hall. Pausing there, the man turned to survey them, before settling his gaze on Rory. "Ye're the healer?"
"Aye," Rory said, standing proud.
Tormod nodded. "Ye can go in then. Ye other three can wait out here."
Niels merely nodded. He had no wish to go into a sickroom anyway. Hell, in truth, he'd rather be waiting down at the trestle table, preferably with some ale or mead. However, he hadn't been given that option so would wait in the hall to hear what Rory had to say on the subject of Lady Edith's health.
When Tormod opened the door, swinging it silently inward, Niels glanced inside with mild curiosity, his gaze sliding quickly over the room. A figure lay in the bed at one end, while at the other side of the room, a gray-haired woman, thin and bent with age, was pouring liquid from a footed vial into a large metal cup of what appeared to be mead. As he watched, she capped the vial, set it on the table and then turned to carry the concoction she'd made to the woman in the bed.
"Come now, time for your medicine," the woman crooned with an English accent. Pausing beside the bed, she sat on the edge of it.
Niels's eyes shifted to the woman in the bed then. She hadn't reacted at all to the woman's words. She lay still and silent, her face frighteningly pale. Her skin was as white as icy snow in the winter. In comparison, her hair was made up of red and gold strands, resembling fire around her face, he noted with interest, and then his view was briefly obscured as Rory moved into the room.
"What are ye giving her?" Rory asked approaching the bed. The old maid gave a start and peered around with surprise.
"Oh my, you startled me," the woman said, pressing a hand to her chest and shaking her head. She then frowned slightly and glanced from Rory to Tormod, who still stood in the hall with Niels and the others. Her gaze slid over them all with confusion and she asked Tormod, "Who are these men? Why would you let them into the lady's room, her being so sick?"
"These men are Buchanans," Tormod announced and then nodded to Rory even as he plucked the drink from the old woman's hand and raised it so he could give the contents a sniff. "He's a healer. Thinks he can help Lady Edith."
"Well, and thank heavens for that then," the woman said on a sigh and stood up. "Mayhap I can get a bit of rest. I'm not feelin' so well meself after tending Lady Edith night and day and--" Her words and footsteps ended abruptly and her eyes widened, her mouth forming an alarmed O as she wavered where she stood. Her hands started to rise up and to the sides as if seeking something to steady herself, and then she just collapsed.
Niels had started into the room the moment she first wavered. He caught the old woman as she fell and scooped her up into his arms. Noting the pallor of her face, he shifted his gaze to Tormod, eyebrows rising as he saw that the man had backed fearfully away from the door and now stood behind Alick and Geordie in the hall.
"Is there another room where we can put the maid?" Niels asked, watching as Rory began to examine the woman. His brother lifted her eyelids to see her eyes, and then opened her mouth for a brief look before lifting one hand and examining her nails. Niels watched silently, having no idea what his brother was looking for. It seemed to him like Rory was doing much the same thing Dougall did when examining a horse for soundness.
"Nay. This is the sickroom," Tormod said heavily. "She's got it now too and this is where she'll stay."
"Lay her down next to Lady Edith," Rory said grimly, releasing the woman's hand and letting it drop.
Nodding, Niels carried the woman to the bed and set her down next to Edith Drummond. His gaze slid to the younger woman as he straightened, and her fiery hair on the pillow caught his eyes. The woman might look like death warmed over, but her hair was something special, he thought, and then watched as Rory performed the same examination of Lady Edith as he had the maid just a moment ago.
"Do ye ken what illness it is?" Niels asked, his gaze shifting to her eyes as Rory lifted both lids at once. They were dilated, he noted, the black circles so large they nearly obliterated the bright green of her eyes, leaving just a thin border of the lovely color around the pupil. He had no idea what that meant.
Rory didn't respond at first, taking the time to check inside her mouth and then lift one delicate hand to peer at her fingernails. Finally, he set her hand back down and turned to pick up the drink the old maid had been about to feed her. Mouth tightening, he set the drink back and announced grimly, "'Tis poison, not illness."
"What?" Tormod started back into the room, but then hesitated at the door to ask, "Are ye sure? But Effie is sick too."
"Also poison," Rory assured him and walked over to the table to inspect the contents of the vial the woman had used. Shaking his head with a frown, he recapped the vial and set it back. "The maid must have had some of whatever the poison was in."
"Is it in the vial she added to the drink?" Niels asked.
"I'm no' sure," Rory admitted, returning to the bed. "There seem to be a lot o' herbs and such in it. Too many to be able to tell if that's the source or no'."
"But ye're sure 'tis poison?" Niels asked.
"Aye," Rory said firmly. "All the signs are there."
"Hmm." Niels peered at the pale woman again. "I guess 'tis good Saidh made us come then."
"Aye," Rory agreed solemnly.
"Will she survive?"
Niels glanced up with surprise to see that Tormod--now he knew he needn't fear catching anything--had entered the room and was standing beside him.
"Hopefully," Rory said with a sigh. "If she's strong enough to fight off the effects of what she's already taken and we keep her from getting any more."
"Ye do no' think the laird and his sons were poisoned too, do ye?" Tormod asked with a frown.
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"Ye said they had the same symptoms?" Rory asked.
"Aye. But they were no' spewing up the contents o' their stomachs like the lass has been doing. Mayhap they were just sick."
Rory shook his head. "Spewing is no' a symptom o' the poison. 'Tis more likely they were poisoned too and Lady Edith was still suffering some of the effects o' her tummy upset so that the poison did no' sit well and she could no' keep it down. That's most like what saved her life. She did no' keep enough o' the poison in her stomach to kill her. Just enough to make her weak and ill."
"Damn," Tormod breathed. "So someone set out to kill our laird and his heirs?"
"It would seem so," Rory muttered, eyeing the two women in the bed with concern.
"What do we do now?" Niels asked quietly.
Rory was silent for a minute, and then announced, "There is little I can do without kenning what the poison is."
"Surely there is something ye can give them," Tormod said. "A tonic that might help?"
Rory shook his head. "I daren't administer anything without kenning what they've been poisoned with. If I give them the wrong thing it could kill them. All we can do is try to get them both to take in liquids, watch over them, and then wait and see what happens."
Tormod headed for the door at once. "I'll have one o' the maids fetch up some broth and--"
"Nay," Rory interrupted at once. When the old man paused and looked back in surprise, he said, "I'll no' risk any more poison getting into their food or drink. I do no' think either would survive."
Niels's eyebrows rose. "Even the old woman? Surely she will be fine? After all, Lady Edith has been ailing for weeks and, unless I'm wrong," he added, shooting a questioning look at Tormod, "this is the first time the old maid has shown signs o' poisoning?"
"Ye're no' wrong," Tormod assured him. "This is the first time Effie's been the least ill since tending the lass."
"Aye, but Effie is old, and as far as I can tell, she does no' have the benefit o' throwing up the poison as Lady Edith does. If she got a large enough dose of it . . ." He peered at the old woman with a frown. "She could die as quickly as Laird Drummond did."
Niels peered at the woman solemnly. "That probably means she is no' the poisoner."
"Probably," Rory agreed.
Sighing, Niels turned to his brother. "Tell us what ye need to tend them, Rory, and we'll fetch it."
