Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

Grant stroked his hand down the soft, bare skin of Emma’s arms, savoring the moment. Even though his length was rock hard and he itched to lay her down and taste her, he did not mind this.

No, for once he did not want to rush things and did not care what came next.

“How are ye?” he murmured into her hair. “Do you want a snack?”

Reaching over, he plucked out a fig and held it to her, and she nibbled on it.

He’d noticed that she had not eaten much during their supper. He also had not eaten much, and he rummaged around until he found the mushrooms, craving a bit of saltiness. Popping a few in his mouth, he relished the strong flavor and went to offer her one.

But she was sitting up and adjusting her dress.

“What—what are ye doin’?” he asked and then coughed, his voice a bit rougher than usual. He tossed the rest of the mushrooms aside.

“I’m cold,” Emma said with a laugh and gave him a wicked look. He groaned as she covered her beautiful breasts. “And night is coming on.”

“I shall warm ye, Sassenach ,” he murmured and cradled her face.

She shook her head and jabbed a finger at him. “I can feel you shivering, too, Grant.”

He did not hear what she said at first, too busy savoring the sound of his name on her lips. But then he noted that there was a tremor in his hands.

Lust, he mused.

It had been too long, and he had wanted Emma far too much. She was adjusting her smallclothes, it seemed, and he wanted to stay her hands, but she was standing up.

He blinked at her, wondering why each passing moment felt as though it would be the last. Perhaps he needed to eat more after all that pleasure and play. Or take a dip.

As he stood up, he stumbled, and Emma was there.

“Are you alright?”

“Seems ye took a lot out of me, lass,” he jested, and she shook her head at him, even though she flushed so prettily. “Let’s pack.”

It seemed to take too long and no time before everything was repacked and they’d started back home. Grant’s blood hummed as he replayed every moment and moan from Emma. He was so distracted that he didn’t pay attention to his steps. That, and the lass had tucked herself against him, idly talking about the stars and how she’d taught herself the constellations in secret.

“What?” Grant cleared his throat and shook his head.

There was a throbbing in his head, and his chest felt odd. Heavy. He looked ahead. They weren’t far from the castle—he could see the light spilling out of the windows.

Suddenly, he staggered and fell on one knee, his hand pressing against his chest.

Something is wrong.

“Grant, what’s wrong?” Emma said in a panic, and she struggled to pull him to his feet. “Your breathing is labored. You’re pale…”

Grant’s stomach lurched.

Poison.

He tried to get the word out, but he started to shake so hard, and he felt trapped in his mind. How had he not sensed it before?

“Help!” Emma screamed as he swayed and struggled to take a step forward. She had her arm around his back and tried to pull him forward. “Keep walking, Grant. We’ll get you to Kyla. You—” Her wide eyes met his. “You were poisoned, weren’t you?”

He nodded and fell on his knees again, pulling her down with him. She screamed for help again, and a voice rang out in answer.

McWirthe.

Grant tried to move, but his entire body rebelled, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Hoofbeats pounded toward them, and then McWirthe was there, gently pushing aside a sobbing Emma and hauling Grant up along with another soldier. They lifted Grant onto the horse, and they took off toward Banrose Castle.

The last thing Grant remembered was the blur of the castle windows tumbling into the darkness of the loch, along with him.

And the soft, silken laugh of Emma in his ear, as she pulled him close—then vanished. How? He tried to move, tried to reach for her, but she was gone. He was gone.

Nae, wait I need more time. Please. Give me more time with her.

Emma had never known how time could fragment and stretch, minutes expanding into hours, and hours rushing by in seconds. She felt disconnected from everything, her hands shaking and cold. Images raced through her mind, from the moments they shared at the loch, to the strange lethargy Grant felt, to the strong man falling to his knees.

She could not stop pacing, hugging her arms around herself, and she worried her lip with her teeth—an old habit that she’d been forced to break during her lessons in decorum. But she could not stop herself now.

Kyla had gone in ages ago, it seemed, sweeping by with a stern look on her face and a distracted nod for Emma. Other healers had followed, including a tiny old woman leaning on a cane and clutching a tome under her arm.

How much longer?

Emma moved closer to the healing chambers, listening hard. But the folk inside were speaking Gaelic. And while she did not understand the words, she sensed the tension.

Footsteps came pounding down the hall, and Emma turned around, pausing as she watched Reuben stalk toward her. Behind him was a row of armed men, their faces set into grimaces, their eyes lifeless.

“Ye ken what me faither taught me as a lad?” Reuben asked, a cold sneer on his face. Emma started as she realized he’d directed the question at her. “Never turn yer back on an Englishman.” He leaned closer as she shook her head, utterly at a loss. “I suppose that goes for Englishwomen, too.”

With that, he turned and waved his hand, saying something in Gaelic.

Emma did not understand until the men stepped forward, grabbed her by the arms, and began to drag her away from the door.

“No, I want to say. I need to stay,” she protested. “I do not want to go back to my rooms.”

Reuben glanced back at her with a smirk as the men shoved her arms behind her back and cold metal clicked around them. “Dinnae fash, me Lady. Ye arenae returnin’ to yer rooms.”

“No!” Emma cried and tried to wrench herself free. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I’d like to ken the same,” a steely voice spoke. Kyla had emerged from the healing chambers, her eyes flashing. “What is all this commotion about? What—” Her eyes went wide as she looked at Emma, then at Reuben, and then she spoke in Gaelic.

Reuben all but snarled at the healer, who took a step back, a hand at her heart. Her eyes flickered to Emma. In that glance was a warning, and Emma had the sense that Kyla was urging her to play along.

Dinnae fight—ye will only make it worse.

Emma shook her head. “I don’t care about that,” she said fiercely. “I only wish to know if the Laird?—”

Reuben barked out a command in Gaelic, and a guard clapped a hand over her mouth. Tears pricked her eyes as they marched her down the halls and then to a barred door with a guard standing in front of it. He leaped aside as they approached, and Reuben yanked open the door to reveal a flight of stairs leading into darkness.

“Down to the dungeons ye go, Lady Emma.”

A squeak escaped Emma’s lips as she was half-carried, half-led down the stairs. Damp and cold snaked along her skin as they stepped into a dim, horrible, cramped hallway echoing with silence.

There was a rank scent here, mixed with brine, and her stomach heaved. She had been too nervous to eat much at the picnic, and now her stomach ached with hunger.

Reuben strode along without pause until they came to the very end of the hall, and the guards stirred.

Beyond lay a cold, stone room, with a hole in the wall, high, high up, barely letting in the moonlight.

“Sir, are ye sure?” one of the guards asked.

“We could just keep her confined to her rooms—” added another.

“This is more than she deserves,” Reuben grunted as he unlocked the door. Reaching out, he yanked Emma’s arm and pushed her inside. She fell hard onto the stone and scrambled up on her knees as he closed the barred door. “She poisoned our Laird.”

Emma pushed herself to her feet and rushed to the bars. “Is he…?” Her entire body began to shake. “Is he all right? Please tell me that, at least.”

“Dinnae play the innocent, lass,” Reuben sneered. “Ye ken that he is barely clingin’ to life after ye fed him toadstools.”

“No!” Emma cried and grabbed the bars. “I would never. He is?—”

“Ye are the only one who was with him. The only one around whom me braither seems to let his guard down. And here ye stand, breathin’ just fine, while he hovers on the edge of death.” Reuben’s eyes gleamed with a cold fire. “I never trusted ye.”

“That’s not… No, I simply do not care much for mushrooms, and I was too nervous to eat. I would never—he saved my life.”

“And how convenient that was. I read yer letter, Emma,” Reuben spat, and she reeled back. “I ken what ye did, and how ye never wanted to marry a Scottish laird. Ye ran away. Ye gave up yer twin to the Beast of Briorn.”

The guards stirred at that and glanced at each other, then back at Emma, as though seeing her for the first time.

“I did not know Agnes existed,” she sobbed. “I never meant for any of this to happen. And I-I was wrong about Scotland.”

“Wicked creature, when will yer lies stop?” Reuben shook his head. “Ye meant to poison our Laird and slip out among the chaos, ensurin’ neither ye nor Lady Helena Lovell will have to marry a Scot. Well…” He bowed. “I do hope ye enjoyed our hospitality, for now ye shall see how truly terrible and savage we can be, Outlander wench. ”

He hurled those two words at her with such venom that she stepped back, suspecting that he’d wanted to call her something far stronger than a wench. Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head, even though she knew it was futile. Worse yet, she could see how Reuben came to such a conclusion, especially if he’d read her letters.

“And to think I posted a murderess’s letters.”

Relief swept through her, then terror as she realized Helena was the only one who would know where she was. She’d decided to tell her mother that she was with her aunt, thinking that was safer. And Helena wouldn’t come anywhere near Banrose.

“You’re mistaken,” Emma said through her tears. “I-I have no stomach for violence. I faint at the sight of blood—ask Kyla. She will tell you that I am not able to kill someone. Moreso, I am a respectable lady.”

“The healers have been’ gossipin’ all day about yer canny knowledge of plants, Lady Emma,” one of the guards suddenly said. “I’m afraid?—”

“Exactly,” Reuben cut in. “And ye only implicate yerself more, for ye didnae stab me braither in the heart, did ye? Ye chose a cleaner method to murder him.”

“No,” Emma whispered as he turned around and started to walk away.

The two guards hesitated, looking at her and then at each other.

“Come,” Reuben ordered in such a harsh tone that their faces went blank, and they turned around, walking away.

“Grant would never speak to you like that,” Emma whispered, and one of them glanced back, surprise in his eyes. “And Reuben, you know you are wrong. You simply hate the English. You want me to be a murderer…”

She fell to the ground as realization dawned on her. Her head spun. No, he’d said Grant hovered on the edge of life and death, didn’t he?

“Is Grant dead?” she cried and reached for the bars again. “Please, tell me.”

Reuben’s harsh, bitter laugh echoed back to her. “Dinnae call him that ever again, wench.” He paused, and she heard a footstep on the stairs, causing her heart to lurch with panic.

He truly meant to leave her down here. Yet, that panic was nothing compared to the pain in her heart.

“And what d’ye think? Even a man as strong as Laird Ronson cannae escape the deadliest of plants.”

A sob escaped Emma’s throat, and she shuddered all over.

“Enjoy yer stay,” Reuben called as a door somewhere slammed shut.

And Emma was left alone, in the dark bowels of the castle, weeping for its Laird.