"Aye. All five of you drank from your goblet. You had two sips, and then offered it to Murine. The girls said you thought she was on the verge of fainting," her aunt explained, not realizing that she was recalling now. "The other girls tried it because you both said it was bitter. They only had one drink. You had two. You all fainted after drinking it, but you stayed asleep longer while the other girls woke by the evening meal."
"We were poisoned?" Joan asked quietly.
"It would appear so," Annabel said and then frowned. "But I wonder if whatever was in the drink was meant to kill you or just make you ill. None of you took very ill in the end, so I began to think perhaps it was just meant to make you sleep for a while, but . . ."
"But?" Joan asked when she paused.
"But now Lady Finola is dead," Annabel said on a sigh.
"I thought her death was an accident. Jinny said it was," Joan said solemnly, peering at her hands where they lay in her lap.
"Most people seem to think that," Annabel agreed.
"But you don't?"
"I think 'tis odd that Lady Finola would be up and about and wandering around the castle fully dressed after everyone else had retired."
Joan lowered her head. She knew exactly what the woman had been doing up at that hour . . . kissing, and who knew what else, with her husband. She didn't say as much however.
"Also," her aunt continued, "I went to look about in her room after we found her and there was only one candle in a holder in her room. Yet our room has two candles, a holder on either side of the bed, so I asked Lady Sinclair and she said that there should be two of them in Finola's room as well. There is not, and there was no candle holder found near her or on the stairs."
Joan raised her head slowly. She distinctly recalled Finola carrying a candle as she'd approached Cam in the hall. "What about at the top of the stairs?"
"Nay."
Joan bit her lip. "You think someone is attacking the women?"
"Nay." The brush paused in her hair and then her aunt admitted apologetically, "I fear someone is attempting to hurt you."
"What?" Joan squawked and whirled around on the chair to peer at her. "But five of us were made ill from the cider, and Lady Finola is the one who--"
"Five of you were made ill from drinking your cider," Annabel pointed out grimly. "And Lady Finola was wearing your gown."
Joan stared at her blankly, her mind beginning to whirl with thoughts now. The fact that the girls had all got ill from drinking her cider suggested someone had planned it for her, and Finola had been wearing her gown, she'd seen that for herself. And Cam had no doubt seen that as well, but if someone else had pushed her down the stairs . . . well, when she'd first seen Finola she'd been holding the candle low and out before her, leaving her face in darkness. Someone could have mistaken Finola for her because she was wearing the red and gold gown.
But Finola had been with Cam when she'd last seen her, she thought again. And she'd had the candle, but the candle was now missing and so was--
"I need to find my husband," she said suddenly and got to her feet.
"But I have not finished with your hair," her aunt protested.
Joan swung back, but grimaced and asked, "Do ladies always have to have their hair piled up on top of their head like a bird's nest? It gives me a headache."
"Oh, I am sorry. You should have said something. Perhaps we are setting it too tightly. Or it might just be that you are not used to wearing it up." She grimaced and admitted, "But ladies always wear their hair up, Joan, especially once they are married."
Joan hesitated, but then sat back down in the chair with a little sigh of resignation. If married ladies wore their hair up, she supposed she'd have to as well. She was supposed to be a lady now.
"I will try to make it looser today," Annabel assured her. "Then we will see how it goes."
"SON? SON."
Cam came awake with a start when someone shook his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he peered blankly at the man standing over him. "Da?"
"Aye. What the de'il are ye doing sleeping in the storage room?"
Cam began to struggle to his feet. "Joan."
"She's fine. She's awake."
Cam glanced past his father to the half dozen servants peering into the room and recognized his wife's maid, Jinny, as she finished: "Lady Annabel is fixing her hair fer her right now."
"Thank ye, Jinny," he said wearily. He'd pounded at the door and shouted for what had seemed like hours, giving up only when he began to lose his voice. Then he'd sat down to wait, intending to try again to rouse someone's attention once his throat recovered. Instead, he'd drifted off to sleep leaning against the shelves.
"What the de'il were ye doing sleeping in here?" his father asked, repeating his earlier question.
Cam grimaced and stretched to remove the kinks from his back. "I came down to get fresh candles and someone closed the door behind me. I shouted and pounded, but everyone was sleeping."
"When was that?" his father asked sharply.
Cam shrugged. "Late. The fire in the great hall was nearly out."
"Ye did no' happen to stumble o'er Lady MacFarland's body at the bottom o' the stairs, did ye?"
"What?" Cam asked with bewilderment.
"Ne'er mind. Lady Finola must ha'e taken her tumble after that," Laird Sinclair muttered almost to himself. "What the de'il was she doing up at that hour?"
"Lady Finola took a tumble?" Cam asked with amazement.
"Aye. Broke her neck in a fall down the stairs," his father said on a sigh and shook his head. " 'Tis a good thing it was her and no' one o' the other lasses. Sad as it is to admit it, the MacFarlands'll no' miss the lass." Grimacing, he added, "In fact, I do no' think anyone will."
"Aye," Cam agreed solemnly. The woman had not troubled to endear herself to anyone as far as he could tell. And while he should be sorry to hear of her demise, he wasn't terribly sorry to have her out of his hair.
"Well, come, ye must be ready to break yer fast after the night ye had," his father said, urging him toward the door.
Cam nodded, but paused and turned to first gather the candles he'd come for last night.
"I'll take 'em up," Jinny offered, stepping forward as he reached the door.
"Go on, give 'em to the lass," his father suggested. "We need to discuss who should take the message to the MacFarlands. A simple messenger won't do for news like this."
Sighing, Cam reluctantly handed the candles to Jinny and followed his father out to the trestle tables. They were about to sit down when he suddenly glanced around and, spotting Jinny heading for the stairs, called her over.
"Ye said Joan is fine, but how fine is she?" he asked when the maid reached him.
Jinny considered the question briefly and then shrugged. "She seems good as new."
"Well enough to take a ride with me?" Cam asked.
Jinny nodded. "I think so."
"Thank ye," Cam murmured, and turned to settle at the table. He hadn't forgotten what Lady MacKay had said to him last night. He needed to talk to his wife, away from the castle and its people. He would use riding lessons as the excuse to get her away, and then say what needed saying to her.
"YOU ARE AWFULLY QUIET, JOAN. WHAT IS ON YOUR MIND?" Annabel asked as she braided her hair.
Joan hesitated, but then blurted, "She had a candle."
"What?" Annabel bent and twisted around to see her face. "Who did?"
"Finola," Joan admitted, biting her lip.
Annabel dropped the braids she'd been making and moved around in front of her so that she could see her face as they talked. "Last night?"
Joan nodded.
"You saw her last night?" Annabel asked slowly, as if wanting to be sure they understood each other.
"Aye. I saw her last night," Joan said wearily and lowered her head. "I woke up alone. The candles were dying, but I had no clothes. I wrapped the bed linen around myself and looked out in the hall. I was hoping to hail a passing servant to ask to fetch th
e candles, but the hall was in near darkness, 'twas obvious everyone had retired . . . and then I saw someone standing by the stairs."
"Finola?" Annabel guessed.
"Nay. The person was in shadow, I couldn't see who it was at first, and then candlelight appeared from further up the hall, moving toward the stairs."
"It was Finola with the candle?" Annabel prompted when she paused.
Joan sighed and nodded her head.
"Who was the person by the stairs?" Annabel asked.