"Oh," Tormod grimaced. "I do no' ken her name. 'Twas the short one with red hair. I think she's a MacCormick."
"Aye. That's Garia MacCormick," Cook announced, drawing his gaze around. "A little peculiar, but a nice lass just the same."
"Peculiar?" Cam asked quietly.
"Aye. She picked me a bunch o' apples the other day. Thought I might like to make a nice tart or something, she said. I made applemoyse instead, it's tastier, to me mind, and--"
"Get to the peculiar part," Cam interrupted impatiently.
"Well, later that day one o' the maids saw her picking through the garden, gathering up all the cores from the apples," he said with a shake of the head, and then explained, "I have the maids throw things like that there, it makes the soil richer and--"
Cam didn't stay to hear more. He didn't need to. Apple seeds had been amongst the things Joan and Lady Annabel had said the poison that had been used on the messenger might be made from. And Garia had been seen not only collecting the apple cores, but also walking with the stable boy as he led their horses to the castle. He couldn't think of any other reason the woman would have wanted the apple cores, and it would have been easy for her to distract the stable boy and slip the hatpin under the saddle as she walked with him. Cam was pretty sure he had his culprit.
Unfortunately, his father and Laird MacKay were less certain when he shared what he'd learned with them.
"I do no' ken, son," his father said, pursing his lips. "The cook said that a maid said . . . ? Did ye talk to the maid herself? 'Tis one thing to suspect the MacCormick lass did it, and another to accuse her on such flimsy proof. The MacCormicks are powerful. We do no' want to start a war here by accusing the wrong lass."
"Aye, and Tormod did no' even ken the lass's name," the MacKay pointed out. "Ye should at least have him point out to ye which woman he saw. He and Cook could be talking about two different women. Or is she the only short redhead yer mother brought here?"
"Nay, there were two others," Artair said. "Though one left the first day and another this afternoon. Garia MacCormick is the only short redhead left."
"And the only short redhead whose scroll was carried by Allistair," Cam said impatiently.
"Well, that's true enough," his father admitted thoughtfully.
"She's up there right now with Joan," Cam said grimly.
"She'll no' do anything with the other women there," his father said soothingly. "I'm thinking we should call Tormod out here, and get Cook to send out the maid who saw the lass collecting apple cores and have them tell us if the MacCormick lass is who they saw. We can do that at the evening meal," he decided with satisfaction. "If 'tis the same lass, and is the MacCormick girl, then we'll sit her down and ask her some questions. We'll get to the bottom o' this."
"If the ladies have no' already done so by then," Laird MacKay added.
"Aye," Artair nodded. "If the ladies have no' figured it all out for themselves by then."
Cam narrowed his eyes at the two men and asked, "How much ale have ye had?"
His father stiffened at the question. "No' even a full tankard, thank ye very much. What are ye suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting that earlier neither o' ye were pleased at the thought o' our wives being up in a room with a possible killer, and now ye both seem pretty damned unconcerned."
"O' course we're concerned. But they should be safe enough with all the women together, and this is a sensitive business. We can no' just accuse a lass who belongs to a powerful clan on hearsay," his father snapped.
"Fine," Cam snapped back. "Then I'll search Garia's room and find proof."
"Oh, say, that's a good idea," his father commented. "I'll come with ye."
"Aye, me too," Laird MacKay announced, getting to his feet.
THE HAIR ALL OVER JOAN'S BODY SEEMED SUDDENLY to be standing on end as she stared at her unconscious aunt and mother-in-law, and then she slid her gaze back slowly across the room. To Murine still lying prone on the floor, then to Saidh struggling to get up from her chair and then dropping back with alarm on her face, then to Edith asleep with her arms on the table, and finally to Garia who had stood and moved to the end of the bed and was eyeing the sleeping women with narrow eyed interest.
"Garia?" she said quietly.
The woman took a deep breath, her shoulders rising, and then she let that breath out and turned to meet her gaze. "Aye, Joan?"
Joan hesitated and then asked, "Did you put some sort of sleeping powder in their drinks?"
Garia nodded.
"When?" she asked. "I didn't see you near the tray. Saidh even brought you your goblet."
"Aye, she did," Garia agreed. "Saidh is surprisingly considerate despite her rough talk and ways. I quite like her. 'Tis a shame she will have to be the villain in all this."
"Saidh will be the villain?" Joan asked with a frown, glancing to the woman in question. She had slumped in her chair, her eyes at half-mast.
"Aye, she was the last to be affected by me tincture and noticed that I was the only one left who was completely unaffected besides you. She still isn't fully asleep, and just look, ye can see the realization in her eyes. She understands it was me," Garia said sadly and then shook her head. "I'll have to kill her and claim it was in self-defense, that I woke up and saw her bent over ye, tried to save ye by stabbing her with the shears, but 'twas too late."
When she then picked up the shears from the table and stepped toward Saidh, Joan quickly asked, "How did you give the sleeping draft to everyone when you didn't go near the tray of drinks after the servants brought it up?"
Garia turned back and stared at her for a long minute. Joan suspected she was debating whether to answer or not. In the end, however, she shrugged and said. "Murine was easy. Seated at the table with me as she was, I merely had to wait for her to start cutting and then quickly drip some in her goblet. I dosed Saidh's drink when I took her the scissors, and then I dosed Lady Sinclair's as I passed her on the way to see yer bruising. She was looking at it too and seemed quite horrified. Had she not seen it before?"
"Not since I was first brought back," Joan said quietly. "I believe she helped Aunt Annabel with me then."
Garia nodded, unsurprised. "I dosed Lady Annabel's goblet on me way back to me seat and Edith's as well since she was over here gawking at yer side still . . ." she shrugged. "And then I just waited to see who dropped next."
"Next?" Joan asked. "So Murine's faint wasn't a faint?"
Garia shrugged. "It may have been, but the tincture will keep her under."
Joan nodded slowly, but when Garia began to move again, asked, "And you did all this to what end?"
Garia blew out a slightly irritated breath and turned to peer at her again. "Why do ye think, Joan?"
"Because you want Cam for your own," she guessed.
"Aye, o' course I do," Garia agreed. "And much as I like ye, Joan, yer wearing finery does no' make ye a lady any more than
putting a dress on a pig would make it one. Ye're a peasant. Yer mother may have been a lady, but yer father was a commoner. She became a commoner when she married him. Ye were born a commoner, raised a commoner, and will always be a commoner. Cam deserves better than that."
"Better being you?" she asked dryly.
"Aye, as it happens," Garia said. "I was born and raised a lady. I have been properly trained in all the things a lady should ken. I sing like a bird, ken every dance there is, can hit the center of a target with an arrow on the windiest day and can ride like a warrior. I was born to rule Sinclair, not some backwater keep with little in the way o' coin and a dirty, smelly old Laird . . . a laird who licks his lips every time he looks at me like I'm a leg o' mutton he can no' wait to bite into," she added with disgust.
"This is the man your mother plans to marry you to?" Joan asked, trying not to be obvious about shifting her eyes around the area nearest her in search of a weapon besides the wee sewing needle she held in her hand.
"Aye. She'd rather marry me off to that odious creature than be saddled with me fer the rest o' me days," Garia said with a combination of bitterness and pain.
"Could you not run away to the abbey or--" Joan snapped her mouth closed at once as fury exploded over Garia's expression and she realized what she'd said. She hadn't been thinking, she'd just been trying to keep the conversation going as she searched for a way out of this situation. But she was thinking now and wasn't surprised when Garia clenched her hand around the shears and began moving toward her instead of Saidh.
"The abbey, Joan?" she ground out furiously. "Yer mother was sent there fer punishment fer killing her husband, yet ye think it must be such a pleasant place I'd want to spend the rest o' me life there? Unwed, me hair shorn from me head, me knees chapped from being on them so much. Never to have children o' me own?"
Joan couldn't help thinking that might be a good thing, but suspected saying so wouldn't be a smart thing to do just then.
"Ye're the one who should be in an abbey. Like yer mother before ye. Ye never should have been in Scotland at all. Why did ye have to come and ruin everything?" she growled.
"There were twelve women here, Garia. What did you plan to do? Kill anyone he showed interest in?" Joan asked quickly, easing sideways on the bed.