His Bonnie Bride by Hannah Howell (the beginning after the end read novel .TXT) 📕

had turned to help arrange the pillows behind Colin. Storm had no time to fully react to the cries of warning. With a snarl, Janet plunged her knife into Storm's slim shoulder. She had aimed for Storm's back, but Storm had already begun to turn, ruining her aim. Storm felt a flash of pain strong enough to make her swoon and collapsed upon Colin. Before Janet could try a second time, Malcolm swung at her with the fireplace poker. Janet fell to the floor with hardly a whimper, blood seeping from a wound at her temple.

"Is she dead?" Colin asked, holding on to Storm, trying to staunch her wound's bleeding with his own bed linen. "A neat swing, Malcolm. Could have been a bit quicker, though."

"She's dead," Iain said as he rose from examining Janet.

"How is Storm?" Tavis asked as he bent over the wounded girl. "Is it bad, Malcolm?"

"Nay as bad as it could be," muttered Malcolm as, after ripping open Storm's dress, he proceeded to wash the wound clean. "The knife was meant tae go deep into the wee lass's back, but she moved in time."

"So, 'twas all a ploy," breathed Sholto as he moved to the foot of his father's bed.

"Aye. 'Twas the lass's idea. She guessed that 'twas an unnatural illness I suffered from."

"How did ye get the wound to bleed?" asked Iain.

"Chicken's blood in a pig's bladder afixed 'neath me arm. The open end pointed to me shoulder. All I had to do was squeeze it a wee bit and it looked as if me old wound bled anew."

"Ye were ne'er in death's sleep, were ye," commented Tavis as he held Storm firmly to the bed so that, even in her unconscious state, she would not move as Malcolm stitched her wound.

"Nay, that was Storm's idea as weel. It gave me time to recover, get me strength back."

"How did she discover ye were being poisoned?"

"She kenned the symptoms, Sholto," Colin replied. "I'm right sorry ye were kept in the dark, but we felt it better that way. Ye'd act more natural and Janet'd be more apt to confess the truth."

"The poison was in the potion she mixed ye?"

"Aye, Tavis. An ancient one—arsenic. A slow death so it would look like a wasting sickness and raise nary an eyebrow. It was a clever plan that nearly worked."

"I wonder how the lass kenned what it was. 'Tis not common knowledge," Iain mused.

" 'Twas how her mother died," Malcolm said as he finished bandaging Storm. "They caught it too late and, being a wee lady, she hadnae the strength to fight it like the laird did. Some woman did it. Gather the lady felt 'twas time for the laird o' Hagaleah tae take a new wife."

Tavis suddenly recalled a small, girlish voice saying, "The way of a lady is a bit o' poison in the meal. So much more refined." Even then he had wondered at the bitterness in Storm's voice. Now he understood. As he brushed the hair from Storm's flushed face, he wondered how she had come through such trials with her innocence and optimism intact. Life had not treated her very kindly.

"I cannae like her color, Malcolm," Tavis observed, his eyes on Storm's deepening flush.

"Take her tae her own bed, lad," Malcolm ordered quietly. "Let's hope 'tis only the shock. I cannae do anymore for her wound, save change the bandage and keep it clean."

" 'Tis too bad we didnae get the receipt for that salve she gave me so long ago," said Colin as he watched his son pick up Storm with the air of one handling fine glass.

"Phelan might ken it," was all Tavis said as he left with his precious burden.

Colin fixed his gaze upon Malcolm. "Ye do your best for the lass." After Malcolm had left he smiled at his two younger sons. "Weel, what do ye think o' my miraculous resurrection?"

"Dinnae get too puffed up," drawled Iain with a grin that swiftly turned into a frown. "I may be wrong, and God kens I'd like to be, but I ken our Tavis is fair caught, though he may not see it."

"Aye, I fear 'tis so." Colin was beginning to feel a bit tired. " 'Twill be a grief for the lad, but there is naught I can do. I'm fair weary, lads. Take that woman to her room and see that she's readied for burying. I would have liked to keep this quiet, but with a stabbing and a death, I fear I cannae."

"We'll do what we can," Sholto promised as he lifted up Janet's body. "Ye get your rest."

"Keep me informed of the lass's progress," Colin called softly as they left. "I now owe her my life."

That was the thought on most minds of Caraidland as the tale of what had occurred in the laird's chambers spread like wildfire. Those few that had held Storm's birth against her now moved firmly into her camp. Colin was a very popular laird, and his clan now felt nothing but good toward the small English lady who had saved his life. None grieved for Janet. She had done little to make herself popular amongst her husband's people. They now did all they could to aid Storm's recovery, even if it was but to include her in their prayers, and not one of them felt that it was odd to do so.

Tavis took Storm to her room, stripped her and tucked her up in bed. He was honestly afraid for her, a fact he spent no time reviewing, but simply accepted. She had lost a fair amount of blood before her wound had stopped bleeding. He saw only how small she was, worrying that she could not recoup the loss. When Phelan and Malcolm arrived he left her in their capable hands and sought out a strong drink. The day had been a long one, too full of surprises for Tavis's liking.

"How's the lass?" Iain asked in greeting as he handed Tavis a