Running his hands through his hair now, he muttered, “I gather ye have no idea who poisoned her?”
“Nay,” Aulay admitted with a scowl. “Everyone was entering the great hall then, and there were a lot of servants coming out with drinks. No one noticed the mug being set beside Dwyn.” He was silent for a minute, and then added, “We have been thinking perhaps we should put the wedding and feast off at least until tomorrow night.”
“Dwyn will no doubt sleep through the day,” Jetta pointed out gently when Geordie opened his mouth to protest. “She will be in no shape for a wedding, let alone a wedding feast and the bedding tonight.”
Geordie closed his mouth in defeat. In truth, he doubted he’d be in shape for a wedding, feast and bedding himself at this point. He was so exhausted his vision was blurring. Nodding, he stood abruptly.
“Where are ye going?” Aulay asked with concern.
“Back to watch over Dwyn,” he said, stepping over the bench.
“But you have not eaten,” Jetta pointed out with concern.
Geordie paused briefly, but then shrugged indifferently. “I’m too tired to be hungry.”
He didn’t wait for further protests, but walked away and headed for the stairs.
As he’d expected, Una and Aileen had changed and made themselves more presentable while he was gone. The two stayed long enough to assure him that Dwyn hadn’t stirred at all while he was gone, and then slipped from the room.
The moment the door closed behind them, Geordie climbed into bed with Dwyn, shifted himself onto his side behind her so that he was spooning her and then wrapped an arm around her and quickly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 9
Dwyn woke up feeling like something had crawled into her mouth and died there while she slept. On top of that her head was pounding, and her stomach muscles ached with every breath she took. But she had no immediate need to retch. That was something anyway, she thought grimly as she opened her eyes and peered around what she could see of the room. Bright sunlight was streaming in through the open shutters, falling on the gowns and shifts discarded in a pile in the corner, and the empty mugs on the bedside table.
A grimace claimed her lips when Dwyn spotted the mugs. One was the remaining half of the sleeping potion Rory had mixed for her after Geordie had first brought her back to the room she and her sisters were using. The other was a half-full mug of cider that she’d tried to drink in the middle of the night after going a half hour without retching. It was as much as she’d managed to drink before her stomach had rebelled.
Sighing, she closed her eyes briefly, and then frowned slightly as she became aware of a heavy weight along her side to her hip, and something warm against her back. Opening her eyes again, Dwyn shifted her head slightly on the pillow to stare blankly at the arm resting along her side that ended in a sun-darkened hand that was curved over her hip. She recognized that hand. She’d watched it twirl flowers between thumb and finger, hold reins before her, tug up the neckline of her gown and close over her breasts. The hand was Geordie’s. She was in bed with Geordie.
Dwyn knew she should be shocked at that, but couldn’t find the energy to stir the emotion let alone sustain it. Besides, he’d been there the whole time she’d been sick, holding her with care and concern while she’d retched, murmuring soft soothing words after and cradling her in his arms in the short intervals in between.
Geordie Buchanan was a saint, Dwyn decided with a weary smile. Her own father had never even visited her when she was ill as a child, staying far away from her at times like that lest he get sick himself, yet this man had tended her like a loving nursemaid. Of course, she’d been poisoned, which wasn’t something he could have caught. Still, he had taken care of her, and that was what was important.
Reaching down, she covered his hand gently with hers, startled when his hand suddenly turned under hers and his large fingers slid between her smaller ones and clasped gently.
“Ye’re awake.” It was a sleepy growl by her ear, and Dwyn closed her eyes briefly at the shiver it sent through her.
“Aye,” she whispered after a moment, frowning when her voice came out husky and broken. Her throat hurt to speak.
“How is yer stomach?” Geordie asked, concern entering his voice. “Do ye think ye could keep cider down?”
Dwyn grimaced at the mention of cider. She’d spent quite a while retching up the last bit of cider she’d tried to drink, and the memory made the drink completely unpalatable to her just then.
“Mead instead?”
Dwyn turned her head to see that he had rested his elbow on the pillow behind her and propped his head on his hand. It put his face above hers so that he could look down on her. He’d seen her grimace, she realized, and quickly turned her head away so that he couldn’t look on the horror she must be at that moment.
“Mayhap mead,” she whispered, unable to speak with full volume until she had something to drink. At least, she hoped liquid would soothe her sore throat and allow her to speak again.
Dwyn stilled with surprise when Geordie suddenly bent and pressed a kiss to her cheek. When he followed that by rolling away from her, she turned onto her back, and watched silently as he strode to the door and slipped out of the room. The moment the door closed behind him, she sat up and swung her feet off the bed, but paused when her wrapped feet hit the floor and she recalled that she was not supposed to walk on them.
Scowling, Dwyn glanced down at herself and then around the room. She wanted to wash her face and brush her hair. She’d like to change out of her wrinkled dress too before he returned, but she couldn’t get out of bed and nothing was close enough to be useful. Breathing out an exasperated breath, she tugged up her neckline, and tried to brush out the worst of the wrinkles in her skirts, then she began running her fingers through her hair, trying to restore some order to it. She was still working on it when she heard the door open. Turning swiftly, she peered over her shoulder and saw her sisters entering.
“Geordie sent us to sit with ye while he arranges fer food and a bath fer ye,” Aileen said with a bright smile as she hurried to the bed.
“How do ye feel?” Una asked, following their younger sister.
“Like horse dung,” Dwyn admitted with a grimace, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“Oh.” Aileen’s smile faded a bit, but then she rallied and hurried away. “Well, you will probably feel better if ye wash yer face and brush yer hair.”
“Aye,” Dwyn agreed with relief, glad she didn’t have to ask for a brush and the basin of water her sister was collecting and bringing back to her. Her throat was really sore and her voice broken. The less she talked, the better, until she had something to drink.
“Here.” Aileen set the bowl of water on the bedside table and handed the hairbrush to Una, then turned away to rush back for a strip of linen and the soap that were on the same table the ewer and basin had sat on.
“I’ll brush yer hair,” Una offered, and climbed onto the bed to sit behind her.
“Geordie was most gentle and caring with ye last night,” Aileen announced as she moved back with the other items.
“Aye,” Dwyn whispered as Una began to draw the brush through her hair. “I remember.”