“But what if he did eat it?” Hamish asked, and pointed out, “If so, Lady Claray may ken a remedy fer the poison. If she does, and ye did no’ tell her about this, and Stubborn Bastard dies . . .” He shook his head. “I suspect she’ll never forgive ye.”
“He has a point,” Roderick said solemnly.
Conall cursed at the words and closed his eyes briefly at the thought of her reaction if the beast died. It would not be good, he thought grimly.
“I’ll tell her,” Allistair said, his shoulders straightening. “I’m the one responsible fer his care, and I’m the one who was here when nightshade was put in his stall. I’ll tell her, and ask does she ken a remedy.”
“Nay.” Conall shook his head wearily. “I’ll tell me wife meself.”
He strode out of the stables, unsurprised when Roderick and Payton followed. Conall crossed the bailey at a quick clip to keep anyone from stopping him with questions or worries. The sooner he got this done, the better. If the horse had eaten some of the nightshade, and there was a remedy, it did seem that the more swiftly it was administered, the better. Besides, to his mind, it was always best to get unpleasant tasks done quickly, and this was going to be unpleasant. Not because he thought Claray would rail at him or even blame him, but because she would be upset and worried and—
Good God, what if she cried? Conall thought with horror. He’d never seen his wife cry, not properly anyway. A tear or two had leaked from her eye in the gardens their first night here, but that had been from stress and anxiety over the large job ahead of them, not from grief or true upset. It would break his heart to see her having a proper cry now. But she loved that horse, so the chances were good that he was about to. The idea was almost enough to make him turn around and walk the other way, but he straightened his shoulders and carried on manfully, making it all the way to the keep without being stopped, and much too quickly for his liking.
Ashamed of his own cowardice, he jogged up the steps to the keep and entered, his gaze searching the great hall as he started across it. There were several women weaving rush mats in the open area in front of the fireplace, and the wolf was there lying next to a stack of mats near the clear area where Claray had been earlier. But she was gone. So were Hendrie and Colban though. Even as he noted that, the wolf raised his head and glanced toward the top of the stairs. Conall followed his gaze, and spotted Hendrie and Colban standing outside of his bedchamber door.
Turning to Payton and Roderick, he muttered, “Claray must be in our chamber. Ye may as well sit down and ha’e a drink while ye wait. I suspect there’s no cure for nightshade and I’ll be havin’ to comfort her. That could take a while.”
“Oh, aye,” Payton said, his tone solemn, but eyes twinkling with amusement. “Comfortin’ a lass can take hours.”
Ignoring that, Conall turned to head to the stairs. He saw the wolf stand up and stretch, but ignored it and jogged up the steps to the landing.
“Claray?” he asked as he approached the door.
“Aye. Inside, m’laird,” Hendrie answered. “Mhairi spilled some mead on her, and Lady Claray came up to change.”
Nodding, Conall opened the door and started in, only to pause in confusion when he saw the room was empty.
“I thought ye said she was in here?” he growled, glancing over his shoulder.
“She is,” Hendrie assured him, and then stepped up to the door and looked in. Amazement immediately covered his face. “She was here, m’laird. We walked her up, checked the room and then left to let her change. She’s no’ come out,” he assured him, his wide eyes moving over the room with bewilderment, and then stopping on the window. Horror mounting on his face, the man suddenly hurried to the window and leaned out to peer down.
For one moment, Conall thought his heart had stopped as he realized that the man was thinking his wife had either fallen or jumped out of the window. But then the man straightened and turned back with a completely flummoxed expression, and muttered, “I do no’ understand it. She never came out.”
“Blood.”
Conall turned sharply to Colban as he said the word with dismay. The other soldier had followed Hendrie into the room and now stood pointing at the bed. Conall walked to the bed at once to examine the stain on the white fur covering. It was almost in the middle of the bed, mostly just a few droplets and one larger irregular circle of it.
“There’s some on the floor here too,” Hendrie said grimly, and Conall walked around to peer, first at the discarded, damp gown on the floor, and then at the droplets leading away from the bed and toward . . . the wall? He stared at it silently for a minute, and then suddenly spun on his heel and headed out of the room.
“Do we follow him or wait here?” he heard Colban ask anxiously, and Conall paused at the door to look back.
“Ye wait here and hold anyone who enters,” he ordered, and started to turn away, but then paused to add, “But be warned, the door is no’ the only entrance.”
Conall didn’t explain further, he simply walked out and pulled the door closed. He wasn’t surprised to find the wolf there with Squeak on his back. The animal had probably assumed he would stay in the room with Claray and had intended to join them. Conall almost told the wolf to go back to the great hall, but when he glanced down and saw that Roderick and Payton were gone, probably in the kitchen or buttery, fetching food or drink or both, he had a sudden thought that changed his mind.
“Come,” he growled, patting his leg. He led the wolf to the next room up the hall. It was the room his aunt and uncle had occupied before heading back to MacKay. Payton was now using the room while Roderick was in the next room up the hall. Conall felt a little guilty for intruding on his friend’s room when he wasn’t there, but pushed the worry aside as he opened the door. He stepped in and held the door open for the wolf, then closed it behind them both.
There were secret passages in the stone outer walls. One used to be in his old room, which was where this new room had been built. He assumed there was one in the master chamber as well, where his parents had slept, but he’d never explored in there to find it as a child, and had no idea how that one was opened. He did know how to open this one though.
Walking to the side of the fireplace, he ran his fingers over the stones there and then pushed and turned one. Conall stepped back as the wall began to open and then scowled as he peered into the darkness. He hadn’t thought to grab a candle or—His gaze landed on a rushlight in a holder on the table next to the bed.
Conall hurried over to grab it, and then walked out to the hall to light it from a candle in a sconce there. He then held his hand before the rushlight to keep it from going out as he hurried back into the room his cousin was using. The wolf was standing in the entrance to the passage, his nose up and sniffing, and Conall felt his hopes rise.
“Do ye smell Claray?” he asked, crossing the room to stand next to the wolf. “Find yer lady. Find Claray.”
Conall wasn’t sure whether the wolf would recognize his wife’s name, so was relieved when the beast slid into the dark passage and set off. Hoping the animal was tracking Claray’s scent and not just exploring, Conall followed quickly, pulling the panel closed behind him.