Page 49 of Highland Renegade
“Find the maid who brought this,” he said to Fiona. “And take her to the library.”
His sister’s eyes widened, but she merely nodded and left. He turned to the healer. “Ye will stay with Emily?”
“Aye, laird.”
By the time he got to the library, Fiona was there with a defiant-looking Maggie and a trembling maid. Apparently, Fiona had told them what had transpired. Ian tried to rein in his temper and turned to his housekeeper.
“Did ye prepare a special cup of tea for Lady Woodhaven?”
“Aye.” She lifted her chin. “The blend I use with rose hips and mint. I mixed it with honey.”
That would explain the sweet smell. “Did ye add whisky?”
She frowned. “Nae. Why would I do that?”
“Whisky was found in the cup.” He turned to the maid who looked on the verge of tears. “Did ye add whisky?”
“Nae! Nae!” She started to cry.
Maggie put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “How would she have access to spirits?”
It was a logical question, but he had to ask the maid anyway. “I doona ken, but someone put whisky in that cup. It made Emily—the countess—drowsy and she fell asleep, which was very dangerous.” He took a deep breath and gentled his voice. “Effie,” he said to the maid. “Did ye by any chance leave the cup standing somewhere before ye took it to the bedchamber?”
She shook her head, snuffling into the back of her hand.
Maggie looked speculative. “I set the cup on the counter to steep a bit, then I walked to the door with Gwendolyn in case she had any more instructions. As I was returning, I asked Effie to take the tea up to Lady Woodhaven.”
At least she was addressing Emily by her title instead of Sassenach, but Ian hadn’t time for niceties right now. “So the cup was unattended for a few minutes?”
Fiona frowned. “Ye think someone else put whisky in it?”
“Someone else had to,” he replied.
“But who would want to do that?”
“’Tis a good question.” Who would have access to whisky, as well as not draw attention to himself or herself by being in the kitchen? Any number of clansmen might have come through to take a bit of bread and cheese with them to the fields, but none would be carrying a whisky bottle at that time of day. His brothers… He couldn’t picture any of them—even Devon—stealthily pouring whisky into a teacup meant for Emily. Probablyespeciallynot Devon… He would just say it was a waste of good Scots whisky on a Sassenach. That thought relieved Ian a little, but he still grimaced.
“’Tis a good question,” he said again, “and I intend to find out.”
…
As Ian made his way back to Emily’s chamber, he pondered whether or not whoever had added the whisky to the tea had done it deliberately so Emily would fall asleep or because the person thought it might ease the pain. Scots did use whisky as a remedy for a lot of ills. There might have been no malicious intent at all.
He pushed the question to the back of his mind as he entered her room. Emily was sitting in the armchair by the window and, although still pale, she was alert. He winced as she turned her head and he saw the swollen bump already turning purple.
“Does it hurt overmuch?”
“Of course it does.” Juliana gave him a look that made clear she thought he was daft. “Did you expect it would not?”
“The poultices help.” Lorelei placed another on her sister’s injury and held it there. “And we have all been keeping an eye on her.”
“I am right here,” Emily said. “I can speak for myself.”
“But you are not to exert yourself.” Lorelei looked at the healer. “Is that not what you said?”
“Aye,” Old Gwendolyn answered, “but answering a few questions should nae harm her.”
“And I have a few questions,” Ian said.
