Untamed (19 page)

“Aye, brother.
Meg
. Somehow the hell-witch poisoned you.”

Simon's spurs goaded Crusader, sending the stallion into a hard gallop.

By the time they reached the keep, Dominic was lost to an unnatural sleep.

“W
HAT DO YOU MEAN
, I
MAY
not enter?” Meg demanded. “He is my husband!”

“Aye,” Simon said bitterly. “A husband you didn't want. You have done every evil thing within your power to defeat Dominic.”

“That's not true!”

Golden bells sang with the controlled fierceness of Meg's movements as she spun aside to get around Simon. He moved very quickly, blocking her entrance to Dominic's quarters. She feinted to the other side, then darted forward. Mail-clad gauntlets closed painfully around her wrists. The handle of the basket she carried cut into her palm.

“Don't try my patience, witch,” Simon said savagely. “I know what use you had for the plants you gathered in that cursed place. It was sickness and death you sought, not life and health.”

Meg's eyes widened into startled pools of green. “What are you saying?”

“Poison, you cursed witch. You poisoned my brother!”

“Nay! Never! Do you hear me?
Never!
”

“Save your lies for your lover, Duncan of Maxwell,” Simon spat.

Meg bit her lip against a cry of pain. The force of Simon's fingers closing around her wrists was like being caught between stones. Her breaths came deep and hard, for she had run the entire way from Harry's cottage, driven by a fear such as she had never felt outside of her dreams.

“I went to your room,” Simon continued relentlessly. “I checked the niche. The potion you fought my brother to make is gone.”

“I took it with me,” Meg said quickly. “I knew Adela would be weak. I was afraid the midwife might have given her too much medicine to kill the pain and thereby slowed the birth. The potion would have countered such weakness, not created it.”

Simon looked at Meg's clear, anxious eyes and wanted to crush the Glendruid witch between his hands like an empty eggshell. Only the certainty that Dominic—if he lived—would never forgive the loss of his wife stayed Simon's fury.

“You lie very well,” he said through his teeth.

“I lie very badly,” she retorted. “Ask anyone. Now let me by. If Dominic is ill, I can ease him.”

“Nay. You'll not get close to him while I draw breath.”

Meg bit back the desire to scream at Simon, for she knew it would accomplish nothing but to release the rage that burned so visibly within him. Several deep breaths went by before she trusted herself to speak calmly despite the wild urgency clawing deep in her mind.

“All Harry said was that you came galloping up to the keep as though the devil were a step behind,” Meg said carefully.

“We left the devil at Harry's cottage.”

She kept talking as though Simon had said nothing.

“Dominic could neither talk nor sit his horse,” Meg continued. “You and Thomas the Strong carried him to the lord's quarters. That was all Harry knew.”

Simon said nothing.

“Please,” Meg whispered. “I beg of you. I sensed danger and I ran here and was told Dominic had been felled by a blow to the head from your sword.”

Simon fought to control his temper. “Watch your tongue, vile witch.”

Vile
.

Witch
.

Meg realized Simon wouldn't let her go to Dominic no matter how carefully she pleaded. A wild anger swept through her.

“Why should I watch my tongue?” she demanded. “Does the truth hurt so much? Or are you hoping to inherit the keep if Dominic dies and thus don't want me to tend him?”

The accusation was so unexpected that Simon was struck speechless. Meg suffered no such handicap. She wrested her hands free of his grasp and continued flaying him with her tongue.

“If that is so, my brave knight,” she said with fierce disdain, “hear me now. I will tear down Blackthorne Keep stone by stone with my own hands and poison the well before I let you profit by your brother's untimely death!”

“Hell-witch,” Simon whispered. “I would slay a man for even suggesting that I was such a cowardly villain.”

Simon's voice reminded Meg of Dominic at his most coldly furious. At any other time she would have bowed to the male anger and withdrawn, but not now. Dominic was dying. Next to that, nothing mattered.

Hell-witch
.

Meg's free hand came up and ripped the frail Glendruid smock from neck to waist, revealing the fine, creamy skin and the smooth swell of her breasts. Between them shone the golden cross that had once been her mother's.

“Could a true witch wear God's cross?” Meg demanded. “Could she?”

For three long breaths there was silence.

“No,” Simon admitted finally.

With one gauntleted hand he carefully pulled the smock's edges together, covering Meg's breasts completely.

Meg waited, but still Simon made no move to step aside.

“Let me by, Simon the Loyal. Use your brains instead of your brawny arms to aid your brother. Who else in this keep can help Dominic but me?”

There was a taut silence while Simon stared at the girl with the uncanny green eyes. Ever since he had come to Blackthorne Keep, the vassals had told anyone who would listen what a magic touch Meg had with the sick or the wounded. They called her Glendruid witch.

White witch.

A cross lay cool between her breasts. Dominic lay ill unto death.

Never had Simon been more frightened for his brother, not even when Dominic had ransomed twelve knights by turning himself over to a sultan whose cruelty to Christians had to be endured to be believed.

“If my brother dies,” Simon vowed quietly, “you will die by my hands an instant after Dominic draws his last breath. I swear this before God.”

“So be it,” Meg agreed, sealing the vow.

Surprise showed in the fierce lines of Simon's face.
He had expected many things from his brother's witch-wife, but not such unflinching acceptance of danger to herself. Whatever else might be said of her, she didn't lack courage.

Simon stepped away from the door. Before he could turn around, Meg was in the room and leaning over Dominic's canopied bed. A huge fire burned in the hearth, making the room hot.

“He barely breathes,” Meg said in a low voice.

She touched Dominic's skin. Her breath caught in the vise of her clenched throat.

“Dear God…'tis cool as water.”

Bending low over Dominic, she breathed in deeply of the air he had just exhaled. A stillness came over her body. She forced air from her lungs, then breathed in deeply again.

Simon stood without moving, listening to the small golden bells Meg wore shiver and murmur among themselves as though mourning for their dying lord.

Slowly Meg straightened, pushing aside hair that had come free during the wild run from Harry's cottage. A golden cascade of music trembled in the silence from the long chains of bells still tied around her half-unraveled braids.

“Lady?” called Eadith from beyond the door. “Here is the water and smock you requested.”

“Get it from her,” Meg said in a low voice. “Do not let her in. She has a taste for gossip. If the Reevers were to hear that Dominic was ill…”

Simon was turning away before Meg finished her sentence. The door shut quite rudely on Eadith's anxious questions.

“Put bowl and smock by the hearth,” Meg said quickly. “Then turn your back while I prepare myself.”

Without waiting to see whether Simon watched
or turned away, Meg ripped off the used smock and threw it into the fire, whispering the old chant beneath her breath. She threw a mixture of soap and herbs into the basin and bathed herself hurriedly, chanting so quickly that the words ran together like a waterfall. When nothing remained on her skin but the astringent scent of herbs, she pulled the new smock into place and turned around.

Simon's back was to her.

“I'm finished. Now tell me what happened,” Meg said. “Think carefully but quickly. Dominic's life hangs by a very thin thread. If I give him the wrong medicine he will certainly die. If I give him the right medicine, he could very well die anyway. When did you first notice he was unwell?”

Simon turned to face Meg. His breath came in as though at a blow. It wasn't Meg's words that surprised him; it was the slow, soundless fall of her tears down her cheeks.

“When he came out of Harry's cottage,” Simon said simply. “Dominic said the light was as bright as Jerusalem, but it wasn't. It was the same as it had been when we entered the cottage.”

Meg's lips thinned, but she said nothing, only listened as though Dominic's very life depended upon it.

“Then he stumbled and began talking as though drunk,” Simon continued.

A sharp movement of Meg's hand dismissed that possibility. She knew Dominic well enough to know he would never yield his self-control to ale.

“He staggered, righted himself, and then would have fallen if I hadn't caught him,” Simon said. “His eyes looked very strange.”

“How so?” Meg asked sharply.

“Their centers were so wide his eyes looked as black as mine.”

“Did he eat or drink anything in your presence?”

“Food? No. He ate with you. We had a mug of ale.” Simon grimaced as he remembered the taste. “It was a bitter brew.”

“Did you share the same mug?”

“No.”

“Then what happened?”

“Dominic said he was going to his small falcon to take the bitter taste from his mouth. But when he got to your room, you were gone.”

“You say your ale was bitter, too?”

“Yes.”

“But you felt no dizziness or languor, no need to hide your eyes from light?”

“I'm tired and somewhat slow for such a mild workout with sword and shield. And…” Simon frowned. “Odd, but my ribs don't hurt as they should. 'Tis rather pleasant, actually.”

Meg's eyes closed against the fear that was clenching her heart. There had been enough pain medicine in the missing bottle to kill many knights. Obviously Simon hadn't drunk enough to be in danger. The same couldn't be said for Dominic.

“Send to the garrison quickly,” Meg said. “Find if any other knight is ill. I fear the ale was poisoned.”

Simon stuck his head out the door. Dominic's squire hadn't moved from the place he had found earlier, when he had been thrown out of the room. Jameson sat on the floor at the end of the hall, his head in his hands and fear plain on his young face.

While Simon gave clipped orders, Meg pulled the antidote from her basket, eased the stopper from the bottle, and tipped a scant amount into a bowl of water that sat near Dominic's bed. As she started to stopper the bottle once more, she hesitated. Her husband was an uncommonly large man. She added a few more drops of the bright amber potion, and
then a few more after that, before she set the bowl on the table and concentrated on the man who lay so still upon the bed.

“Dominic,” Meg said in a clear, commanding voice. “Arise. Your brother is in danger!”

There was no response from Dominic. He lay pale and slack, his breath slow and shallow.

“Am I in danger?” Simon asked calmly from behind Meg.

“No. But of all that Dominic holds dear, you are the dearest. If danger to anything would rouse him, it would be danger to you.”

Simon was too surprised by Meg's insight to respond. He simply watched as she bent over his brother and shook him to no effect.

Without warning her hand lifted. The sound of the slap seemed as loud as a thunderclap in the room. Simon caught himself even as he started forward to prevent Meg's hand from slapping Dominic's other cheek. Much as he disliked seeing his helpless brother pummeled, he had no better idea of how to rouse him.

“Dominic,” she said loudly, slapping him again. “Hear me. You must awaken! Simon has his back to the wall! He needs you!”

For a moment Meg thought Dominic might have responded, but the motion was too small for her to be certain. With tears running down her face, she raised her hand and slapped him soundly once more.

“Lord! Your brother is wounded! The keep is under siege! Awaken now or you will never have a son!”

Dominic's hand twitched as though reaching for a sword, but after that single, futile movement, he lay motionless. Holding her breath, Meg waited for any further sign of response.

There was none.

“'Tis no use,” she whispered. “He is too deep for mere words to reach him.”

Simon hissed a blasphemous phrase.

“Quickly,” Meg ordered without looking away from Dominic. “Lift him so that he might drink.”

Simon pulled his brother upright. Meg held the bowl to his lips and tipped it. Liquid ran from the corners of Dominic's mouth. His head lolled to one side, further wasting the precious medicine. Desperately, Meg tried again, but to no better effect. The metal bowl clanged against Dominic's teeth.

“No more,” Simon said roughly, easing his brother back onto the bed. “He's as slack as a dead eel.”

Meg didn't bother to answer. She put her fingertip between Dominic's lips, slid along his teeth to the corner of his mouth, and from there behind his molars as though she were getting a horse to accept a bit.

Dominic's mouth opened slightly. Meg tipped in a bit of the potion, but more ran out the corner of his mouth than went behind his teeth.

“He swallowed!” Simon said eagerly.

“Yes, but too much is wasted. I haven't enough to do him any good if so much is lost each time.”

“How long will it take to make more?”

“A fortnight. The plants must grow. I left only enough leaves to keep the roots alive.”

“God's eyes,” Simon hissed. “Are you certain?”

Meg's only answer was the slow, relentless glide of tears down her cheeks. Beneath her outward calm, the knowledge that Blackthorne Keep lived or died with Dominic was like an acid eating into her soul.

War again. Yet God promised man that there was a time for all things under the sun. We have seen the time of hatred, of plucking up that which was sown, of battle and disease and death
.