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“Do not leave. I will return in an hour’s time, for we
must come to terms regarding recompense—as well as punishment—for
this crime.”
    With a curt nod of the head, Laird Gordon
solemnly agreed. “Aye.”
    * * *
    Branwenn went through the remainder of the
day worrying over Callum’s health. No matter how hard she tried to
turn her thoughts to her own problem—and how she was going to
resolve it—her mind refused to cooperate. Finally, late that night,
she gave in to her nagging thoughts and returned through the
passage to the secret door of the tower chamber. ‘Twas now nearing
the chimes of midnight, and she worried that the guard would be in
the chamber, but after a quarter-hour of intent listening, she
heard no sound emanating from the other side of the wall, and
stealthily unlatched and opened the door.
    She had no idea which bedchamber was
Callum’s, but she decided there would surely be guards, or maids,
or some-such lurking about the correct door. She was dressed in a
plain brown tunic, underneath which she’d carefully bound her
breasts in a strip of fine linen, and with her hood-covered,
short-cropped hair, she was sure to look like one of the lads that
worked with the gong farmer. If she encountered anyone on her
journey, she decided to simply explain that she had been told to
retrieve the chamber pot from the laird’s stepson’s chamber.
    Thankfully, the tower stair was deserted and
it didn’t take her long to make her way down to the outer bailey.
In another moment, she was through the arched portal to the inner
bailey of the keep. Surely, one could gain entrance to the family
quarters through the chapel, she thought as she set out in that
direction.
    All was silent as she scurried across the
moonlit courtyard toward the chapel. Her feet crushed the
dew-bathed turf as she went and it perfumed the air with its clean,
fresh fragrance. The dark beauty of the walled enclosure at this
time of night, all velvet purples and watery greens, blended well
with the scent of sod and it lifted her lagging spirits.
    Fortune was with her, for she encountered no
one as she made her way through the passage between the stone
oratory and the family quarters and then climbed the stairs leading
to the upper chambers. There were few about above stairs either,
and she was growing worried that she’d not learn which was Callum’s
chamber, when a door at the end of the hall opened and a servant
carrying a ewer emerged. Praise be! She slipped into the shadows
and waited for the man to pass before taking the last few steps to
Callum’s door.
    She silently edged it open and looked around.
The fire from the hearth illuminated the room enough for Branwenn
to see an aged man—the physician?—resting on his side on top of two
long benches that had been shoved together and covered in a fur.
Her nose crinkled as the smell of stale bile and the gong bucket
wafted toward her. The physician must have given him an herb to
induce more purging—or, mayhap ‘twas just a symptom of the
poisoning. The sound of muted snores emanated from the direction of
the benches, telling her that the physician was a sound sleeper, so
she silently walked further into the room. The curtain to the large
bed was drawn, making it impossible for her to see how Callum
faired without moving across the room to stand at the bedside.
    As lightly and silently as she could, she
crept across the wood floor, praying all the while that one of the
boards wouldn’t creak. There was a small vial next to a cup on the
table next to the bed. She picked the cup up and sniffed. ‘Twas the
remainder of a sleeping draught. The physician must have given it
to Callum to help him sleep through the pain. She placed the cup
back in its place on the table. Then, lifting the taper that rested
beside it, she pulled aside the curtain and gazed down at the
handsome, tho’ clearly fever ravaged, countenance of the man who
both vexed and drew her to him at one and the same