The chamber door opened, and several people slipped inside. They walked carefully, mindful of their steps. Curan turned to speak to one.

“Her nails are white but not blue.”

The man was thin and lanky, obviously young. Gordon glared at Curan. “How can someone that young know anything of value when it comes to poisons?”

The knight behind the youth reached forward and lifted the helmet off the youth’s head. It proved an easy task because the youth only measured up to the knight’s shoulder. The helmet had hidden a face that was clearly female. She was quite a beauty, even lacking feminine clothing.

“This is the Lady Justina.” And the woman was dressed every inch like a boy. A pair of baggy britches hid the curves of her hips, and a solid armor breastplate covered up her other feminine curves.

Gordon crossed his arms in front of his chest. “The same lady who betrayed ye by betraying the location of the side gate that yer bride used to escape through?”

“Aye.” Curan nodded. “She has been my guest since that time for I cannot in good conscience send her back to a guardian who charges her with such tasks.”

“You take too much upon yourself.” Lady Justina sent a hard look toward Curan.

“I disagree, Lady. If the one who sent you wants you back, he can ask me and admit that he sent you.”

Lady Justina shook her head but Gordon had no patience for their quarrel. He only had time for Jemma.

“Why is she here? I have enough people I distrust around me. I don’t need one of yers to watch me back for.”

“She is here because she has spent her entire life at court and knows far more about poison than any of us, because that is the place where such evil is used often.”

Gordon narrowed his eyes, but the lady didn’t crumple beneath his displeasure. She offered him a serene look, but if one took a moment to peer deeper into her eyes, they could see the strength hidden there. She looked delicate, but she was solid like stone. It was something he was more accustomed to seeing in knights. That look which a man gained from witnessing death.

“Reject me if you wish, Lord Barras, but I will tell you plainly that I am your best hope of catching this assassin, and that you need to reconsider sending me away.”

Gordon felt one of his eyebrows rise. “Ye’ve caught so many of them, I suppose?”

“A few.”

“Which is more than I have.” Curan cast a look back at his sister. “If Jemma survives, she will only face waiting for the next attack or returning home with me.”

Gordon stiffened. He clamped down on the denial he wanted to issue to Curan because he had to. Never once had he been defeated when fighting against men he could see coming at him, but this manner of attack was one that he knew no way to challenge.

“What is yer plan, Lady?”

Justina held up a hand and turned in a full circle, inspecting every bit of the room. She began to walk, looking at the floor and pushing at any boards that appeared uneven. It was the sort of inspection that placed confidence in him when he had been so sure mistrust was the only thing he might have for the Lady. Justina finished and came back to drop to her knees and crawl beneath the bed that Jemma slept in. They heard her tapping on the boards with her hands before she emerged from the other side.

“First we shall move Jemma, but it must be done in secret and I must inspect the chamber before she is taken there.”

Justina stood up and wet one fingertip before reaching out to run it along the sheet that Jemma lay on. She tasted her finger gingerly.

“Ye think there is poison in the sheet?”

Justina licked another finger and ran it along the chemise his wife wore. “It would not be the first time, and do not doubt that assassins are very clever. I have seen gloves and saddles poisoned, food and fabric, too. There is no decency in these assassins; they will poison bedding and not care that a husband or wife dies along with their intended victim. Poison the wet nurse to get at the child she suckles.”

“I didna take ill and I slept in that bed.”

“Except that your staff most likely changed the sheet this morning before she was found, and if someone truly wishes her dead, they would be wise to use more than one dose.” Justina pressed her fingers against Jemma’s face, peering intently at her skin. “It looks like common toxins such as hemlock or toad stools.”

Curan gave a soft grunt. “You see why I brought her.”

“It is becoming clearer, if not more disturbing, to see such knowledge in one so delicate.”

Justina frowned, the harshest expression that had crossed her lips. “Delicate does not survive long at court. My husband died of poison.”

“My condolences.”

The lady lifted her fair face to stare straight at him. “My only regret is that it took him too gently to hell and that I was not the one who fed it to him. He was a very cruel man and killed too many innocents before his ways came back to haunt him.” The lady suddenly looked older than her years. “And my father knew it well when he wed me to him. That is court; nothing matters but ambition. Not even murder.”

Justina look into Jemma face. “But perhaps some good might come of it now.”

Lady Justina searched his towers. Gordon paced the floor in front of his wife’s bed while he waited. The lady had not enlightened him on the rest of her plan, saying only that she needed to keep the information from as many ears as possible.

“Gordon?”

He turned in a swirl of kilts to discover Jemma watching him.

“Good evening to ye, lass.”

Jemma tried to smile but her lips were dry and the skin cracked. Pain went through them, but it was mild compared to the burning that was in her belly. It was even more than her belly because the fire licked over her back and down into her legs.

But the sight of Gordon soothed her. He moved toward her, and the bed shifted when he sat on its edge. Just that small motion sent pain spiking through her. It must have been plain on her face for Gordon frowned.

“Do not.”

He picked up one of her hands and held it gently between his two hands. “Do nae what, lass?”

“Do not treat me so.” Two tears eased from the corners of her eyes, bringing relief from the dryness she hadn’t realized tormented her, but the salt stung. “You have never been anything but bold with me. I like that.”

“Well then, lass, ye’ll have to be getting well so that we can get back to that.”

He wanted her to, she could see the need shimmering in his eyes. The pain increased, burning hot now that she was fully awake. Poisons were horrible things; some of them took a long time to kill, eating away at their victims before finally snuffing out their lives. She had always known that she would die someday, but it had never been something that she feared. Living had been the challenge when her father died. Now she had a reason to want to cling to life. Her hands tightened around Gordon’s, and the feel of his warm flesh against her own was soothing.

“I love you.”

He flinched, a muscle twitching along the side of his jaw. He leaned closer, laying her hand on her stomach before stroking his fingertips along her cheeks.

“Do nae do that, lass.”

The hard edge to his voice drew a soft smile from her in spite of the pain it sent along her lips.

“But I do and—”

“And ye will nae say good-bye to me now, Jemma. Ye will survive this and ye will be my wife.”

If the force of his will could force fate to heed him, then Jemma would live. She stared at the determination in his eyes, trying to absorb some of it, but her body hurt too badly.

Gordon turned and lifted something off a table that had been placed beside the bed. It was a small pewter cup, such as a child might use.

“Some water will make ye feel better.” He lifted her head and supported her neck with a firm hand while sliding behind her to brace her with his body. “I may take to feeding ye, lass, because it gives me the chance to hold ye.”

“Hmmm . . . I find it strangely attractive myself, except for the part where I recall that I am helpless.”

“Drink, lass, and yer strength will return.”

“Do not drink that.”

Gordon jerked the water spilling onto the bed. With one fluid motion he pulled his sword from where it was leaning against the bedside. There was an answering slide of steel against steel as the knight trailing the boy unsheathed his sword. Jemma felt surprise flash through her, for the knight was Synclair and it seemed as if it had been a long time since she had seen him.

“You must not give her anything that has come through your kitchens.”

Gordon slid out from behind her and lowered her onto the pillow with one arm, but he kept his attention on the boy who was telling him what to do. Jemma stared at the youth, trying to decide what it was about him that she found odd.

“What ye must nae do is surprise me, Lady Justina, else there will be dire results. I am nae in the mood to ask too many questions.”

Gordon replaced his sword, but he kept an eye on Synclair until the man followed suit.

“Lady?” Jemma turned her head and recognized Lady Justina. Synclair nodded at her in response. Gordon turned to sweep her with a keen look, ensuring that she was settled well before turning back to look at Lady Justina.

“Why are you dressed like a boy, Justina?” It was a dangerous thing to do because the Church spoke against women dressing in men’s clothing. Punishment was harsh, but even worse were the superstitions that attached themselves to those females who donned britches.

They would be sterile or too small to take a man’s member or become diseased, and the list continued. There were even those who claimed witches were girls who had worn britches, and the clothing had turned them against the natural order of the world.