Imogen lunged at her with her hands outstretched like the claws of a wolf. Jemma screamed and stood up. She had strength for enough steps to get to the door and pull it wide, but even the fear of her life was not enough to overcome the weakness that the poison had left. She stumbled into the wall, and Imogen slammed into her. Pain slashed through her as Imogen grabbed her braid and yanked.

“I must smother you in yer bed to show him what lust brings! Nothing but death.”

Jemma forced herself to draw enough breath in to scream again. This time the sound echoed down the stairway.

Imogen snarled and tried to drag her back into the chamber, but the door had shut, making it necessary to open it with one hand. Jemma jerked against her hold while it was divided between the door and her hair. Imogen snarled and pulled on her head, but Jemma allowed her legs to crumple, making her body dead weight. Imogen was jerked off her feet and fell over the top of her.

A shriek came from the nun’s lips as she began falling down the narrow stairs. Her hand tightened in her hair, pulling Jemma after her.

At least the truth will be known . . .

It was little comfort, and her body tumbled down the steps. Pain tore through her as her spine struck the edge of one step and then her shoulder fell against another, and over she tumbled to strike her cheek. She lacked the strength to stop her fall, and it felt like time was standing still. Jemma heard each one of her heartbeats, listened to them and discovered that the wait between one and the next was very long indeed when you were anticipating the end of your life. They fell for what seemed like an hour before landing on the bottom floor.

“I must kill you!”

Imogen rose up with blood staining her cream-colored robe, the crimson fluid flowing from a cut in her forehead. Her eyes glowed with insanity, and her fingers were clenched into fists. Jemma tried to rise, but her body refused. Her muscles were useless, the weakness completely laying her at Imogen’s mercy.

“I must strike now! Now where God has delivered ye to me.”

Jemma rolled over and stumbled away from her a few more precious steps.

“No!” she wailed loud and almost pitifully.

“You interfere in God’s work! Stand steady to receive His judgment.”

Jemma gritted her teeth and forced her protesting legs to move again. But Imogen was far stronger. The nun jumped onto her, pushing her back onto the stone floor. Her hands locked around her throat, choking the breath from her. Jemma struggled, but Imogen held tight, preventing any breath from reaching her burning lungs.

“Yes . . . yes . . . so simple . . . ye will die now!”

Jemma forced her hands to stop trying to break Imogen’s hold on her neck. She clawed at the nun’s eyes instead. Imogen snarled but suddenly gasped when men rounded the corner. They were running and skid across the stone floor when they realized the way was blocked.

Jemma gasped for breath now that she could. Kerry reached out and pulled Imogen off her with one jerk of his arm.

“Christ in heaven, what are ye doing to the Mistress?”

“She is not the Mistress! She can never be my husband’s wife.” Imogen was distraught. She began walking in a circle while she babbled.

“Sweet God.” Kerry crossed himself, his face full of horror to hear a nun talk of murder. He went to grab Imogen but couldn’t force his hands to close around her arm. He didn’t need to. The nun was in shock, hugging herself.

“Why, God? Why wasn’t I able to kill her? I have been so close twice, and yet she still draws breath . . . he is my husband, joined to me by yer holy church . . . she is worldly sin and everything ye forbid . . . ye sent me to kill her, why did I fail? I am yer servant, yer most humble servant . . .”

The men who had come with Kerry all backed away from Imogen. Another set of footfalls came around the corner. This time Gordon led the charge, but he stumbled to a halt when he ran into his captain.

“What goes on here?”

The horror on Kerry’s face drew a frown from Jemma’s husband.

“Yer first wife, Laird.”

Gordon froze and turned to look at the nun. His face drained of color while he listened to her continue to babble.

“Imogen?” It was a whisper filled with horror and the desire to have himself proved wrong. His first wife looked up and smiled as innocently as a child. She held her hands open to him in welcome, but her palms were covered in her own bright red blood.

“Dearest husband, we must seek God’s favor through rejection of all earthly sin . . . I failed to kill the whore that draws ye away from chastity . . . so ye must help me . . . ye are my husband, my partner in this world . . . together we shall have all of the Lord’s blessings if we keep His commandments . . .”

“No, Imogen. Ye are nae me wife, ye chose the Church and I bid ye joy.” Gordon shook his head. “Take her away, Kerry.”

“But she’s a nun.”

“I shall take her if you have not the stomach for it.” Curan stepped forward with Synclair on his heels. His English accent drew a horrified gasp from Imogen.

“Stay away from me, Protestant! Do not touch me. I belong to Holy Mother Church.”

Curan slowly walked toward her. “Then you had best walk, madam, for I will gladly fit the noose about your neck myself.”

Imogen laughed. She tilted her head back and howled with amusement, her entire body shaking. She opened her arms wide and looked upward.

“Is this the gift ye send me? Release from this earthly body in the form of a Protestant? Oh, yes! Like Jesus being condemned by a Roman!”

“You cannot hang her, Curan. You must not.”

Every head turned to look at Jemma. She had her hands pressed against the floor to hold her body up, but she lacked the strength to get to her feet.

“I surely can, Jemma. It is something I do not expect women to understand, but it is a necessary thing. Her crime is grave.”

Kerry wiped a hand over his mouth, but the captain nodded as did Gordon.

“She is mad, Gordon. Even the King cannot order the execution of an insane person without special permission.”

“No . . . No!” Imogen pointed a finger at her. “You whore! You cannot take yet more from me! Release me from this life! Hang me! That is God’s will . . .”

Synclair reached out and hooked her upper arm with his hand. She shrieked and turned to look at him.

“I will take you away from here, madam.”

Imogen instantly complied, smiling once more like a child. Synclair looked over her head at his lord. “I will secure her so she can cause no more harm.”

“But ye should listen to God’s will . . .” Imogen’s words trailed off as Synclair pulled her down the hallway.

“Kerry, go and tell the priest.”

“Aye, Laird.”

The captain left with the youths following him.

Gordon crossed the space between them and scooped Jemma up off the floor. His body was so warm it made her shiver and realize how cold she had become. Her hands reached for him, desperately seeking out his strength. He kissed her forehead gently.

“Easy, lass. ’Tis finished now.”

Finished. A beautiful word, one that promised a new beginning. Hope flowed through her, soothing the aches that assaulted her. There was no more reason to struggle, so she let her head rest on the shoulder of the man she loved.

It was astounding the way relief brought peace to a soul.

Jemma slept soundly, truly resting throughout the night because she believed that the threat to her life and her remaining at Gordon’s side was indeed over. It was not that she was English, and that left her with the sound belief that the future held acceptance for her as mistress of Barras Castle.

But did it hold love?

That was the thought that she awoke to. The place beside her was empty, but the sheet was wrinkled, hinting that her husband had slept there.

Does that mean he loves me?

She couldn’t put the thought from her mind. So she sat up, finding the task much more achievable than it had been yesterday. Her belly only gave the briefest twinge that she couldn’t truly label pain. The floor was cool beneath her feet, but she smiled when she stood up and her knees didn’t wobble.

Strength felt like it was flowing out from her heart to every inch of her body. She walked to the side of the room in search of her clothing, smiling when she realized she was alone in the chamber. Relief surged through her, and it gave her plenty of strength to dress. A low rumble from her stomach made her giggle.

Hungry—now there was something she had missed.

A riding dress constructed to be simple and useful awaited. She tugged on her hip roll and then lifted her skirts high over her head to put on the dress. Once the waistband was tied securely, she slipped into her stays and laced them up the front like a bodice. The corset fit looser than it had the last time she wore it. Another rumble from within made her reach for her doublet and shrug into it. With how hungry she felt, the few pounds she had lost would not be hard to find.

Once her doublet was buttoned, she reached for the comb and straightened out her hair. She hummed a tune, eagerly anticipating a meal outside her bed. The bells began to ring, announcing the first meal of the day, and Jemma went to join the rest of her household.

“Mistress.”

The first maid she passed looked at her in surprise, but the girl smiled. “ ’Tis right well to see ye up.”

“Thank you.”

People were hurrying into the great hall, but several younger retainers skidded to a halt when they noticed her. They jostled one another in an attempt to offer her their hand as escort.

“I believe that is my duty.”