Page 27 of The Cordial Bride

Before Calan could answer, there was a knock on the door. He and Isabeau turned toward it.

A guard poked her head in. “Apologies, my lady, but Councillor Fennic is insisting on speaking with you…and the countess,” she added with a glance at Calan.

Instead of answering the guard, Isabeau looked at Calan. “What is your wish? Ian is your husband, after all, and this your room.”

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been, given how the woman had acted that morning, but Calan was once again surprised by her deference. He slipped off the bed and said, “Let him in.”

Fennic stepped inside, wringing his hands and his gaze whirling around the room. As it landed on Ian, his face drained of color. “H-how fairs the count?”

“He is improving,” Calan replied. “Lady Isabeau and I are guardedly hopeful that he will recover.”

Fennic’s head bobbed a few times. “Excellent news. We have all been most anxious about his condition. Little information has come forward, so we feared the worse.”

“He was poisoned.” Calan stated the bare fact baldly, his anger replacing his fear.

“Yes.” Fennic didn’t hold his gaze. “So I understand. And that is why I have come.” He turned his attention to Isabeau. “My lady, there have been…suggestions that you were responsible.”

Ian’s sister gasped. “Is that what you think?” she demanded of Calan.

He shook his head. “No. I’m sure you didn’t, actually.”

“Then who has put that vicious rumor about?”

“The person who actually did the deed—Aunt Celia.” Calan rubbed his chest over his heart because facing this awful truth hurt.

Fennic wrung his hands even more. “Oh, dear. This is very bad business, indeed. It is known, my lady, that you disapproved of your brother’s marriage to Calan.” His eyes were almost pleading, as if he were doing a terrible duty and wanted to be wrong—which he was, but through no fault of his own.

Calan responded before Isabeau could. “The idea that Lady Isabeau would try to kill her own brother along with me is absurd, if you think hard about it. Not only is her love for him obvious to all who care to observe, but it would also have made far more sense for her to wait until we returned to Moorcondia before getting rid of me—after securing the formula from me, of course. That way, she’d have the treaty and free Ian to marry a suitable woman. Surely you don’t believe this woman is stupid.”

Fennic’s eyes popped. “No, no, of course not. It’s just—”

“My Aunt Celia has spun some tale that sounded plausible when she told it, but now you see how implausible it actually is.”

Lady Isabeau found her voice. “It was her, your aunt? You’re sure?”

Calan closed his eyes briefly, the painful truth overwhelming for a moment. He opened his eyes and stared at Fennic only. He was the one who had to be convinced. “Yes. When I saw her in the workshop early this morning, she spoke as if she knew what had happened. That’s why I raced back here as I did. She implicated Lady Isabeau and indicating that while she knew of what had happened, she had decided it was best not to interfere. That was clever of her,” he allowed. “But I’m sure that’s not what happened. Aunt Celia obtained a bottle of brandywine to poison because, although she couldn’t know for sure that Ian would drink it, she was certain I wouldn’t touch it. With Ian dead, she would have me back in her control.

“I saw her again a short while ago when I went to retrieve what I hoped would be the antidote. She barged in and continued to deny her culpability.” He paused before daring to say out loud what had been torturing his mind for hours now. “I think I saw a hint of madness in her eyes. She’s always been volatile behind closed doors, but this was more than the anger she’s unleashed on me over the years. Taking this horrid step and thinking she could get away with it is not the act of a rational person. Apparently, she will do anything to achieve what she is convinced is right—keeping me as a useful tool for Shadow Valley alone. And for her benefit, as well,” he added with sadness. The bright woman who had taught him so much seemed intent on stealing his ideas for herself.

“I don’t follow the logic, dear boy,” Fennic said. “The death of the count would change nothing. You would still have had the right to move to Moorcondia as the widowed countess and the treaty—”

“Oh, you would have torn that up, would you not?” Isabeau interjected.

Calan nodded. “Yes. If you thought Lady Isabeau had killed her brother and tried to kill me, the council wouldn’t have gone through with the treaty. Such evil is not tolerated in Shadow Valley, and no one would want to have anything to do with a country that fostered such a thing. Aunt Celia could keep me and the secret of the cordial here.”

Fennic went over to a chair and sat heavily. “If that is true, you are describing a vile plan that I can’t imagine of your aunt.”

“You know her, Councillor Fennic.” Calan went to stand in front of him. “She’s always been controlling, and her feelings about the treaty were no secret. And I’ve been on the receiving end of her temper, something that she and I both hid from the rest of you. Me, out of shame and a sense of loyalty to my own family. She’s been clever enough to keep the worst of her impulses in check around others. As much as it pains me to say it, this act doesn’t surprise me. Not really.”

“What are we to do?”

“I would ask that you do nothing for the moment. What matters to me is Ian’s recovery. After that… Well, I’m not on the council, am I? It’s not my decision.”

Fennic opened his mouth, but before he had a chance to speak, there was a low moan from the bed.

Calan whipped his head around and practically leaped to his husband’s side. “Ian? Can you hear me?”

A ghost of a smile graced the man’s face. “Darling.” That one word was said in a whisper, and Ian’s eyes remained close. It didn’t matter. This was wonderful progress.

---