Page 26 of The Cordial Bride

The guard slowly turned his head to look at Calan over his shoulder. “Countess?”

It took Calan a few seconds to realize that the man was asking him what to do. The title he used and the deference in his tone was so casually given that it stunned Calan and made him realize for the first time that through his marriage, he had gained real status and power. The man wasn’t merely following his count’s or Lady Isabeau’s orders. He expected Calan to issue them as well. If this man was anything to go by, the people of Moorcondia would accept him as Ian’s wife, the Countess of Charteris. It wasn’t some game being played to get Calan into Ian’s bed and to secure access to the cordial. Calan’s life had really changed, and the knowledge of it gave him courage.

He lifted his chin. “Let her pass.”

The guard stepped to one side without hesitation, although he stood facing Calan with his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Celia sailed in, her gaze narrowed on the pouch Calan clutched. “What is this you’re doing?”

“Trying to save my husband, as you well know.” He took a step toward her. “Help me by telling me what you gave him.” With her here, he had to at least try to get an answer out of her.

With a sniff, Celia stood with her hands on her hips. “Nothing. Whatever is happening to that man is not of my doing. I’ve told you to look to his sister. My involvement was only being silent about what I saw, and I don’t regret it. Your marriage was always a mistake, and I’m glad she’s rectifying it.” Her lips curled into a nasty smile. “You’ve left her with him, I’ll wager. She’s probably finishing the job as we speak.”

Despite Calan being sure that Isabeau was not responsible for the poisoning, his heart skipped a beat, and the urge to run back to his husband was strong. He held his ground, instead. “You’re lying. I know you poisoned the brandywine. Tell me what you used! Please,” he added in a near whisper, pride being nothing compared to Ian’s life.

“I can’t help you.” Her voice was flat, her gaze cold.

Calan was tempted to tell the guard to grab his aunt to shake the truth out of her, but he wasn’t a violent person, and he doubted the effort would do any good. He could see the fervor in his aunt’s eyes. The woman was convinced she’d done no wrong. He was wasting time talking to her. He hurried from the room, giving Celia a wide berth to ensure she didn’t try to take the pouch from him. This time, he ran full tilt through the village, the guards keeping up with him and not breaking their protective formation. When he arrived back in the room, a quick glance told him that Ian was no better—but also no worse, which was something. What he held in his hand would tip the balance, one way or the other. He pushed aside his fear and hardened his resolve even more as he went to Isabeau, who sat beside her brother.

“I need hot water.” He held up the pouch. “These should be steeped.”

Isabeau jumped to her feet, her nightgown and robe fluttering around her, testament that her devotion to her brother was so great that she still hadn’t taken time to make herself more presentable. “I’ll see to it.”

Calan placed a hand on his husband’s hot chest. “Hang on, my love. Please,” he added, hating the sound of fear in his voice. Ian didn’t need to hear that.

When Isabeau returned with her maid hefting a steaming kettle, Calan went to join her. The maid put the kettle on the food table and stood back to give them room. Together, Calan and Isabeau mixed the medicine in the hot water and waited. It was hard. Calan wanted to use it as quickly as possible, yet he knew that if the infusion was too weak, it wouldn’t help Ian as much as it was intended to. He went to bathe his husband’s face once more while Isabeau paced. Finally, she tapped Calan on the shoulder and gestured for him to go over to the table.

He peered into the kettle and sniffed. “I think it’s been steeping long enough.” He glanced at Ian. “It’s hard to say, but…”

Isabeau put her hand on his arm. “Don’t second-guess yourself. You know what you are doing, but if it helps, I agree with you. It’s time.”

Calan poured some of the drink into a cup and swishing it around, blew into it to render it sufficiently cool so as not to burn Ian’s mouth. He looked at Isabeau. “I’m going to need your help.”

“Of course.”

Once again, they managed to put Ian in a sitting position to force liquid down his throat. As the man sputtered and swallowed, Calan prayed he wasn’t killing his husband.

* * * *

Isabeau returned to the room, having finally left to dress for the day. She was in a simple frock with her hair still braided down her back. This was how he imagined the woman looked on a daily basis when she wasn’t obligated to play the king’s emissary. He liked it. It made it easier to see her as she really was and understand Ian’s unfailing affection for her. This was a woman who cared more about doing what was needed without worrying about her lofty place in society. With her words and actions this morning, he knew without a doubt that she also loved her brother. She could have told her guards to remove him from his husband’s side, as well. He had no doubt that they would obey the woman over him. That she had instead deferred to Calan confirmed that however she felt about his marriage, she wasn’t going to hold it against him.

She placed her hand on Ian’s cheek. “I think his fever has abated.”

Calan exhaled sharply. He’d thought so, too, but didn’t trust his judgment wasn’t merely wishful thinking. “He does feel cooler and seems less restless.”

“Your concoction has worked, and for that, we can be thankful.” She stared directly into Calan’s eyes. “I am thankful. I honestly don’t believe I could have saved him myself.”

“He had only a couple of sips of the brandywine when we first arrived and doesn’t seem to have drunk much more after that. My new medicine might not have been needed, and I’m relieved that it didn’t make matters worse.” Tears trickled past the wall he’d erected so far, the belief that Ian was recovering giving his emotions room to burst out, as well. “This is my fault!”

Isabeau looked at him sharply. “You aren’t saying you poisoned him, after all?”

“No!” He widened his eyes with horror. “But I poured him more of the brandywine and left it by the bed when I went to gather my medicinals for the trip. If I hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have drunk more and gotten as sick as he did.”

“You are not to blame, and you most certainly are the one who saved him.” When he said nothing, she leaned into his line of vision. “Ian would never fault you for his illness merely because you were being a good…wife to him.” She straightened. “We must be grateful that his love of brandywine didn’t make a glutton of him. He usually guzzles the stuff when he’s in a festive mood. Someone must have known of his tastes.”

Calan shook his head, the need for the truth coming at last now that he was beginning to hope for a happy outcome. And besides, the guard has witnessed his confrontation with Celia. Word would spread to the Moorcondians, regardless. “No. The person who poisoned it only knew that I don’t like it, so there was no chance of my being killed along with my husband.”

“What are saying?”

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