Page 28 of The Cordial Bride

Calan grinned at Isabeau. “I think he’s going to recover.”

She put an arm around Calan and hugged him briefly. “Of course, he is…thanks to you. I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I fought this marriage. If I hadn’t been so openly hostile, your aunt might not have believed her scheme would work. I must shoulder some of the blame.”

Calan shook his head. “No. Ian won’t think so, any more than he’d castigate me for unwittingly giving him more of the poison. You were right about that, and please accept that I’m right about this.”

Isabeau gave him a good, hard stare as she stepped back. “I can see now why Ian was drawn to you from the beginning. It’s not only your outward beauty. There is great goodness in you. And you are obviously happy with each other, and that’s all that truly matters.”

Fennic hovered a little way away. “Countess, my lady, what would you have me do?”

At Isabeau’s nod for him to answer, Calan said, “Nothing…for now. Speak of my husband’s recovery to no one. Let Celia think he’s still in danger. When he’s well, Ian will know what should be done—or at least he’ll undoubtedly have very strong ideas.” He gazed down at Ian, who seemed to be sleeping more than unconscious. “I suspect he always does.”

* * * *

The murmuring around Ian started to sound clearer. Gone was the ringing in his ears, and his body no longer felt as if it were on fire. He took in a deep breath, free from the constricting pain that had made him scream inside his own head. He’d tried to open his eyes and mouth before, but nothing had worked. Now, he knew that while it would be hard to do so, he’d succeed. He pried open his eyelids. The first thing in his line of vision was his wife. Of course.

He managed a smile. “Darling Calan.”

The boy’s eyes popped, and he uttered a gasp before leaning into him. “You’re awake. Truly this time.”

This time? Obviously Ian’s memories of what had been going on were murky. “Have I been away for very long?”

“A few days.” Tears filled Calan’s eyes.

Ian tried to lift his hand to wipe them away, but it was too hard. It dropped back onto the bed like a stone. “How very inconsiderate of me to worry you so.” He licked his dry, cracked lips. “Might I have some water, wife?”

Calan jumped to comply, filling a cup from a pitcher by the bed. When the boy tried to lift him up enough to drink, a second set of arms helped from the other side. “Sister?” He didn’t say anything more as he concentrated all his energy—of which there was disconcertingly little—to sip the cool liquid. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

When he was done, his wife and sister propped him against a mound of pillows.

Calan’s worried face entered his line of sight once more. “How do you feel?”

“Weak as a kitten. I don’t like it,” he added with a petulant tone that he also didn’t like yet couldn’t quite hold back. “Have I been sick?” Alarm shot through him suddenly. “Were you?” He tried once more to touch Calan, although this time, to make sure the boy was well.

Calan intercepted his hand and held it in his lap. “I’m fine. I didn’t drink any of the brandywine.”

Ian frowned. “Drink… It was poisoned?” Fury helped clear his fuzzy head.

Calan nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Your aunt.” He didn’t need to ask, because he knew with instant and obvious clarity.

His wife looked surprised, however. “How did you guess?”

“A logical deduction, darling. She never tried to hide her hatred of me, and who else would have the skill or the motive to do so? Other than Isabeau, of course, but she isn’t the kind to poison. If she wanted me dead, she’d take a dagger to my heart.” He managed to shoot his sister a smile. “And your aunt would know, would she not, that you don’t drink brandywine?”

Calan nodded his head, misery written across his face. “Yes, you’re right, although she has tried to blame Lady Isabeau.”

Now, Ian struggled to sit up, a bold move fueled by his anger, but ultimately fruitless, given his weakened state. He flopped immediately back onto the pillows. “How dare she. That…” He didn’t finish his thought, sensitive to the fact that the woman was his wife’s only relative.

Calan placed his hand on Ian’s chest. “Please don’t upset yourself or try to do too much. Your recovery is going to take a few more days. And there is nothing you can call Celia or say about her that I’ll disagree with.” He lowered his gaze. “I still can’t believe she’d do such a thing. I guess I didn’t realize how much she wanted to keep and control me, and you nearly died because of my failure.” Tears trickled down his cheeks.

Ian used what little strength he had to do the most important thing at the moment. Reaching up, he wiped away those tears from Calan’s cheek before exhaustion overtook him once more. “Please don’t cry, darling. You are not to blame for any of this. I knew of her feelings and should have been more vigilant.” Just thinking of how he’d almost tried to persuade the boy to drink some of the brandywine chilled his blood.

“Indeed, you should have been.” Isabeau entered his line of sight. “It’s a good thing that your wife is a brilliant apothecary. His latest innovation saved you. You have chosen well in your marriage, brother.” She gave him a brief smile, reminding him of how beautiful she was and how little there was for her to be happy about, other than Amalie, since her husband’s death.

“Does this mean you approve of my marriage now, sister?”

She lifted her chin, her haughtiness back on display. “How could I not be, given your wife’s obvious love for you?”

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