Page 26 of Rescued By the Highland Warrior
“Aye,” Moira said. “I think it’d be wise tae ask Lady Fraser fer information first, an’ approach her gently. Let her share what she remembers naturally, without feelin’ pressed. Sometimes, people reveal more when they feel they’re simply recallin’ memories rather than being interrogated.”
Roderick nodded, his features softening slightly. “That makes sense. She might remember details she didnae realize were important at the time.”
Moira nodded.
“And I agree with ye about Malcolm. There’s a coldness that daesnae sit well with me either.”
“Tread carefully, Roderick.” She said to him as he got up to leave her chambers. “Remember what I said about a gentle approach.”
Roderick nodded, “I’m a fast learner, dinnae worry.”
“There’s nae use fer worry where caution is concerned” Moira said in a lighthearted tone.
Roderick paused near the door, his hand resting on the wooden frame. “I’ll keep that in mind, Moira. Ye’ve a way o’ making one think twice before acting.”
“That’s what I’m here fer,” she replied, her tone light but her gaze unwavering.
He hesitated, as if weighing his next words, then offered her a small nod. “I’ll let ye ken what she says.”
“I’ll be here,” Moira said softly. “Good luck, Roderick.”
He gave Moira one last glance before slowly closing the door behind him. It creaked with a low whine before it finally shut.
Once alone, Moira let out a long breath, allowing herself a brief moment to register the undercurrent of tension between her and Roderick that morning. With the stakes running so high, it was only natural that they would bicker.
Still, maybe it was the cold cynic in her, but she still found it hard to believe that he cared about her any more than he had to. His concern that morning in the gardens had been real, and it made her think twice about the preconceptions about humans she had always had. And toward Roderick.
But she shook her head, reminding herself that she had sent Roderick on a task to gather information about symptoms, ones she may not have known as much about as she let on.
He had called her brilliant, and she wanted to live up to that, although not without a little help from one of her closest friends in the Triad—Edin. Edin had only been a little older than Moira when she was taken in by the Triad, and she’d always felt like a big sister. Her knowledge was greater than Moira’s, when it came to just about anything, but herbs and poisons in particular.
Getting up from the bed, Moira moved over to the small wooden desk and chair and found some paper in one of the cabinets to write a letter.
Dipping the quill into the inkwell, she paused for a moment, the tip hovering above the page. Moira didn’t want to divulge too much information, for pen on paper was always a risky business when it came to the Triad.
But time was running out, so Moira started to write.
Edin,
I hope this letter finds ye well. I’ve been reflectin’ on the properties o’ certain herbs, and’ yer knowledge is second tae none. There’s one in particular that’s been on me mind—monkshood. I find meself curious about its effects in different doses and how its properties might be altered when combined with others. Ye ken how important accuracy is in such matters.
I’d appreciate any insight ye might have on similar plants that share its potency. Yer understanding of their finer applications—whether medicinal or otherwise—has always been something I’ve admired. This inquiry is more than academic, though I cannae say more in writing.
With gratitude,
Moira
Once finished, Moira carefully folded the letter, tucking it into a spare envelope from her case, and marking it in wax with the Triad seal. While Roderick was busy talking with Lady Fraser, Moira planned on sending it out.
Roderick knocked on his mother’s chamber doors twice, so that she knew it was him. He could tell that she was in there for he could hear her shuffling around.
He wasn’t sure what she spent her time doing in the small study, but after his father had passed, she started to spend more and more of her afternoons there. She had put up a positive front, but she had been dealing with her husband’s death in her own way, the best she could.
“Come in,” her sweet voice called.
Roderick pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the study, his boots echoing softly against the stone floor. The room smelled faintly of lavender and old parchment, a comforting blend that reminded him of his childhood.
“How are ye, Maither?” He asked.
