Page 110 of The Scottish Duke
“I need hot water,” she said. “And a little whiskey.”
He glanced at Peter, who nodded and left the room for the hot water. Alex, meanwhile, poured a tumbler of whiskey from the sitting room sideboard and handed it to Lorna.
Lorna mixed the white powder with the whiskey then knelt beside the settee.
Nan’s face was a curious gray, her lips a bluish color.
“Help me raise her up.”
He moved to the settee, sat at Nan’s head, and lifted her shoulders. He thought she was unconscious but she moaned when Lorna pressed the glass to her lips.
“You have to drink this, Nan. I know it’s vile but you have to.”
He thought it was Lorna’s will alone that got the concoction down Nan’s throat.
When Peter returned bearing a steaming teakettle, Lorna pressed half of the leaves from both of the bottles into the boiling water. They all stood silently watching Nan as the brew steeped. When Lorna deemed it ready, she poured some of the green mixture into the same glass, then cooled it by adding more whiskey.
“She won’t like this one, either,” Lorna said, glancing up at him. “The cure is said to taste like briars mixed with horse excrement.”
His mother’s laugh surprised them all. When he glanced at her, she shrugged, still making that rocking motion to soothe Robbie. His son was gnawing on one fist and drooling all over his mother’s expensive dress. She didn’t appear to care one whit.
“I do bless the day you came into our lives, Lorna,” his mother said. “You’re a breath of fresh air. You’ll save her. I know you will.”
Once Nan finished the glass, her color was a little better. The bluish tint to her lips had disappeared. She looked more herself, but ill.
“How long until you know if the cure worked?” Alex asked.
“Not for a day or two. If she doesn’t have any more seizures, she should recover.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Peter asked, stepping forward.
Had Peter developed feelings for Nan? It was a question he would never have asked himself a year ago.
“Say a prayer,” Lorna said, studying her friend. “Or a dozen of them.”
He would say a few as well, of thankfulness that Lorna hadn’t drunk any of the tea. Who would have saved her if she had? He certainly didn’t have the expertise, and by the time a physician could be called it would have been too late.
While he was at it, he’d say another prayer, that he found the person responsible before anything else could happen.
They tucked Nan into the guest room near their suite with Hortense to care for her. The woman had strict orders to alert Lorna if Nan developed a fever or if her appearance changed in any way.
Alex had sent for the physician as well. The doctor might not know about herbs and their poisonous properties, but he would be able to help Nan if she had another seizure or if her condition worsened. He probably wouldn’t arrive until morning, which meant there was nothing more to be done but return to their suite.
Lorna peeked into the bedroom to find Robbie asleep and her mother-in-law dozing next to him in the overstuffed chair. She closed the door and faced Alex.
“They’re both asleep,” she said. “But not for long. Robbie needs to be fed.”
“But for now we have time to talk.” Alex stood by the fire.
She didn’t ask him what he wanted to discuss. The questions had been fomenting all evening. She sat on the wing chair in front of the fireplace, stretching her hands out in front of her. Someone had tended the fire earlier and it crackled merrily, as if the flames were talking to each other.
“Will she live?” Alex asked.
She nodded. “I think so. Whoever put the monkwood in the tea didn’t know how many leaves to use to cause death.”
“But they’d known that monkwood is dangerous.”
“Most people know that,” she said. “It’s like foxglove. People have heard that it can be used for good but that too much can kill.”
