Page 77 of Wed to the Highlander
“The lass was the spittin’ image of her mother, my twin sister, Alma. How could I nae?”
Och, a twin. That explained her devotion to her niece. Fiona was astounded by what she’d learned in five minutes about a woman she’d known for seven years.
Fiona stepped inside, offering hesitantly, unsure how Agnes would take it. “I could help going through everything.”
“Aye,” she said, surprising her again. “I thought tae find things to remember her by.”
“Where shall I start?”
Agnes waved her hand. “Anywhere you please.”
Fiona tossed a pillow for her knees onto the floor in front of a half-open trunk with garments spilling out.When she raised the lid fully, the scent of lavender overwhelmed her. She coughed, cleared her throat, and began sorting through dresses. They were all either the green Isla favored or in the Cameron plaid. Shoes to match, and a few trinkets, which she passed to Agnes.
Tucked in the corner, she found a tin. She lifted it and pried open the lid. It was filled with dried herbs. Holding it to her nose, her brows pinched at the pungent odor.
She turned to Agnes. “Do ye have more light?”
The older woman lit a lamp and brought it closer. “What is it?”
Fiona spread some of the leaves on her palm. “Tea and herbs,” she said, sifting through them. “Chamomile, and…” She looked up at her mother-in-law in dawning horror. “Pennyroyal.”
Agnes grabbed her hand and drew it near for a better look. “That is no’ pennyroyal.” She stuck her pinky in it and took a small taste. “As I thought. It’s wood betony for headaches. Isla complained of them often.”
As she had the day Fiona encountered her near the kitchens. “Are you sure?” she asked.
“Aye. They look and smell alike, which is why they’re mistaken for each other, often with dire results.”
Fiona sat back on her heels, her thoughts racing. “It makes perfect sense. She was probably beside herself when it dinna work.”
Agnes frowned. “What are ye saying?”
“What would happen if someone ingested too much wood betony over time?”
“I’m no healer, but I’d guess they’d become terribly ill.”
“How so?”
“Stomach upset, dizziness, and fallin’ off.”
“The same as Maggie,” she whispered.
“I wish ye’d stop mutterin’ and explain,” Agnes grumbled.
“The mistress’ special tea was stored in a tin like this one. Isla found that out somehow and tampered with it, using what she thought was pennyroyal tae make Lady Maggie miscarry.”
The older woman shook her head. “I dinna think Isla was capable—”
“You ken that she was, Agnes!” Fiona snapped. The woman defended her even in death. “I saw Isla in the kitchen the day the tea tin disappeared. Maggie had been sick for weeks. She must’ve added more and more when it failed to work. Then hid the tea away in her trunk when she got scared.”
The older woman’s mouth tightened. “If that’s true, the laird’s sassenach bride is lucky Isla was such a poor herbalist.”
“She might’ve lost the bairn,” Fiona exclaimed. “And Maggie could’ve died. You well ken that happens often enough. Even if ye dinna care for them, think what it would mean for the clan if Duncan reached thirty wi’ no heir. That would touch everyone, includin’ you.”
Agnes gave a small shrug. “The inheritance would have gone to the next married man in line with a son. Lachlan would’ve made a fine laird.”
Horrified, Fiona gasped. “You conspired with her.”
Agnes stiffened. “I may not have a likin’ for the English, but I’m no’ a murderer.” When silence stretched between them, brittle as frost, she pressed her fingers to her temple. “I feel a headache coming on.”
