"Curse it, how did I miss that?" she muttered, and stood up, eager to find Diarmot.
Sweat broke out all over her body and Ilsa clutched the edge of the table.
She did not feel well and was rapidly feeling worse. Certain she was about to be ill and not wanting to ruin the journals, she moved away from the table. The pain that gripped her insides was so intense she screamed and collapsed to her knees. She emptied her belly on the floor and--for a moment--felt better, then the pain struck again. Clutching her belly, she tried to stand, but when it proved impossible, began to crawl toward the door. She could hear someone rapidly approaching and tried to call out only to be sick again. Ilsa managed to move away from that foul mess and then curled up, huddled in a ball in a vain attempt to ease the pain tearing away at her insides.
"Ilsa!"
"Something is wrong," she said when Fraser and Gay knelt by her, Fraser cradling her in her strong arms.
"Tis obvious ye are verra ill," said Fraser. "We must get ye to bed." She cursed when Ilsa began to writhe.
"Jesu, tis an agony," Ilsa cried out. "Get it out!"
Diarmot entered the room only a step behind Sigimor, Tait and Nanty right behind him. He watched Ilsa tear free of Fraser's hold just as Sigimor reached for her. She was violently ill and Diarmot felt his belly clench in sympathy.
Sigimor picked her up and started toward the door.
"The wine," she moaned.
"What about the wine?" asked Diarmot.
"Tis bitter. Too bitter." She started to writhe again and Sigimor tightened his hold on her. "The wine is burning me!"
"Fraser, put that wine somewhere safe so that we can look at it later,"
ordered Diarmot and then he hurried after Sigimor, pausing only to tell Peter to have someone fetch Glenda.
It took him, Sigimor, Fraser, and Gay to get Ilsa out of her clothes, into a clean shift, and hold her in the bed. Tait and Nanty waited helplessly by the door. She was violently ill only twice more, but the pain obviously continued.
The things she said proved she was not completely in possession of her senses.
Diarmot tried to talk to her, as did Sigimor, but he knew she was not understanding them. He was beginning to think they would have to tie her to the bed, when she suddenly swooned. Fraser was the first to ascertain that it was only a swoon, reassuring him and Sigimor who had both been afraid to move.
"Help me clean up this mess, Gay," Fraser said.
"Nay, dinnae touch that yet," cried Glenda as she hurried into the room.
Diarmot took the dampened scrap of linen Fraser handed him and gently bathed Ilsa's face as Glenda inspected what had come out of Ilsa. He tried to be patient when the woman moved to the side of the bed and thoroughly examined Ilsa. Then Ilsa opened her eyes and looked at him. He frowned for she briefly looked afraid of him.
"The wine," she said, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper. "The wine is bitter."
"What wine?" demanded Glenda and was taken to the tray of wine and oatcakes by Fraser who had brought it into the room with her.
"Where did ye get that wine, Ilsa?" Diarmot asked.
"From ye," she replied and moaned, clutching at her stomach. "He said ye thought I would want some. But the wine was so bitter. Tis burning me!"
Tis poison," announced Glenda as she hurried back to the bed. Twas in the wine."
"Nay," Diarmot whispered and hurriedly stepped back as Sigimor advanced on him.
Diarmot drew his sword a heartbeat after Sigimor drew his. Tait moved to stand by his brother even as Nanty moved to stand next to Diarmot. Both young men drew their swords, too. Fraser cried out, but no one paid her any heed.
"Ye tried to kill her," said Sigimor. "Got weary of trying to drive her away with all your unkindnesses, did ye?"
"Nay," protested Diarmot. "I would ne'er--"
"She said it herself. The wine was poisoned and ye sent it to her."
Sigimor tensed to attack and Diarmot heard Nanty curse. A chill coursed through Diarmot's blood. His wife could be dying in agony and her brothers were eager to make him do the same. He had no defense to make the Camerons pause, Ilsa's words carrying far more weight than anything he could say. Diarmot tensed to meet the attack, not sure how this could end without one or more of them dead, when he heard a distinct thud. For a moment, Sigimor stood, his eyes wide and his expression one of shock. Then, slowly, he collapsed onto the floor, obviously seriously stunned. As he fell, Diarmot could see Gay standing behind the man holding the heavy walking stick Diarmot had used while recovering from the beating he had endured in Muirladen.
"Sometimes ye just have to knock some sense into a mon," Gay said, staring down at Sigimor who was already shaking free of the effects of her blow.
After staring at his small assailant for a moment, Sigimor slowly sat up and rubbed his head. "Ye could have killed me with that log ye are wielding," he said.