Gay snorted. "Nay likely. I needed to get your attention and there was nay hope of doing it politely once ye started to wave your swords about, was there?
Nay, your blood was up and ye were past being reasoned with."
"Curse it," Sigimor snapped. "Ilsa said he gave her the wine and the wine is poisoned. Do ye expect me to shake his hand?" He carefully stood up, then rubbed his head again where she had struck him.
"Aye, she thinks he gave her the wine. Twas what she was told." She sighed when all four men just stared at her. "After she said Diarmot had given her the wine, she said, 'he said ye thought I would want some.' Someone else brought her the wine and told her Diarmot sent it."
"Sounds like an accusation to me," said Sigimor, but he sheathed his sword.
"Could be, but could also be no more than what she said. Someone brought her wine and said Diarmot sent it. Was he told that by someone else? Sir Diarmot says he didnae send her any wine. Dinnae think ye have enough proof of a crime there to start hacking each other to bits and leaving we women with more mess to clean up."
Sigimor scowled at her. "Ye had to choose this moment to get bold and impudent, did ye?"
"It seemed a good time," Gay replied calmly. "Now, ye will cease this fighting until we can find out exactly what has happened. If ye cannae do it whilst ye are in the same room, best ye separate."
"Diarmot!" screamed Ilsa as she began to writhe upon the bed. "The journals, see the journals."
Sheathing his sword, Diarmot hurried back to Ilsa's bedside and grabbed hold of one of her hands. "Hush, Ilsa."
"The journals. Ye need to read them, Diarmot. Ye need to."
"I have, Ilsa. Several times."
"Precious Love. Read about Precious Love. My notes are there. Ye must read my notes."
Before he could say anything, she screamed and, yanking her hand free of his, began to claw at her stomach. The brief moment of clarity she had just had was gone again. Diarmot found himself pushed from her side by Tait. When he took a step toward the man, intending to take his rightful place by Ilsa's bedside, Fraser and Nanty each grabbed him by an arm, and started pulling him toward the door.
"I should stay with her," he protested, watching as Gay and Glenda wrapped thick cloths around Ilsa's hands so that she would not hurt herself.
"Those two men may have stopped trying to gut ye," said Fraser, "because Gay talked some sense to them, but that doesnae mean they trust ye near Ilsa. The last thing that poor sick lass needs is four big fools fighting o'er her."
Diarmot realized Fraser and Nanty had pulled him out into the hall and he watched as Fraser shut the door, barring him from Ilsa's side. "I didnae poison her."
"Och, I ken it, laddie." Fraser patted his arm. "She is sick, probably didnae ken what she was saying or didnae say it right. She kens ye wouldnae hurt her."
"Does she? When she saw me at her bedside, she looked afraid of me."
"Weel, mayhap, for a wee moment, she wondered. Someone told her ye sent the wine. But then she was trying to tell ye something about those journals. Now, she isnae going to try so hard to tell ye something that important if she thinks ye are the one trying to kill her, is she?"
"Nay, mayhap not. Her brothers think I poisoned her, however."
"Aye and nay. Ye cannae expect them to think clearly when their only sister is in such pain. And, ye havenae exactly endeared yourself to them, either. Now, why dinnae ye go and--" Fraser looked down the hall and cursed.
Diarmot followed her gaze and echoed her curse. Only a few feet away stood Odo, Aulay, Ewart, Gregor, and Alice. Ivy was probably with the twins waiting for news. Alice was crying silently and the boys all looked as if they wanted to do the same. Little Ewart and Gregor would be easy enough to soothe, their tender years making them less apt to question what they were told. Diarmot fixed his gaze upon the one he knew would require the most careful handling. He moved toward Odo, Fraser and Nanty going toward the others. Diarmot suspected it would be some time before he got to those journals.
"I am bleeding," Ilsa whispered. "I am bleeding."
"Nay," said Sigimor, "ye are just sick, loving. Tis poison ye suffer from, nay a wound."
She moaned softly and shook her head. "Nay, I am bleeding. I shouldnae be bleeding. Oh, tis so sad."
Glenda yanked back the covers and cursed when she saw the blood. "Is it time for your menses, child?"
"Has the poison done this?" asked Sigimor when Ilsa did not reply to Glenda's question.
"Nay." Glenda almost smiled when she looked at Sigimor for both he and Tait were alarmingly pale and had their gazes fixed steadily upon the walls. "I fear she is losing a bairn." Glenda examined Ilsa more closely, noting how much she had bled. "Nay, I believe she has already lost it. That would explain why the pain was so severe. Stiffen your backbones, laddies. Gay and I are going to need help to clean the lass up."