"Margaret?" he growled.
Margaret looked at him and sighed. "Geordie, ye wound me. I could ne'er have succeeded as weel as I have without your help and devotion. Do ye truly think I would reward that with a cup of poison?"
Geordie studied her for a moment, then returned to drinking his ale. Ilsa had to wonder if the man was so certain of his own charm he could not believe his lover would harm him, or if he was just lacking in wit. The fact that those who helped Margaret tended to end up dead should at least make him wary.
"Alice looks a great deal like her mother," Margaret said as she studied the child. She took a step toward Alice, but hastily stepped back again when Finlay began to whimper. "What is wrong with that bairn?"
Finlay quieted the moment Margaret stepped back and Ilsa shrugged. "I would guess that he doesnae like ye."
"Dinnae be ridiculous. He didnae cry when he was taken from the garden."
"Aye, he did," said Alice and she briefly glared at Geordie, "but Geordie gagged him. Near choked my brother to death in the doing of it, the swine."
"Hush your mouth, lass, ere I silence ye myself," growled Geordie. "I dinnae need to tolerate impudence from some whore's wee bastard."
Ilsa saw Margaret pale slightly and realized it was fury which caused that look. " 'Ware, Geordie. Ye shouldnae speak of Lady Anabelle that way."
"What do ye care? The laird's first wife is naught to ye," he said.
"Aye, she was naught to me, less than naught. She meant something to Margaret, though." Ilsa fixed her gaze upon Margaret. "Didnae she, Precious Love?"
"Ye think ye are so verra clever, dinnae ye?" Margaret shook her head. "Ye have nay proof."
"Diarmot soon will. He and my brothers will soon find out all they need to ken. The truth is there, at Muirladen, isnae it? Tis why he went there a year ago. Tis why ye set those men on him."
"He willnae find out any more now than he did then."
"Oh, I think he will. Ye havenae been able to kill all who kenned the truth.
Diarmot willnae be marrying ye when he returns to find himself widowed. Ye will be verra lucky if he doesnae hunt ye down like the rabid animal ye are." She tensed when Margaret hissed and started toward her, but then Finlay started to cry, and Margaret quickly retreated again.
"How are ye making the bairn do that?" Margaret snapped.
Although Ilsa was rather astonished by Finlay's behavior, she calmly brushed a thick curl from his forehead. "I am doing naught. He just doesnae like ye."
"Weel, he will be a verra quiet laddie soon," she murmured, then took another sip of wine. "I will only have to speak to Diarmot to make him believe he has heard naught but lies about me, evil lies. The mon was eager to wed with me ere ye ruined everything. He saw in me all he wanted in a wife, all he loved in a woman."
"Aye, placid stupidity."
There was such a flare of rage upon Margaret's face, Ilsa decided it was probably fortunate for her that Geordie distracted the woman by snorting with laughter. Ilsa was a little surprised that Geordie did not wilt beneath the look of furious loathing Margaret fixed upon him. It was possible Geordie thought himself the more important partner, thought himself safe because of what he knew or could do to help Margaret. Ilsa doubted Margaret saw it that way.
"Ye think ye suit him so much better, do ye?" Margaret snapped as she returned her attention to Ilsa. "Ye with your disgusting red hair and a form that is more bone than flesh? Aye, and with all those cursed red-haired brothers whose wits are as thick as cold mud?"
"Aye, and ye best nay forget about my brothers in all of your planning, Precious Love. They and my two score and more cousins will ne'er rest until they find the ones who killed me and my sons. Ye willnae ken one moment of rest until they set ye in your grave. They will be unrelenting in their hunt."
"Margaret?"
For a moment Ilsa thought Geordie was going to discuss the problem of all those enraged Camerons, but then she saw his face. He was dripping sweat, his face as white as bleached linen. His eyes slowly widened as he began to realize that he had been betrayed.
"I would suggest ye hurry and start emptying your belly," said Ilsa.
"Repeatedly."
"Ye filthy bitch, Margaret," he said, his voice hoarse with pain, as he tried to stand up.
"I am nay the one who is filthy," sneered Margaret. "Ye must pay for befouling me."
"Befouling ye?" Geordie finally stood up only to stagger to the right, bump into the wall, and slide down it to sit upon the floor. "We were lovers. Ye were the one who pulled me into your bed. I let ye seduce me, fool that I am."
"Jesu, dinnae remind me. Ye were hesitant to help me." Margaret shrugged.
"Letting ye rut on me served to rid ye of that hesitancy. It was nay more than that. I had to take such drastic measures in order to make that bastard Diarmot MacEnroy pay for my Anabelle's death. Think of this as a kindness I now do ye."