Fenella considered that and then said thoughtfully, “That might work . . . At least it will if another attempt is made on yer life.”
“Aye,” Saidh muttered, thinking it was probably somewhat bizarre to almost be hoping that another attempt was made on her life just to prove Fenella wasn’t guilty, but she couldn’t think of any other way to prove it and she did want it proved. She felt sorry for Fenella. Her cousin obviously hadn’t had an easy or happy life to date and she’d like to see her get the chance at that.
“But e’en if that happens, what then?” Fenella asked suddenly.
“What do ye mean?” Saidh asked.
“Well, even once the suspicion is raised, me life will still be a mess. I’ve no husband or home and little likelihood of ever gaining one,” she pointed out. “What man wants to marry a woman who has had four husbands drop dead within the first days or months after marrying her?”
None, Saidh thought, but said, “Why do we no’ worry about one problem at a time?”
“But what will I do? Where will I go?” Fenella insisted miserably, tears welling up in her eyes.
Alarmed at the arrival of tears, Saidh pulled her roughly to her chest and patted her back. “Ye ha’e a home here as long as ye like, Fenella.”
“Really?” She pulled back to peer at her with wide watery eyes.
“O’ course.”
“Ye would no’ mind ha’ing me here?”
Saidh shrugged. “Why would I mind? I grew up with seven brothers, I am used to having a lot o’ people around me. Besides, ye could help me run the servants and—”
“Oh!” Fenella cried and threw herself against Saidh’s chest, sobbing loudly.
Saidh stilled and stared down at the top of her head with a sort of horror. She’d been trying to cheer the girl and staunch her tears. Instead, the woman was crying fit to die.
“Thank ye,” Fenella moaned through her sobs. “Thank ye, Saidh. I promise ye’ll no’ regret it. I’ll ne’er again raise me voice to ye or give ye a moment’s trouble.”
Saidh suspected that was highly unlikely. She was also beginning to consider that she perhaps should have spoken to Greer ere she’d made her magnanimous offer.
Frowning, she patted Fenella’s back and glanced to the door, wondering why Greer hadn’t returned. He’d gone to talk to Fenella, but Fenella was with her. Surely he should have returned by now?
“Ye do no’ ken how relieved I am,” Fenella said, sniffling. The woman did not cry prettily. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy and her nose was running something fierce. “I ha’e lain awake worrying at night, wondering what will become o’ me and—” She paused suddenly and slumped unhappily. “I can no’ stay here.”
“Why?” Saidh asked with surprise.
“Allen’s mother,” Fenella said grimly. “We got along fine while Allen lived. She e’en seemed to like me, but ever since Allen died she has been saying the most horrid things about me.”
“And how ha’e ye responded to those horrid things?” Saidh asked.
Fenella frowned with confusion. “What do ye mean?”
“I mean, I ken she’s accused ye o’ ha’ing something to do with Allen’s death, but did ye tell her ye didn’t and ye loved him, or did ye jest burst into tears and run away?” Saidh asked and could read the answer in Fenella’s expression. Sighing, she said firmly, “Ye need to tell her that ye had naught to do with Allen’s death, that ye loved and were grateful to him, and that ye’ll hear no more o’ her accusations.”
“And what if she does no’ listen?” Fenella asked unhappily.
“Then I will speak with her,” Saidh said simply, and then added, “But even if she does no’ change, she is old, Fenella, and her health has been poorly of late.”
She snorted at that. “Her health has been poorly since I married Allen. Goodness, the morning Allen died she was lying in because she felt poorly. Yet she is still here.” She grimaced. “I do no’ think she is poorly so much as wants attention and sympathy.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “E’en does she stop with accusations I do no’ think I could forgive and live with her.”
Saidh briefly considered suggesting that Aulay might let her live at Buchanan with him and the boys, but then thought better of it. She suspected her brothers would not be pleased if Fenella asked and they learned it was at her suggestion.
“Bowie is handsome, do ye no’ think?” Fenella said thoughtfully.
Saidh blinked at the abrupt change in topic and asked with bewilderment, “Greer’s first?”
“Aye. He has that fine pale hair and strong features. He is really verra handsome.”
“I suppose,” Saidh agreed slowly, not understanding where the conversation was going or how it had even got here.
“He was Allen’s best friend,” Fenella announced.
Saidh stilled and peered at her with more interest. “Was he?”
Fenella nodded. “They were always together, swimming in the loch, going out to check on the villagers, taking off on hunts that lasted for days, and I often found them together in his room at night, just chatting or playing chess,” she said, her expression considering as she added, “And he has always been sweet and kind to me too.”
“Hmm,” Saidh said absently, her mind pondering the possibility that Bowie and Allen may have been more than friends. A man hunting and visiting villagers with his first was not unusual, but the part about Bowie being in Allen’s room at night was a bit much. Aunt Tilda had said he preferred the company of men, after all.
“Do ye think if I married Bowie, Greer would set us up in a cottage in the village? That way I could stay close to ye but no’ ha’e to live with Tilda.”
“Er . . .” Saidh stared at her with dismay. Good Lord! Fenella was like a desperate drowning victim, floating down a river, snatching at every passing branch she saw. First she’d considered Greer, now Bowie. Were Aulay and the boys not Fenella’s first cousins, she’d probably be plotting to marry one of them.