“Oh hell, I’ll no’ tell,” she assured him.
Bowie smiled crookedly. “Thank ye, m’laird, m’lady.” He hesitated and then straightened his shoulders and said, “I’ll pack me things and be gone by morn . . . unless ye still think I had something to do with Allen and Fenella’s death?” he tacked on uncertainly.
“Be gone where?” Greer asked with surprise, rather than answer the question. Although, Saidh supposed his question did that. Greer no longer considered Bowie a suspect. Neither did she.
Bowie shrugged. “I’ll find somewhere. But I’ll leave yer land and ye’ll no’ ha’e to look on me again.”
“The hell ye will,” Greer said sharply. “Ye’re me first, and yer damned good at the job. And ye swore yer fealty to me, Bowie. I expect ye to keep to yer oath and continue to serve me as ye ha’e.”
Bowie closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were a touch glassy, as if he was fighting tears. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Thank ye, m’laird.”
“There’s nothing to thank me fer,” Greer assured him. “ ’Tis no’ as if I’m offering ye light duty with lots o’ rest. I’m a hard taskmaster, as ye well ken.”
A struggle took place on Bowie’s face, and then he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips as he said, “Er . . . actually, m’laird, while ye expect hard work and obedience, yer a fair maun. So far I’ve found ye a rather grand laird.”
“Oh.” Greer looked uncomfortable and then said, “Well, that’s because yer a good worker. I’ve no’ had to punish or rail at ye fer laying down on the job.”
“I imagine that’s so, m’laird,” Bowie agreed solemnly.
Greer nodded. “Go oversee the men in the practice field. I would talk with me wife.”
“Aye, m’laird. Thank ye, m’laird,” Bowie bobbed his head and turned to leave them.
Chapter 18
“I am quite sure he did no’ kill Fenella,” Saidh said the moment the bedchamber door closed behind Bowie.
“I was about to say the verra same thing,” Greer admitted on a weary sigh, and then pointed out, “But that leaves us with Aunt Tilda.”
Saidh grimaced at the suggestion. While Bowie had revealed a whole different side to the woman, it was still difficult to believe Aunt Tilda might want to see her dead. Saidh liked the woman. She also thought Aunt Tilda liked her. And, as far as she knew, she’d never done anything that might anger her.
“I find it hard to believe Aunt Tilda would try to kill ye,” Greer said suddenly, apparently thinking along the same lines. “She seems quite fond o’ ye.”
“Aye,” Saidh said with relief.
“But I also do no’ think Bowie would wish to harm ye, and we ken it was no’ Fenella,” he added. “And now I am wondering about Allen’s death. If she was really so angry that night . . .”
“Just because she was angry, does no’ mean she killed Allen. He was her son,” she pointed out.
“So, Allen drowned by accident and Fenella was ne’er at risk, but was accidentally killed in yer place,” he decided unhappily.
“Perhaps not,” Saidh protested, rankling at the idea of someone wanting to kill her. She pointed out, “Fenella could be difficult. Mayhap she made an enemy or two while here and her death has nothing to do with me misadventures.”
“So ye think that whoever stabbed her knew it was Fenella and did no’ accidentally kill her while attempting to kill you?” he asked dubiously.
Saidh scowled up at him. “Well, ye needn’t make it sound so unlikely. ’Tis no’ as if I’m such a tyrant fer lady that all and sundry would want me dead.”
Greer chuckled at her expression and scooped her up out of the chair and into his arms. He then settled in the chair with her in his lap and kissed her forehead. “That is no’ what I mean at all. But Saidh, ye’ve nearly been crushed by a great huge bit o’ the castle fallin’ on ye, and took an arrow to the chest. Someone is trying to kill ye. Do ye really think ’tis likely that at the same time someone else jest up and decided to kill Fenella?”
Saidh lowered her head, frustration slipping through her, and then admitted, “I do no’ ken. But I came here thinking that Fenella might ha’e been killing her husbands and I was wrong. I do no’ want to start doing the same thing to Aunt Tilda.”
He pulled back to eye her with surprise. “Ye came here because ye thought Fenella might be killing her husbands?”
“Aye,” she admitted, guilt slithering through her. She’d never told him of her part in the death of her cousin’s first husband. She probably should have before agreeing to marry him. He might not take kindly to having a wife who was once a party to covering up a murder.
Greer narrowed his gaze on her expression. “Why did ye think Fenella may ha’e killed her husbands?”
Saidh didn’t really want to tell him, but felt she had to, and after the briefest hesitation, admitted, “Because I kenned that she killed Hammish.”
“What?” he breathed in shock.
Saidh grimaced and then quickly told him the whole story of Fenella’s first marriage, the wedding, the wedding night and the following day. She admitted everything, even her aiding Fenella in covering up the murder of her husband and then her worry on hearing of her cousin’s other short-lived marriages.
When she was done, Saidh eyed Greer anxiously, unsure how he would take what he’d learned. In truth, she feared he would push her away with disgust for helping to cover up Hammish’s death.
“So Fenella stabbed Hammish rather than suffer his abuse,” Greer said finally.
“Aye,” Saidh breathed unhappily.
He was silent for another moment and then pointed out, “The king had the deaths of the MacIvers investigated and it was decided there was no foul play.”
“Aye,” she acknowledged.
“Do ye think she killed them?” he asked.
Saidh hesitated. “At first, I feared she had, and then, after talking to Fenella, I changed me mind. But . . .”