Highland Heather - Highland Heather Part 69
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Highland Heather Part 69

"I confess it was very dark, my lord. Perhaps, as Madeline has suggested, what I saw was merely a tapestry along the wall, or even a cloud passing over the moon. At any rate, I thought I saw someone or something a moment before I felt a hand shove me as I took my first step. Before I knew what was happening, I had tumbled down an entire flight of stairs."

"A hand shoved you?"

"Perhaps" -- Cordell swallowed "--in my confusion, I imagined it."

"The rug at the top of the stairs is loose, old friend," Charles said softly.

Morgan caught Cordell's hand and studied the fresh dressing.

"You are wounded."

"A little blood. It is nothing my lord. I must have caught my hand on a splinter. My sister makes too much of it."

"I see you hit your head as well."

"Aye." Cordell touched a fingertip to the tender spot beside his temple. "At the bottom of the stairs I landed on my head."

Morgan's eyes darkened.

"Are there any other wounds?"

"Bruises. Scratches. They are minor."

"I am grateful that nothing serious happened beneath my roof." Morgan noted the slight bulge under the Frenchman's tunic. It was obvious that another dressing had been applied to his chest. His tone grew dangerously soft.

"I would take it most unkindly if there should be any further mishaps."

"Come," Charles said, taking his wife's arm.

"It has been a long night. I would break my fast."

Madeline helped her brother to his feet and twined her fingers with his as they walked from the room.

Morgan trailed at a slower pace, his mind working feverishly.

The villain who attacked Brenna would be aware that she could identify him by the wounds she had inflicted. Could Cordell have faked his fall in order to explain away his bruises?

Morgan felt a momentary stab of guilt. Madeline was one of the finest women he knew. And his friendship with Charles went back to the days of their fathers. Though anything was possible, he could not find it in his heart to believe that either of them would be a party to this.

But Cordell was an unknown. He had, after all, been smitten with Brenna when he first set eyes on her. Morgan dismissed the thought.

Last night's attack had not been made by a man in love. Only a madman could have attacked Brenna so viciously.

There was, Morgan thought suddenly, something darker, more evil about this attack.

Cordell was an outsider, a loyal Frenchman who would swear homage to Charles IX, king of France. Could it be that this young patriot would go so far as to besmirch his own sister's good name and use her friendship to gain access to the queen? Could Elizabeth be the real target?

As a soldier, Morgan had learned to trust his instincts. And instinct told him that this attack on Brenna was somehow related to the threats to the queen's safety. There was an insidious web of evil being woven around them. And unless he unmasked the villain soon, they could all be ensnared in the ultimate tragedy.

Chapter Twenty

It seems that at least half of our party is finally at table. "

After Lord Quigley had given his approval, the queen enjoyed a slice of bread still warm from the ovens, spread with fruit conserve.

"It is a pity that you have hurt yourself, Cordell. I pray that it will not keep you from enjoying Morgan's hospitality."

"Nay, Majesty." The young Frenchman seemed embarrassed by all the attention being lavished on him.

"I look forward to all the festivities."

"We shall have to..." The queen's words faded as she stared beyond the young Frenchman to the figure in the doorway.

Morgan and the others looked up from the table as Lord Windham strode into their midst. He was bleeding and covered with mud. His tunic and breeches were torn and mud- spattered. The side of his head was badly swollen. He was holding his bloodied hand close to his chest.

"God in heaven." Morgan scraped back his chair.

"What has happened to you?"

"My horse stumbled on a slippery bank and before I knew it I was tumbling through the air to land on my head."

"You will need assistance," the queen said, rushing to his side.

"Your Majesty." He glanced around the assembled guests.

"You will forgive me if I do not join you until later?"

"Of course," Elizabeth said quickly.

"Morgan, summon your servants."

"Aye."

Morgan reached for the cord that would summon a servant. Almost instantly Mistress Leems appeared. When she caught sight of Lord Windham she wrung her hands and hurried away to fetch the servants.

"You are an excellent equestrian, Windham," Morgan remarked, studying the man. Except for his hand, there was little blood. But it was difficult to be certain how badly he was injured under the mud.

"Even the best horseman would find it difficult in this rain. Ah, there you are, mistress." Windham bowed away from the queen and followed the servants from the room.

"I will need a bath at once," he bellowed.

"And fresh clothes."

"I will send for a physician," Morgan said quickly.

"Nay." Windham whirled. "" Twould be an inconvenience. One of your servants can bind these wounds. They will mend. "

"It is no trouble. The queen's own physician can be here before the noon Angelus bells are rung."