Page 140 of My Brave Highlander

"I'll be right back." Dirk kissed Isobel's hand again, rose from his chair and, taking his shaggy wool mantle, followed the servant out. Erskine, Rebbie, Cyrus and Torrin trailed after him.

She wondered which outlaws had been captured. She hoped one of them was Nolan. Trying to put the knave from her mind and think about pleasant things, like Dirk and their wedding day, Isobel bit into her tart with relish. Mmm. This one was blackberry, one of her favorites. Truth be told, she loved all types of tarts.

"I look forward to learning the new ballad. Will you play it here in the great hall for everyone?" Aiden asked, popping the last of his tart into his mouth.

"Oh, nay." Isobel shook her head emphatically. "I'm very much an amateur. I fear my skills are not good enough to perform, but I'll be glad to play it for you on my flute in private."

He nodded, glancing at Dirk's wooden trencher. "He's not going to eat this tart, you know."

Isobel shook her head. She still couldn't figure out how Dirk could resist sweets. "It shouldn't go to waste." She grinned, knowing how much Aiden enjoyed tarts.

"In truth, I'm already stuffed, but…" Aiden cut it in two pieces with his knife. "Half for you and half for me." He bit into his portion with much enthusiasm.

"I thank you. By the way, how long will it take for you to learn the ballad?" she asked.

"A couple of hours."

"Indeed? That fast?"

Aiden nodded.

He amazed her with his musical ability.

Someone across the hall called out to him. He waved a hand. "If you will excuse me, Lady Isobel, the bard wishes me to play a tune."

"Aye, go."

He leapt up from his chair and bounded across the great hall like a big pup.

After finishing her tart, she eyed the half still left on Dirk's trencher. If she kept eating sweets like this, she would grow plump. But, if she now carried Dirk's babe, she would grow plump anyway.

Glancing about to make certain no one was witnessing her gluttony, she took the half tart and bit into it. Mmm.

Moments later, Aiden was playing a lovely but melancholy Gaelic ballad on the violin—Griogal Cridhe. Though no one was singing, she knew the words about a woman mourning the loss of her beloved Gregor of the great but maligned MacGregor Clan. That combined with the poignant and woeful tones brought tears to her eyes.

Suddenly overwarm and thirsty, Isobel guzzled her wine then turned her attention back to Aiden.

The music stopped and he grabbed onto the table next to him. Dropping the violin, he clutched onto his stomach and went down onto his knees.

"Oh heavens!" She leapt to her feet. What was wrong with Aiden? Men gathered around him, trying to help.

Isobel stepped down from the dais. She'd go fetch the healer. But it was as if a shadow passed over her vision, the candles suddenly dimming. She grabbed onto the back of a chair, turned her head and blinked her eyes, but her vision remained hazy and blurry.

Saints! What was wrong with her? A shrill ringing assaulted her ears. She covered them trying to block out the horrid noise, but it wouldn't stop. Was the ringing inside her head? Nausea seized her stomach. She gagged, feeling as if someone had their hands around her throat, strangling her. She dropped to her knees.

∞∞∞

Dirk was in the dungeon, questioning and locking up three members of Haldane's group of outlaws, when one of the servant lads burst in.

"M'laird, 'tis Lady Isobel and Master Aiden! They've fallen ill."

What the devil? "Take care of things here," Dirk told Cyrus and Rebbie, then followed the young servant up the steps from the dungeon. "What happened?" he demanded, shouting against the icy wind that swirled through the bailey.

"We know not, m'laird. They've both been struck with some mysterious illness, their faces red, swollen and hot. They are frantic and can't stand."

"Saints!" The two people he loved most in the world. How could they both be sick at the same time? "Where is the healer?"

"Inside, trying to help them."