The Fiery Cross - Diana Gabaldon [383]
“Ye didna take any of these cups down to the drawing room on the wedding day, Ulysses?” she asked.
“No, Madam.” He looked shocked at the thought. “Of course not.”
She nodded, and turned her blind eyes toward Jamie, then toward me.
“So ye see,” she said simply. “It was Duncan’s cup.”
Duncan looked startled, then uneasy, as the implications of what she had said sank in.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Ach, no. Couldna be.” But tiny droplets of sweat had begun to form a dew across the weathered skin of his jaw.
“Did anyone offer ye a drink day before yesterday, a charaid?” Jamie asked, leaning forward intently.
Duncan shrugged helplessly.
“Aye, everyone did!”
And of course they had. He was, after all, the bridegroom. He had accepted none of the proffered refreshment, though, owing to the digestive upset occasioned by his nerves. Nor had he noticed particularly whether any of the drinks on offer had been served in a silver cup.
“I was that distracted, Mac Dubh, I shouldna have noticed if anyone had been offering me a live snake in his hand.” Ulysses plucked a linen napkin from the tray and offered it unobtrusively. Blindly, Duncan took it and wiped his face.
“So . . . you think that someone was trying to harm Duncan?” The astonishment in Roger’s voice might not have been strictly flattering, but Duncan appeared not to take it amiss.
“But why?” he said, bewildered. “Who could hate me?”
Jamie chuckled under his breath, and the tension round the table relaxed slightly. It was true; while Duncan was intelligent and competent, he was of so modest a disposition that it was impossible to conceive of his having offended anyone, let alone driven them into a murderous frenzy.
“Well, a charaid,” Jamie said tactfully, “it might not just be personal, ken?” He caught my eye, and made a wry grimace. More than one attempt had been made on his own life, for reasons having to do only with who he was, rather than anything he had done. Not that people hadn’t tried to kill him occasionally for things he’d done, as well.
Jocasta appeared to have been thinking along the same lines.
“Indeed,” she said. “I have been thinking, myself. Do ye not recall, nephew, what happened at the Gathering?”
Jamie lifted one eyebrow, and picked up a cup of tea.
“A good many things happened there, Aunt,” he said. “But I take it ye mean what happened with Father Kenneth?”
“I do.” She reached up a hand automatically, as Ulysses set a fresh cup into it. “Did ye not tell me that yon Lillywhite said something about the priest being prevented from performing ceremonials?”
Jamie nodded, closing his eyes briefly as he took a mouthful of tea.
“Aye, he did. So, ye think it was maybe your marriage with Duncan he meant? That was the ‘ceremonial’ to be prevented?”
My headache was growing worse. I pressed my fingers between my brows; they were warm from the teacup, and the heat felt good on my skin.
“Wait just one minute,” I said. “Are you saying that someone wanted to prevent your aunt’s marriage to Duncan, and succeeded in doing so at the Gathering, but then couldn’t think of any way of preventing it now, and so tried to murder Duncan, in order to stop it?” My own voice echoed the astonishment on Duncan’s features.
“I’m no saying so, myself,” Jamie said, eyeing Jocasta with interest, “but I gather that my aunt is suggesting as much.”
“I am,” she said calmly. She drank off her tea, and set down the cup with a sigh. “I dinna wish to rate myself too high, nephew, but the fact is that I have been courted by this one and that one, ever since Hector died. River Run is a rich property, and I am an auld woman.”
There was a moment’s silence, as everyone absorbed that. Duncan’s face reflected an uneasy horror.
“But—” he said, stuttering slightly, “but—but—if it was that, Mac Dubh, why wait?”
“Wait?”
“Aye.” He looked around the table, seeking understanding. “See you, if someone meant to stop the marriage at the Gathering,