Saidh’s eyebrows rose at this news. She knew Edith was twenty, the same age as herself, which made Allen twenty-four. Definitely not an old man. “Well, then what happened?”
“He drowned,” Edith announced with a shake of the head. “Apparently, he liked to go fer a swim in the loch in the morn ere breaking his fast, and that morn . . .” She shrugged helplessly. “He drowned. They do no’ ken why. He was by all accounts a fine swimmer, but that morning he just . . .
She grimaced and then explained, “I gather that his first became worried when he had no’ returned by the time his lady wife was up to break her fast. Apparently, Allen made it a point always to join her at the table, but that morning he had no’ yet returned. When I joined the table, Lady MacDonnell was asking after her husband, wondering why he had not yet arrived and whether she should no’ wait fer him ere breaking her fast. His first sent someone to check to see if he was still swimming. The man returned with the laird’s body over his horse.” She sighed. “It was quite distressing. Aunt Tilda and Allen’s lady wife were terribly upset.” She shrugged unhappily. “So, as I say, we could no’ simply mount up and ride on.”
“Nay, and I would not expect you to,” Joan said with understanding.
“We decided we should stay fer the funeral, expecting to be delayed a couple days or a week at most, but Aunt Tilda— Well, he was her only son. She decided he should lie in state in the village church fer two weeks so that his villeins and friends could pay their proper respects.”
“Two weeks?” Saidh with dismay. “Bloody hell, he must ha’e stunk to high heaven by the time they put him in the ground.”
“Oh, they did no’ put him in the ground,” Edith assured her. “He went in the family vault, and he did no’ smell either.” She paused briefly and then almost whispered, “They embalmed him.”
“What?” Murine asked with amazement. “But the church frowns on that. They say ’tis pagan.”
“Oh, aye, but they’ll allow it for a fee,” Saidh said dryly.
Edith nodded. “Me aunt got special permission to do it.”
“Hmmm,” Saidh muttered. “So ye stayed fer the funeral?”
“Aye.” Edith grimaced. “Although I really wish we hadn’t. Lady MacDonnell was inconsolable, but Aunt Tilda was worse. She kept saying that Allen was such a strong swimmer and how could this happen, and then she began looking at Lady MacDonnell as she said it. By the time of the funeral, she was treating Allen’s wife most coldly and reminding anyone who would listen that Lady MacDonnell’s previous husbands died unnaturally too.”
“Did they?” Murine asked with interest and Saidh nearly grinned at her expression. There was nothing that could put color into the woman’s cheeks like the possibility of good gossip.
“Apparently,” Edith said. “They say her last husband, Laird MacIver, died just a month after they married when he was thrown from his horse. Broke his neck, he did.”
“Oh dear,” Murine and Joan said together.
“So two husbands dying in accidents,” Saidh said dryly. “It does sound a bit suspicious.”
“Hmm,” Edith murmured in agreement. “But four dead husbands in as many years sounds even worse.”
“What?” Murine asked with amazement. “Surely not?”
“Aye. She has been married and widowed four times.”
“Well, what happened to the other two husbands?” Saidh asked, her interest now captured. There was nothing like a good murder mystery to pass the day.
“Well, the one before Laird MacIver was his uncle, Laird Connell MacIver. He died in his bed on the wedding night. He was old though,” she added quickly. “They said he could no’ handle the excitement o’ such a young bride.”
“Ohhhh,” both women crooned with interest.
“And the first husband?” Saidh asked.
“That was Laird Kennedy. He was killed the day after the wedding. Attacked by bandits on their way from her parents’ hold, where they’d held the wedding, to the Kennedy stronghold.”
Saidh stiffened. “Lady MacDonnell was not born Lady Fenella Fraser?”
“Aye,” Edith said with relief, and then smiled wryly and admitted, “For the life o’ me I could no’ remember her first name once I started to tell ye all what had happened. But that is it: Fenella.” She nodded and then grimaced and added, “They are starting to call her the widowmaker though. Which is completely unfair really,” she added firmly. “Fenella was with her first husband and injured in the attack that took his life. They found her unconscious and bloodied next to his body. As fer her second husband, the elder Laird MacIver was an ancient old man and everyone said the excitement of the wedding night with such a young bride had surely killed him.”
“What of the younger MacIver laird?” Murine asked. “Was there any suspicion that it was no’ an accident?”
“O’ course there was, but the King sent men to investigate and they determined it was nothing more than an accident. Lady Fenella was entertaining his mother and aunt in the great hall when he left for his ride and the three women were still there when news came that his horse had returned without him. Lady Fenella herself went out with the riding party to find him, pulling his horse behind her own in hopes he could ride back. Of course, he couldn’t. He was dead when they found him, his neck broken.”
“Still . . .” Joan frowned and pointed out, “My horse threw me as well and that was not an accident. ’Twas a pin in my saddle, puncturing the horse’s back so it would throw me.”
“Aye, but yer horse went wild and ran madly through the woods the moment ye put yer weight on the beast,” Edith pointed out. “By all accounts, Laird MacIver mounted in the bailey and rode out without any difficulties. The horse threw him when he was well into the woods. It could no’ have been a pin in the saddle as was done with you.”