Suddenly Quinn thrashed violently and heaved up from the bed, doubling over. Grimm rushed to catch him before he plunged to the floor. Holding his friend in his arms, he gaped uncomprehendingly until he saw a thin foam of spittle on Quinn’s lips.

“P-p-poi-son.” Quinn gasped. “H-help … me.”

“No!” Grimm breathed. “Son of a bitch!” he cursed, cradling Quinn’s head as he bellowed for help.

CHAPTER 13

“WHO WOULD POISON QUINN?” HATCHARD PUZZLED. “NO one dislikes Quinn. Quinn is the quintessential laird and gentleman.”

Grimm grimaced.

“Will he be all right?” Kaley asked, wringing her hands.

“What’s going on?” A sleepy-eyed Jillian stood in the doorway. “Goodness,” she exclaimed, eyeing the jagged splinters of the door. “What happened in here?”

“How do you feel, lass? Are you well? Does your stomach hurt? Do you have a fever?” Kaley’s hands were suddenly everywhere, poking at her brow, prodding her belly, smoothing her hair.

Jillian blinked. “Kaley, I’m fine. Would you stop poking at me? I heard the commotion and it frightened me, that’s all.” When Quinn moaned, Jillian gasped. “What’s wrong with Quinn?” Belatedly she noted the disarray of the room and the stench of illness that clung to the linens and drapes.

“Fetch a physician, Hatchard,” Grimm said.

“The barber is closer,” Hatchard suggested.

“No barber,” Grimm snapped. He turned to Jillian. “Are you all right, lass?” When she nodded, he expelled a relieved breath. “Find Ramsay,” he instructed Kaley ominously.

Kaley’s eyes widened in comprehension, and she flew from the room.

“What happened?” Jillian asked blankly.

Grimm laid a damp cloth on Quinn’s head. “I suspect it’s poison.” He didn’t tell her he was certain; the recent contents of Quinn’s stomach pervaded the air, and to a Berserker the stench of poison was obvious. “I think he’ll be all right. If it’s what I think it is, he would be dead by now had the dose been strong enough. It must have been diluted somehow.”

“Who would poison Quinn? Everybody likes Quinn.” She unwittingly echoed Hatchard’s words.

“I know, lass. Everyone keeps telling me that,” Grimm said drolly.

“Ramsay is ill!” Kaley’s words echoed down the corridor. “Someone come help me! I can’t hold him down!”

Grimm looked toward the hall, then back at Quinn, clearly torn. “Go to Kaley, lass. I can’t leave him,” he said through his teeth. Some might consider him paranoid, but if his suspicions were correct, it was supposed to have been him lying in a pile of his own vomit, dead.

An ashen-faced Jillian complied quickly.

Biting back a curse, Grimm daubed at Quinn’s forehead and sat back to wait for the physician.

The physician arrived, carrying two large satchels and dashing rain from the thinning web of hair that crowned his pate. After questioning nearly everyone in the inn, he conceded to inspect the patients. Moving with surprising grace for such a rotund man, he paced to and fro, scribbling notes in a tiny book. After peering into their eyes, inspecting their tongues, and prodding their distended abdomens, he retreated to the pages of his tiny booklet.

“Give them barley water stewed with figs, honey, and licorice,” he instructed after several moments of flipping pages in thoughtful silence. “Nothing else, you understand, for it won’t be digested. The stomach is a cauldron in which food is simmered. While their humors are out of balance, nothing can be cooked, and anything with substance will come back up,” the physician informed them. “Liquids only.”

“Will they be all right?” Jillian asked worriedly. They’d moved the two men into a clean room adjoining Kaley’s for easier tending.

The physician frowned, causing lines to fold his double chin as lugubriously as they creased his forehead. “I think they’re out of danger. Neither of them appears to have consumed enough to kill him, but I suspect they’ll be weak for some time. Lest they try to rise, you’ll want to dilute this with water—it’s mandrake.” He proffered a small pouch. “Soak cloths in it and place them over their faces.” The physician struck a lecturing pose, tapping his quill against his booklet. “You must be certain to cover both their nostrils and mouths completely for several minutes. As they inhale, the vapors will penetrate the body and keep them asleep. The spirits recover faster if the humors rest undisturbed. You see, there are four humors and three spirits … ah, but forgive me, I’m quite certain you don’t wish to hear all of that. Only one who studies with the zeal of a physician might find such facts fascinating.” He snapped his booklet closed. “Do as I have instructed and they shall make a full recovery.”