Page 81 of A Highland Healer Captured
The world went very quiet, the way it does when a cart goes off a bridge and you’re standing on the bank, watching it sink, hearing your own heartbeat more than the splash.
The stranger’s back heaved under Skylar’s knee, familiar eyes glittered, not wild, but cold.
“Get off me!”
Zander’s world tilted again.
Cora.
His ward. His responsibility. The girl he’d fed and clothed after her kin were buried by his sword. The girl who had set wildflowers at Grayson’s bedside when he first took sick.
“Unhand me!” she spat, voice raw, straining against Skylar’s grip. “Ye’ve nay idea what ye’re doin’!”
Zander’s hand went to his own sword hilt on reflex, though he did not draw. His fury needed no steel to sharpen it. He stepped forward, boots grinding against the stone. “Skylar,” he said low, careful, the calm before a storm, “take yer knee off her back.”
Skylar’s eyes, wild and blazing, snapped up at him. “She was over the lad, Zander. Katie’s near cracked open. I’ll nae move ‘til ye swear he’s guarded.”
By God, she was magnificent, her cheek bruised, her hands shaking but steady all the same. He wanted to haul her up and crush her to him, but the sight of Cora’s thin shoulders heaving beneath her knee rooted him to the floor.
“Ye heard me, lass,” he said, harder now. “Get up.”
For a long moment she held his gaze, defiance in every line of her body. Then, slow as thawing ice, she shifted, lifting her weight back but keeping the dirk leveled. Zander moved the last step,one hand clamping Cora’s arm, dragging her up like a sack of grain.
She spun on him, face pale but eyes blazing, mouth twisted. “Ye daenae ken what’s been done,” she hissed, twisting against his grip. “We have to go!”
“Oh, I’ll ken just fine,” Zander growled, shaking her once, hard enough to make her teeth click. “I’ll wring it from ye if I must. But ye’ll nae speak to me like a guttersnipe in me own keep.”
Cora’s chest heaved, her breath ragged. “Unhand me!” she bit out again, voice cracking. “Ye’ve nay right!”
“Nay right?” His laugh was cold, dangerous, nothing of mirth in it. “I took ye in, lass. Gave ye food, a bed, a place when none in Christ’s country would claim ye. And now I find ye crouched over me son like a wolf at a cradle.”
Her mouth opened, closed. For the first time since he’d seen her, fear cracked through her anger. She tried to twist her gaze away, but he caught her chin and forced her eyes back to his.
“Nay more lies,” he said, low enough that only she and Skylar could hear it. “Ye’ll speak plain. Now.”
Cora trembled in his grip, her voice faltering. “Ye daenae understand. I had to?—”
Skylar rose stiffly from the floor, her dirk still gleaming, her face white with fury and confusion both.
Zander tightened his hold on Cora, fury and disbelief clawing his chest.
He had walked into this room ready to stop Skylar from running, ready to remind her of her vow, to battle her fire with his own. Instead he found a different betrayal. One of his own house, at his son’s bed, and the woman he was markedly ready to call out for her betrayal, was saving the boy’s life yet again.
His jaw clenched until it hurt. He wanted answers. He wanted blood. He wanted to tear apart every stone that hid secrets in his keep.
But first, he wanted the truth out of Cora’s mouth. Zander whipped her around. She was smaller than he remembered, slight as a reed, but she fought like a trapped hare.
She cried out defiantly as her back hit the wall. Zander trapped her there, one hand locking her shoulder in place.
“Still yer wrigglin’,” he snapped, his voice a growl in his own ears. “Ye’ll talk, or by God I’ll have ye chained and whipped until yer tongue loosens.”
Her eyes darted past him, wild, to where Skylar stood. Her eyes darting from Grayson to Katie. “I didnae mean?—”
“Mean?” His laugh cut sharp. “Ye poisoned me son. I’ve watched him cough his lungs raw while ye brought flowers to his bed. Ye’ll tell mewhy, lass. Now.”
Her lips trembled, fury and fear warring in her face. “It wasnae me, Zander?—”
“Ye’ll nae lie to me, Cora. Skylar’s found the rot in his cup. She’s named it poison. And I’ve the healer’s word above a bairn’s ward any day.”
