Page 75 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“I’ll ready the horses.” He turned on his heel and barked at the nearest guards, “Ten of ye, with me! Bring the cart. Now!”
The courtyard exploded into motion as guards mounted their horses and checked their weapons. Abigail stood in the center of it all, her body frozen but her mind racing. She felt like she was suspended between life and death, torn between the last place she’d seen Kian breathing and the overwhelming fear that he might not be by the time they returned.
She clutched the pommel, her knuckles white. “Please,” she whispered into the air. “Let us be on time.”
Helena returned with her bag and mounted one of the waiting horses.
Leighton gave Abigail a reassuring nod before she led the rescue party through the gates.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“Hold on for me,” Abigail begged.
She rode ahead of the group, her fists tight around the reins as the forest closed in on them. The pounding of hooves followed, but all she could hear was the roar of her heart, each thud a hope that Kian was still breathing.
Branches clawed at her skirts as she led the search party toward the place she had left him. When she reached the clearing, she didn’t wait—she leapt from the saddle and ran to him.
“Kian,” she gasped, falling to her knees beside him. “I’m here. I brought help, just like I said I would. Please… please hold on.”
His face was pale—too pale—and his skin was damp with sweat and blood. She pressed her hand to his chest. When she felt a faint heartbeat, relief tore through her.
“Ye dinnae get to leave me, d’ye hear?” she said through her tears. “Ye’ve fought through worse, ye’ll fight through this.”
She brushed his hair back from his forehead, her fingers trembling.
Helena slid down from her horse with practiced grace, already pulling bottles and cloths from her bag.
“Let me see him, Abigail,” she said firmly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
Abigail nodded and backed away on her knees, giving her room to work.
Helena tore open Kian’s blood-soaked shirt and quickly examined the wound. “We have a chance.”
She uncorked a vial and poured it into the gash.
Abigail let out a teary gasp as the bleeding slowed. She watched as Helena worked swiftly, cleaning the wound with a steady hand and wrapping it in white linen. The cloth turned pink almost at once, but the healer wrapped more layers around it and tied them tight.
“Hold on, Kian,” Abigail murmured. “Ye’re the strongest man I’ve known.”
“Bring the cart! This way—hurry now!” Leighton’s voice cut through the trees like thunder, and within moments, the guards maneuvered the cart as close as possible.
Four men dismounted and came to lift Kian, their hands reverent as they cradled their Laird. He didn’t stir. His head lolled to the side, but he was still breathing.
That was enough.
Abigail followed, climbing into the cart and taking her place beside him.
Helena joined her, kneeling again to check the dressing. “It’s holdin’ well, but I’ll need to stitch him up at the keep.”
Abigail nodded and wrapped her hand around Kian’s.
Leighton turned to the guards again, his blade gleaming at his side. “Take Peyton to the dungeons,” he barked. “Strip her of her weapons and bind her hands in chains.”
The cart lurched forward, the wheels crunching over leaves and roots as they began the slow ride back to the castle.
Abigail leaned over Kian and stroked his cheek. “Ye’re goin’ home, Kian. I’ve got ye now.”
Helena sat back slightly, her brow creased with concern. “What sort of wound is it?” she asked, glancing at her.
