Page 77 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Leighton slowly unwrapped the cloth, revealing a slender dirk. Blood still clung to the steel, dark and dried.
Abigail recoiled slightly. “That’s Peyton’s. That’s what she stabbed Kian with.”
Helena paused and reached for the blade. She brought it to her nose, her eyes narrowing as she sniffed the edge. A beat passed. Then, her eyes went wide.
“It’s poisoned,” she hissed.
Abigail’s heart lurched. “Nay!” she cried, rushing to Kian’s side. “What do we do?”
Helena was already moving. “We have nay time to waste! Abigail, boil more water—fresh, now! Quickly, lass!”
Abigail nodded and ran to the hearth, refilling the cauldron with trembling hands.
“Leighton!” Helena barked. “Get a bunch of cleavers from the rack above the window. Pluck the leaves and bring them to me.”
Leighton didn’t argue. He sprang into action, reaching for the thick clusters of green leaves drying above the window and yanking down handfuls.
Abigail watched the water with urgency, urging the bubbles to rise. “What does the poison do?” she asked, her voice tight with panic.
Helena started grinding the leaves, turning them into a thick paste. “It makes the blood clot. Makes a man sleep deeper than death, though his heart still beats. If we dinnae drain it from his veins, he’ll slip away before morning.”
Abigail stared at Kian’s pale face, more tears welling up in her eyes. “Fight it, Kian,” she whispered.
Helena quickly made a paste of cleavers and then ordered her to throw some leaves in the kettle to make a brew. She spread the paste over the wound, then grabbed clean bandages around it.
“This will help draw out the poison,” she said. “But we need to keep his blood movin’. He needs warmth—tea, broth.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Abigail said, not waiting for permission. “I’ll keep him warm.”
Helena nodded once. “Then sit close and speak to him. Let him ken that he’s nae alone. That helps more than folk believe. We’ll try to get him to drink this tea.”
Abigail took Kian’s cold hand into hers and sat on the bed.
“Ye must be thirsty, Kian,” she began in a trembling voice.
Helena worked silently beside them, her brow slick with sweat. She handed Abigail a small cup of cleaver tea.
Abigail took it, while Helena lifted Kian’s head.
“If ye can hear me, I need ye to drink this, only a sip,” she pleaded, lifting the rim of the cup to his lips.
Kian’s lips parted on a slow breath, and his eyelids fluttered.
“That’s it, very good,” Abigail murmured.
Hope filled her heart as he slowly drank the tea. Then, he was out again.
Abigail turned to Helena.
“That is better than none at all,” Helena assured her.
Leighton plucked more herbs and placed them on the table nearby, then went to the hearth and threw a log in the fire.
The scent of cleavers and peppermint filled the air as Helena brewed a stronger tea.
“Will he survive?” Abigail croaked.
Helena didn’t answer right away. She stared at Kian, eyeing the rise and fall of his chest. Then, she said, “He’s strong, Abigail. If any man can survive poison and a wound like this, it’s him. But he needs ye beside him.”
