Page 81 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Helena joined them at the table, clearing space with practiced hands. She poured boiled water into a mortar while Freya began crushing the yarrow. Abigail helped by fetching cloth, cutting strips, and adding the ointment that Helena handed her.
“We’ll make a poultice and a tincture,” Freya muttered. “He needs internal and external treatment, or else the poison will continue to spread.” She worked quickly, sweat beading on her brow despite the cold. “He’s lucky ye came to me when ye did.”
Helena poured the mixture into a small glass vial and handed it to Freya, who held Kian’s head up gently and coaxed the liquid into his mouth. Kian’s lips barely moved, but he swallowed.
The ensuing silence was deafening.
Freya laid a hand on Abigail’s shoulder. “All we can do now is wait.”
Abigail sat down on the stool beside the bed, her fingers gripping Kian’s hand. His skin was cold, but not as cold as before.
“Ye really think he’ll pull through?” she asked, her voice raw.
“I think he has a chance now,” Freya said. “More than he did before ye brought me.”
The door creaked open, and in stepped Cody, Michael’s son, his arm wrapped around his wife, Amara. Their cheeks were wind-kissed.
Abigail’s breath caught as she rushed toward them, throwing her arms around Cody first, then pulling Amara beside them.
“Ye’ve nay idea how glad I am to see the both of ye,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Cody gave a tight squeeze and stepped back, his brow furrowed. “We were with the horses. Is it true? Laird McKenna’s been poisoned?”
Abigail simply nodded, her throat too tight to answer.
Freya stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “Enough of this. I want answers, Abigail. What happened to ye? We were told ye vanished from the carriage—did he take ye? Did he hurt ye?”
Abigail raised a hand, her tone calm but firm. “I’ll tell ye everythin’, I swear it. But nae here, nae now. Let Kian rest—he doesnae need us shoutin’ over his head.”
She turned and gestured toward the corridor, glancing once over her shoulder.
Freya frowned but nodded. “Fine. But ye better start talkin’ before me head explodes with worry.”
Michael stepped forward, placing a hand on his wife’s shoulder, and gave Abigail a small nod of support.
With swift steps, Abigail led them down the long stone corridor, the torches along the walls casting warm orange light. Her skirts whispered across the flagstones as they reached a thick oak door at the end. She pushed it open and stepped inside, revealing a quiet sitting room with an already lit hearth.
“Here,” she said, gesturing for them all to sit.
Her heart beat hard in her chest, but she steeled herself as she turned to face them.
“Now, I’ll tell ye everythin’. From the moment Kian took me from the carriage to the moment I realized he might nae survive. But ye must let me speak.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Please, dinnae blame him,” she said softly but firmly.
She could feel every pair of eyes on her, heavy with expectation and confusion. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them in front of her.
“He did what he thought was right for his clan. He never hurt me.”
Cody scoffed from his chair, shaking his head. “He took ye from yer family, Abigail. Dragged ye away like a thief in the night. What he did was criminal, nay matter the reason.” His fists clenched.
Amara reached out and placed a calming hand on his forearm. “But the one affected most is Abigail,” she said gently. “And if she says it’s fine, then it’s fine.” Her voice was soft but resolute, and her eyes never left Abigail’s face.
Cody’s jaw worked, his eyes blazing, but then he slowly sat back.
“I dinnae like it,” he muttered. “But if it’s truly yer will, Abigail, then I’ll hold me tongue. For now.”
