Page 86 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Abigail nodded, her determination shining through her tears. “I’ll talk with them again. I’ll nae stop until they see what I see—that ye’re good, and brave, and worthy of their trust.”
He chuckled low, though it hurt. “I dinnae ken if I’m worthy of ye, but I ken one thing—I’ll love ye every day I’m breathin’. If that’s nae enough for them, I’ll keep provin’ it until it is.”
She leaned in and kissed his brow, whispering, “It’s enough for me.”
Kian stirred at the creak of the door. His body still ached, his limbs heavy, but he turned his head slowly toward the sound.
Abigail rose from the stool beside his bed and stepped back as Helena entered first, a basket of herbs on her arm, her keen eyes already assessing him.
“Kian! Thank God, ye’re awake!”
Leighton followed behind her, broad-shouldered and grinning like a fool who’d just heard the best jest in the hall.
“Well, would ye look at that,” he drawled, moving to the bed. “The dead do rise. I was ready to plan yer funeral, Me Laird.”
Kian gave a faint smirk. “Aye? And who’d ye have leadin’ the ceremony? Yerself, weepin’ at the pulpit?”
Leighton chuckled, lowering himself onto the stool Abigail had just vacated. “Nay, nae me. I was already arguin’ with Helena over what sort of stone to carve. I was pushin’ for one that said ‘Here lies the greatest laird to ever ride into battle.’”
Kian gave a quiet smile but winced, his hand instinctively moving to his side, where the stitches tugged. “Careful, or I’ll have the strength to kick ye out soon.”
Helena approached the bed, setting her basket down and taking out a small cloth. “He sounds like himself, which is a miracle in itself. Let me take a look at those stitches.”
Abigail reached for Kian’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as Helena pulled the blanket down to inspect his wound. Her touch grounded him.
Kian’s eyes didn’t leave Abigail’s face, even as Helena carefully lifted the bandage.
“They’ve held,” she murmured, pleased. “Swelling’s gone down. That tincture Freya made worked better than I thought.”
“She brought more than tinctures,” Abigail said softly. “She brought hope.”
Kian looked up at her. “And ye. Ye stayed.”
“Aye,” she whispered. “I stayed.”
Leighton rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes bright with relief. “I’m truly glad ye’re healin’.”
Helena gently pressed the bandages back in place and gave Kian a nod. “It’s holdin’. Yer fightin’ spirit did the rest. And Freya’s knowledge saved yer life. That blade was laced with something nasty.”
“Peyton’s poisoned hand,” Kian muttered, his voice hoarse.
Leighton’s face darkened. “She’s locked in the dungeons now. Spittin’ venom, but nae a danger anymore.”
Helena checked his pulse and touched his brow. “Ye’ve a bit of a fever still, but it’s nae dangerous. I’ll make a draught for the pain.”
Kian nodded once, his gaze drifting back to Abigail. His gaze met hers, and though his body ached, his heart swelled with purpose.
“Well, looks like ye’ve gone and made it through the worst,” Leighton remarked with a smirk.
The room fell quiet for a moment, filled only with the soft crackling of the fire and the sound of Kian’s steady breathing. He still had a long road ahead to recover. But with Abigail’s hand in his, he felt stronger already.
Helena gathered her basket and looked at Abigail. “Come, lass. I’ll show ye how to make the draught.”
Abigail nodded.
Kian watched as she moved across the room with Helena and worked on the tonic.
“Ye have a good woman there. Try nae to die on her again, aye?” Leighton teased.
