Page 79 of Highlander's Wild Lass
“Lass,” Brannan rasped. “There’s nay need to worry.” He reached out to lay a hand on Celestia’s unmarked cheek.
Celestia sniffed, attempting a smile. Her eyes were glistening in the firelight and Anthony wanted to rip her away and hide her from what was inevitably going to happen. He watched his father die in a similar fashion, a slow fade until finally, the life drained from his face.
Brannan smiled at the priest then. “Thank ye, Faither.”
The priest nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Celestia looked at Anthony, wide-eyed, the tears threatening to spill. She looked like a lost child, unsure of what to do.
“Celestia,” Brannan said, “have Helena look at yer cuts.”
“Da, surely, ye need her more than me,” Celestia said, voice catching in her throat, looking to Helena, pleading. “Surely.”
Helena just shook her head.
“Please, Cellie, let her look at ye...for me, and I’m sure Anthony would like ye to be looked over.” Brannan smiled at Anthony who only grimaced and looked down his hands fidgeting in his lap.
“Fine,” Celestia conceded, turning toward Helena.
The older woman turned Celestia’s face to the side and leaned in closer. “It’s just a scratch, a wee bit deep, but nothin’ to worry about,” Helena said, though it sounded like she directed her words at him more than Celestia.
“I told ye,” Celestia said impudently, making an unladylike face at him.
Anthony hid his mouth behind his hand to hide the grin, it felt like such an inappropriate thing to do in this situation. But at least Celestia was still defying him regardless of how much of it was just a mask for whatever pains she was feeling.
Helena rummaged in her bag and pulled out a small tin pot. “It’s just an herbal poultice—to keep it clean.” She dabbed her fingers into the concoction and gently pat it into the scratches across her cheek.
“Better?” Brannan asked with a smile.
“I suppose,” Celestia answered, turning back to her father. “Why did ye call the priest?”
Brannan waved her question away as if it meant nothing. “A precaution maybe, a safeguard even to ensure I get to see yer maither again. I’m sure how ye got those scrapes is far more interestin’ a story.”
“Aye,” Anthony heard himself say.
“I’ll take my leave,” Helena said, packing up her things.
“Nay!” Celestia gasped, reaching for her wrist. “Please stay... just in case.”
Helena nodded. “I’ll just be a moment; I’m goin’ to see if one of the maids can make a pot of tea for us.”
Anthony waited for the door to close. “Get on with yer story, I’m eager to hear it.” He leaned forward in his chair.
Celestia grumbled. “It’s really my own fault.”
Anthony leveled his eyes at her, a glare really. He wanted to shake the story out of her. She sighed and recounted what happened between her and Mr. Koll.
“I cannae believe he laid his hands on ye!” Anthony thundered, standing so quickly out of his chair it fell over. He paced the entire length of the room, seeing red. “How could ye do such a brazen thing like that?”
“Brazen?” Celestia repeated, standing from the edge of the bed. She stepped into the path Anthony was wearing into the rug. “Ryder Koll was attemptin’ to ruin us from the inside, Anthony. What else was I supposed to do? Allow it to happen?”
“Ye did nae have to confront him yerself,” Anthony said, halting right before her. “When I see Jacob—”
“Ye will leave Jacob out of this, he had nothin’ to do—”
“Exactly, he did nothin’, and look at ye.” He motioned to her face and then her wrists.
“Nay, lad,” Brannan said calmly. “Take a breath—I’m sure Cellie didnae tell him what she planned to do.”
She half-heartedly shrugged her shoulders. “Aye, Da’s right,” she said, keeping hold of his gaze. Challenging him to challenge her. “I jumped out of the cart and ran in after our delivery driver.”
