Page 68 of Ruining a Highland Healer
Quietly, Daisy slipped out of the room. Alone now, Valora looked at her reflection in the looking-glass. A stranger seemed to stare back at her—so elegant, so composed. But beneath the silk and pinned curls, her heart beat too fast.
It was a mask she was used to wearing. She always refused to show any kind of weakness, anything that others could take advantage of if they so wished. Even now, in the safety of Clan Gunn and its people, she did her best to always appear composed and calm, the perfect picture of a learned lady. And yet, her inner turmoil seemed to have no end today of all days, and Valora couldn’t help but wish that Althea was there with her, giving her ceaseless support.
Just as she made her way to the window, there came another knock on the door. Valora turned, expecting Daisy’s familiar face, but instead, the door opened to reveal a boy no older than ten, his hair damp with sweat, his tunic the plain brown of a kitchen servant.
“Beggin’ pardon, me lady,” he said, breathless, eyes wide. “The chapel’s ready. They sent me tae fetch ye.”
She blinked in surprise, thrown for a moment by his presence. Had Daisy sent the boy? Was she caught up with something that didn’t allow her to return to fetch her?
“Ye?”
“Aye, I’m tae bring ye the back way. Said the hall’s full an’ there’s nay room tae pass decent-like. The servants are still setting’ up fer the feast.”
It made sense that the servants would still be setting up for the wedding, since they had had so little time to prepare. Valora took a deep breath, steeling herself. The time had come and soon, she would be done with all this and she wouldn’t have to worry about anything else going wrong.
“Very well,” she said, lifting her skirts slightly. “Lead on.”
The boy moved quickly through the corridors, and Valora followed. At first, the route seemed familiar—narrow halls used by staff, winding behind the main chambers. But soon the turns became sharper.
She slowed. “Is this truly the way tae the chapel?”
“Aye,” the boy said too quickly. “Just down here. It’s a shortcut we use sometimes.”
But the walls had changed. The stone here was older, rougher. Damp. Not the pale grey of the keep’s heart, but dark and unmarked by torches. Her footsteps echoed too loudly. No sounds of music or bells reached her ears.
The corridor narrowed. At the end of it, the door led outside and for a moment, Valora was reassured. But the more she lookedaround her, the more she realized the chapel was nowhere to be seen.
She stopped dead in her tracks, her heart jumping to her throat. “Wait?—”
But it was too late. A shadow detached from the stone behind her, moving fast, before she could even understand what was happening. Before she knew it, pain bloomed behind her eyes, sudden and sharp like a crack of lightning. Within moments, the world tilted, then vanished, her vision going fuzzy at the edges and then completely, utterly dark.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The chapel was warm with the scent of candles burning tirelessly on the chandeliers. Guests filled the pews, nobles from nearby clans mingled with stewards and retainers. Torrin stood at the front, his shoulders stiff, his hands folded behind his back. His foot tapped ceaselessly against the floor of the chapel, a rhythmictap-tap-tapthat he seemed unable to control.
Where is she? Is she still gettin’ ready?
Noah stood near the door, glancing periodically outside, waiting for any sign of Valora. Torrin knew there was no point in it—she would show up whenever she was ready. And yet, he was still impatient, still asking Noah to look for any sign that she was coming, just so that he could calm his mind.
But every passing moment only served to plunge him deeper into anxiety.
Torrin had never worn formal garb easily—his broad frame resisted finery and favored the stiff push and pull of leather and metal—but today he bore it like armor. Still, beneath the careful calm, his nerves were taut. More than ever, he was aware of the fact that the future of the clan rested upon his shoulders and it was up to him to ensure the safety of everyone.
Adjusting his sleeves, Torrin glanced towards the door, even though Noah had given him no signal yet. He, too, could see there was no movement, no sign of her in the chapel or the path that led to it from the keep.
Then, just as Torrin was beginning to think that perhaps he should check in on Valora, Daisy appeared, breathless, face pale.
Torrin’s blood went cold before she even spoke.
“Torrin,” she said, eyes darting toward the rows of guests. She rushed over to Torrin and lowered her voice, so that only he could hear her. “She’s nae in yer chambers. She was there just moments ago, but now she’s gone.”
Torrin didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Noah was already rushing towards him, pushing past the few guests who had stood from their seats in alarm. Torrin’s eyes hardened, his hands curling into fists. He knew who was to blame—he knew it was none other than Laird Keith once more, acting in a desperate attempt to have Valora.
“Seal the gates,” he said to Noah, his voice low and sharp. “Nay one leaves.”
He stepped down from the altar, already moving to the chapel doors with Noah quick to follow, gesturing to the guards who were there to join them. The men acted quickly, falling into step behind them, but Torrin hardly registered any of it. In his chest, something old and wild stirred.
And the wild thing was war.
