Page 52 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
Poison.
He tried to get the word out, but he started to shake so hard, and he felt trapped in his mind. How had he not sensed it before?
“Help!” Emma screamed as he swayed and struggled to take a step forward. She had her arm around his back and tried to pull him forward. “Keep walking, Grant. We’ll get you to Kyla. You—” Her wide eyes met his. “You were poisoned, weren’t you?”
He nodded and fell on his knees again, pulling her down with him. She screamed for help again, and a voice rang out in answer.
McWirthe.
Grant tried to move, but his entire body rebelled, and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. Hoofbeats pounded toward them, and then McWirthe was there, gently pushing aside a sobbing Emma and hauling Grant up along with another soldier. They lifted Grant onto the horse, and they took off toward Banrose Castle.
The last thing Grant remembered was the blur of the castle windows tumbling into the darkness of the loch, along with him.
And the soft, silken laugh of Emma in his ear, as she pulled him close—then vanished.How?He tried to move, tried to reach for her, but she was gone. He was gone.
Nae, wait I need more time. Please. Give me more time with her.
Emma had never known how time could fragment and stretch, minutes expanding into hours, and hours rushing by in seconds. She felt disconnected from everything, her hands shaking and cold. Images raced through her mind, from the moments they shared at the loch, to the strange lethargy Grant felt, to the strong man falling to his knees.
She could not stop pacing, hugging her arms around herself, and she worried her lip with her teeth—an old habit that she’d been forced to break during her lessons in decorum. But she could not stop herself now.
Kyla had gone in ages ago, it seemed, sweeping by with a stern look on her face and a distracted nod for Emma. Other healers had followed, including a tiny old woman leaning on a cane and clutching a tome under her arm.
How much longer?
Emma moved closer to the healing chambers, listening hard. But the folk inside were speaking Gaelic. And while she did not understand the words, she sensed the tension.
Footsteps came pounding down the hall, and Emma turned around, pausing as she watched Reuben stalk toward her.Behind him was a row of armed men, their faces set into grimaces, their eyes lifeless.
“Ye ken what me faither taught me as a lad?” Reuben asked, a cold sneer on his face. Emma started as she realized he’d directed the question at her. “Never turn yer back on an Englishman.” He leaned closer as she shook her head, utterly at a loss. “I suppose that goes for Englishwomen, too.”
With that, he turned and waved his hand, saying something in Gaelic.
Emma did not understand until the men stepped forward, grabbed her by the arms, and began to drag her away from the door.
“No, I want to say. I need to stay,” she protested. “I do not want to go back to my rooms.”
Reuben glanced back at her with a smirk as the men shoved her arms behind her back and cold metal clicked around them. “Dinnae fash, me Lady. Ye arenae returnin’ to yer rooms.”
“No!” Emma cried and tried to wrench herself free. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I’d like to ken the same,” a steely voice spoke. Kyla had emerged from the healing chambers, her eyes flashing. “What is all this commotion about? What—” Her eyes went wide as she looked at Emma, then at Reuben, and then she spoke in Gaelic.
Reuben all but snarled at the healer, who took a step back, a hand at her heart. Her eyes flickered to Emma. In that glance was a warning, and Emma had the sense that Kyla was urging her to play along.
Dinnae fight—ye will only make it worse.
Emma shook her head. “I don’t care about that,” she said fiercely. “I only wish to know if the Laird?—”
Reuben barked out a command in Gaelic, and a guard clapped a hand over her mouth. Tears pricked her eyes as they marched her down the halls and then to a barred door with a guard standing in front of it. He leaped aside as they approached, and Reuben yanked open the door to reveal a flight of stairs leading into darkness.
“Down to the dungeons ye go, Lady Emma.”
A squeak escaped Emma’s lips as she was half-carried, half-led down the stairs. Damp and cold snaked along her skin as they stepped into a dim, horrible, cramped hallway echoing with silence.
There was a rank scent here, mixed with brine, and her stomach heaved. She had been too nervous to eat much at the picnic, and now her stomach ached with hunger.
Reuben strode along without pause until they came to the very end of the hall, and the guards stirred.
