Page 55 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
He tumbled to the earth, hitting it hard, and looked up through the haze of pain. His father stood over him and kicked him hard in the stomach.
Grant wheezed in pain, even though this was wrong—that had been the first time he’d attempted to spy on someone for Laird MacCabe.
His father blurred and shifted, turning into Reuben. Reuben, who was glaring down at him with such hate and holding a bloodied blue ribbon in his hands.
“If ye come back, I will kill ye meself,” he said.
Grant shuddered. Reuben’s voice was his father’s voice, and his father was Reuben.
“Worthless, foolish rot of me blood. I curse ye. I curse the day ye were born.”
“No,” Grant tried to say, but he couldn’t speak.
“And I shall kill that Sassenach of yers, too. Disgustin’.”
Light broke over Grant as he bolted upright, throwing back the blankets and breathing hard. Next to him, Kyla started and dropped the knitting in her hands. She pressed a hand to her heart, then rushed to him.
“Me Laird,” she said, bowing her head. “Ye are awake. Good. Please, drink.”
“What—what happened, Kyla?” Grant asked and winced at the roughness of his voice, the burn in his throat. His body felt loose and weak, as though he had a fever. “And none of this Laird nonsense. We are old friends, how many times do I have to tell ye that?”
“What happened is that ye are lucky I ken me herbs,” Kyla drawled as she passed him a mug of tea. He drank from it gratefully, eyeing her when she didn’t continue.
She motioned for him to finish. Rolling his eyes, he obliged her and then gave her an expectant look.
“Ye were poisoned. Probably a Skulleye mushroom.”
Grant stared down at the mug in his hand and shook his head. He pictured the small, round white mushrooms with the two diamond dots on either side, like the holes of a skull. They were not common. He was fairly certain the last time he’d come across them was when he was a boy.
“Mac told me about them when I was a boy,” he said slowly and raised his gaze to the window. “Sometimes during huntin’ trips, he’d come along to gather herbs farther afield.”
“Reuben was with ye?”
“I…” Grant shook his head. “Mayhap? But probably nae—he was too young. How could I have been so foolish?” He leaned back and gazed at her. “How am I alive?”
Kyla shook her head. “Ye came verra close to death, Me Laird. Too close. I’m nae sure if it’s because ye didnae eat enough or because I quickly gave ye the antidote.” She pressed a hand to her face. “It’s strange… If I hadnae gone to Mac’s Garden with Emma that mornin’, I’m nae sure I would have had thenecessary ingredients that night.” She huffed out a breath. “I swear, sometimes, me braither’s ghost keeps watch over this castle.”
A chill ran down Grant’s spine. It was not the first time Kyla had said such a thing, but he usually dismissed it. He’d hope that Mac would find peace elsewhere. But perhaps the kindly, older healer was still around.
“A lucky thing.” He sat up straight. “Wait, where is Emma? She’s nae here?”
Kyla paused in measuring a tincture. “Should she be?”
“Aye,” he said. His heart leaped with sudden fear. “Nay—tell me she wasnae hurt. Is she well? Ye would have told me if she werenae well.”
“Drink this,” Kyla instructed.
“Dammit, Kyla, tell me,” Grant snapped as he reached for the glass and downed it.
“She wasnae poisoned, me Laird. Dinnae fash. She’s well, but?—”
At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, and Grant growled, which caused the door to fly open. McWirthe, several healers, and his mother entered. All of them let out cries of relief, but he held up a hand and glared at Kyla.
“Tell me where Emma is.” He balled his fists. “Did she run?”
Kyla let out a short, harsh laugh that was so unlike her. “Nay, she couldnae even if she wanted to.”
“What the bloody hell does that mean?” Grant snarled. “Explain, now.”
