Page 99 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
“Please daenae go,” Daisy hiccupped, her voice already thick with tears. “I daenae want ye to go.”
Amara had crouched down moments ago, both knees aching from the cold stone beneath her, but she didn’t care. She wrapped her arms around the girl tightly, one hand rubbing small circles into her back. “Mo chridhe,” she murmured into Daisy’s dark curls, “we’ll see each other again. I swear it.”
Daisy shook her head hard, fists clenching tighter. “But what if ye daenae come back? What if Da keeps ye gone forever?”
A sharp ache bloomed behind Amara’s ribs. “Nay one’s keeping me anywhere, love. I’ll come back, or I’ll send for ye, if ye wish it. I’d never disappear on ye without sayin’ goodbye for good.”
The child was trembling. Her round cheeks were flushed with frustration and sadness. All of it was too much for a little girl to carry.
Amara looked up just as Mabel stepped into the room, arms crossed lightly over her chest, lips pressed in a thoughtful line.
“Daisy,” the older woman said gently, “why daenae ye fetch that scarf ye stitched for Lady Amara, hmm? Ye said ye wanted her to take it with her.”
The child hesitated, one hand still clutching Amara’s gown, but then gave a reluctant nod and ran off down the hallway, boots scuffing the stone.
Amara stood slowly, pressing a hand to her back. Her body was stiff from the intensity of Daisy’s embrace, but her heart felt even more bruised.
“She’ll be fine,” Mabel said after a long beat, stepping fully into the room and shutting the door behind her. “She’s stronger than she looks. Takes after her da.”
Amara offered a weary smile. “So I’ve noticed.”
Mabel tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she studied Amara. “And ye? How are ye holdin’ up?”
“I’m fine,” Amara said automatically, but even she didn’t believe it.
“Aye, and I’m the bloody queen of France,” Mabel muttered, shaking her head. “Ye look pale. Pale and torn, like someone’s stitched ye up wrong.”
Amara blinked, unsure how to answer.
Mabel crossed to her, quick as a whip, and suddenly pulled her into a hug. It was firm. Not the sort of careful embrace Amara had grown used to from noblewomen and tight-laced ladies of court. This was the kind of hug she would remember.
“Ye’re loved and wanted here,” Mabel murmured, “though I ken it’s hard to see.”
Amara’s throat burned, but she managed to keep herself steady. “Thank ye.”
When Mabel stepped back, she was already untying something from her apron. Amara watched as she knelt and reached under Amara’s cloak, fastening a leather strap tight against her upper thigh.
“What in heaven’s name are ye doing?” Amara asked, alarmed.
“Giving ye a bit of insurance,” Mabel muttered. “Small dagger. Light. But it’ll do if needed. Ye’ll feel it when ye walk, but that’s half the point.”
Amara stared at her, stunned. “I — I cannae take a weapon from ye.”
“Aye, ye can. And ye will.”
“But Mabel, why would ye trust me with —?”
“Because I trust ye nae to be a fool,” she interrupted, standing again with a grunt. “Because I like ye. And because ye’re walkin’ back into a place that never saw ye right. Someone ought to care enough that ye make it back out.”
The air thickened. Amara felt a well of emotion rise, tight and sharp in her chest.
“I’ve never had someone give me a blade before,” she said, blinking fast. “Let alone trust me with it.”
Mabel arched a brow. “Well, now ye have. Keep it sheathed, god willing. But if it comes down to it — daenae hesitate.”
A knock interrupted them. Daisy stood in the doorway again, clutching a pale yellow scarf, the edges stitched with uneven little flowers.
“It’s for ye,” she said softly, eyes cast downward.
