Page 68 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Abigail wiped her hands on a cloth, grinning. “I needed this. I hadnae realized how much until now.”
Helena smiled, her voice softening. “Well, we all need a bit of laughter, lass. Especially when the heart’s conflicted.”
Abigail didn’t answer that. Instead, she reached for the next bundle of herbs, letting the silence settle for a moment before lifting her gaze again.
“Has it always been like this here?” she asked. “Busy and a little mad?”
Helena chuckled. “Since I can remember. There’s always some ruckus or another.”
Abigail grinned again. “What about ghosts? One of the maids said she saw one near the western wing.”
Helena raised an eyebrow. “Ah, that again. That wing has always been… cold, but if there are ghosts wanderin’, they’re poor company—they never talk.”
Abigail threw her head back and laughed. “Do ye believe in them?”
Helena shrugged. “I believe in things I can see and fix. Spirits dinnae often need tinctures or poultices.”
“That’s fair,” Abigail said, stirring the contents of her bowl with care. “But sometimes it feels like this place is holdin’ secrets.”
“Oh, love, it is,” Helena affirmed with a wink. “Ye dinnae build walls this thick if ye’re nae tryin’ to hide something.”
Abigail smiled, but her thoughts drifted back to Kian. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Helena noticed the shift in her expression. “What is it now?”
Abigail shook her head lightly. “Nothin’. Just… the kind of secrets I’m nae sure I want to discover.”
Helena gave her a long look. “Aye. Some secrets better remain hidden.”
Abigail nodded, staring down at the mortar in her hands. “But nae knowin’ has a way of gnawin’ at ye.”
Helena reached across the table and placed her fingers lightly over Abigail’s. “Whatever it is, it’ll come out when the time’s right. And when it does, ye willnae be facin’ it alone.”
Abigail blinked against a sudden rush of emotion. “Ye’re good to me, Helena.”
“Och, ye are a good lass, and ye deserve kindness,” Helena replied simply, before returning to her work.
She had a way of talking that made everything feel less intimidating, less tangled.
For the first time in a long while, Abigail could see herself spending the rest of her life in this castle. With Helena at her side, she would have the sisterly love she missed. With Kian as her husband, she would have the love she yearned for.
Still, once she left the healer’s chambers, the weight returned to her chest. The cool air in the corridors greeted her, and the soft scent of crushed herbs lingered on her hands. But nothing could push away thoughts of Kian. His voice, his touch, the way his good eye burned when he looked at her.
Did he really mean what he said? Does he truly want me?
She walked slowly, her feet carrying her through the maze-like halls. The castle had so many passageways, stairwells, and narrow alcoves that it was easy to get lost, especially when distracted by a maelstrom of feelings.
She didn’t realize how far she’d wandered until she passed an unfamiliar tapestry and a torch that had long died out. The corridor grew colder, the shadows thicker. Unease curled in her belly.
“Where am I?” she whispered to herself, glancing around.
She turned back, retracing her steps—at least, she thought she did. But the stone walls all looked the same now, and the faint howl of the wind outside only made the silence inside more eerie.
A gust of air stirred the hair on the back of her neck. Then, without warning, pain splintered across the side of her head. A dull thud echoed in her ears as her knees buckled. The floor tilted.
In the haze, she heard a familiar voice, low and impatient.
“Always have to do every bloody thing by meself,” Peyton muttered.
