Page 80 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“Come to gloat, have ye?”
Abigail clenched her fists at her sides. “Tell me what poison was on the dirk.”
Peyton laughed, the sound bitter and hoarse. “Why should I tell ye anything?”
“Because his life hangs by a thread,” Abigail spat. “And if he dies, there will be nay mercy for ye. Nae from me. Nae from anyone.”
Peyton tilted her head, considering. “And if I do? What, then? Ye’ll free me? Pardon me for treachery?”
“I’ll do what I must to save him,” Abigail said, stepping forward. “Ye may rot in this cell, but if there’s a shred of humanity left in ye, ye’ll tell me what I need to ken.”
Peyton scoffed. “Yer heart’s gone soft, girl. I see it now. All that fire’s been smothered by love for a man who took ye from yer family.”
The word ‘love’ stirred something in Abigail’s gut.
Love? Do I love him?
She didn’t flinch. “He may have abducted me, but I gave him me trust, and now he may die for it. So, tell me which poison ye used!”
Peyton hesitated, then smirked. “Nightshade… mixed with viper’s root. Nasty stuff. Slow, cruel. Nae enough to kill him outright, just enough to prolong his suffering. I thought the blade would do most of the work, but I planned to leave him inthe clearing anyway. The poison would have guaranteed he’d be unable to shout for help.”
Abigail turned on her heels without another word. She didn’t trust Peyton’s reasons for giving up the answer, but it didn’t matter. Now, Helena would know which antidote to make.
Abigail bolted out of the cell, shouting for the guard to lock the door behind her, and quickly ran back to the healer’s chambers. She shoved the door open with both hands, her breath coming in sharp bursts.
Helena spun around, nearly spilling the herbs she was mixing into a bowl.
Abigail’s hair was wild from her sprint through the halls.
“Peyton,” she gasped, “she told me what poison she used.”
Helena set the bowl hard on the table, her eyes wide. “She did? Lass, that’s… Abigail, that’s good work.”
She reached out and pulled her into a tight hug, trembling with relief.
Abigail pulled back, her heart still hammering. “She said she used Nightshade, but nae just that. She mixed it with viper’s root—some kind of compound meant to slow the pulse, then put him in a deep sleep to prevent him from shouting for help.”
Helena let out a quiet curse, already reaching for her bag.
“We can try somethin’, but I still need yarrow,” she muttered, shoving vials aside. “That’s the key ingredient. We can make do for now with elderflower and wormwood, but?—”
The door flew open with a loud bang that echoed off the walls. Abigail whirled around to see Leighton standing there, out of breath. Behind him stood Freya and her husband, Michael, whose hand rested protectively on the small of her back.
“Abigail!” Freya’s eyes filled with tears as she crossed the room in three strides.
Abigail wrapped her arms around her sister, clutching her like she might vanish.
Freya immediately started with the questions. “Are ye all right? Have ye been hurt? Leighton told us everything, and I?—”
“I’ll explain later,” Abigail cut in, holding her tight. “There’s nay time now. I need ye, Freya. Kian’s still breathin’, but barely. We think the poison is Nightshade, mixed with viper’s root. Helena’s treated him with cleavers and prayers.”
Freya’s eyes turned sharp, alert. She reached behind her and handed Michael her cloak. “Show me where he is.”
Abigail led her to the far corner of the room, where Kian lay pale and still on the bed. The shadows had deepened beneath his eyes, and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
Abigail’s voice trembled as she knelt beside him. “This is all me fault. I should’ve known, should’ve seen what Peyton was doing.”
“Stop that, Abby,” Freya said softly, kneeling on Kian’s other side. “Blamin’ yerself willnae help him now.” She opened her bag and pulled out several bundles of dried yarrow wrapped in linen. “Thank the stars I brought this. Let’s get to work.”
