Page 76 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“A dirk,” Abigail said softly, her eyes fixed on Kian’s chest. “Peyton stabbed him with a dirk when he wasnae lookin’.”
Helena let out a slow breath. “That’s good news, in a way. A short blade cannae go too deep. It may be good with time.”
“I hope ye’re right,” Abigail mumbled, her voice trembling.
“How did all of this happen?” Helena asked gently.
Abigail took a shaky breath. “Peyton knocked me out. I woke up in the woods, and she admitted she’d paid bandits to help her. Said she wanted me gone—said she wanted Kian to suffer.”
Helena’s eyes darkened. “So, she lured him out?”
“Aye. She told me she made it look like I’d been taken. Kian came straight away. Walked right into her trap.”
Helena looked down at Kian’s chest, her lips pressed into a thin line. “I guess Peyton never truly forgave him for killin’ her faither.”
Abigail looked at her sharply. “Aye, she said as much to him.”
Helena smoothed the edge of the dressing. “But Peyton never spoke of it, nae to me. I think she carried that anger quietly.”
Abigail’s throat tightened. “She said he owed her. That takin’ me from him would make things right.”
“Vengeance doesnae make things right,” Helena said quietly. “It only brings ruin.”
They rode on in silence for a few moments, the cart rattling slightly beneath them.
Kian groaned softly, his fingers twitching.
Abigail clutched his hand tightly. “He moved,” she breathed, hope rising in her chest.
“He’s still fightin’,” Helena said. “He hears ye, lass. Keep talkin’ to him.”
Abigail leaned down and put her lips to his ear. “Ye had better fight, Kian Wright. I’ve nay plans to live alone in yer castle. I’ll stay by yer side every step, I swear it.”
Tears slid down her cheeks, but she never released his hand.
The trees began to thin, and the castle walls loomed ahead, a promise of shelter and safety.
The guards crowded around as they lifted Kian and carried him into the healer’s chambers, before leaving quietly.
Abigail sat near the hearth, her hands trembling as she dipped fresh bandages into a basin of steaming water. The scent of herbs clung to the air, mingling with the tang of blood and fear.
Kian lay motionless on the bed, his skin pale in the flickering candlelight.
Helena worked swiftly, muttering to herself, her hands stained with tinctures.
Abigail stirred the strong tea she had brewed, the steam rising in the air like restless spirits. Her thoughts were tangled and restless, but she kept moving, kept busy. It was the only way to keep from falling apart. The tea would help. If it was not for Kian, then it was for Helena to stay alert.
The door creaked open behind her, and Leighton entered, his face grim, his boots muddy. Abigail turned to him at once, her eyes brimming with questions.
Helena barely looked up, fully focused on stitching Kian’s wound. The room fell quiet for a beat, the crackling of the fire the only sound.
“How is he?” Leighton asked, stepping closer.
Helena exhaled, her brow furrowed. “He’s struggling. He’s lost a lot of blood, aye, but there’s somethin’ else. I cannae put me finger on it.”
Leighton reached into his coat and pulled out a folded cloth. He laid it gently on the table beside the teapot. “Perhaps this will help.”
Abigail stepped forward, her eyebrows knitting together. “What is it?”
