Page 87 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“I’ll do me best,” Kian muttered.
He brought the cup to his lips, the warmth of the draught curling against his skin. The scent was bitter and sharp, but he drank it down without pause, trusting Abigail’s hand.
She watched him closely, worry flickering in her eyes, though her touch on his arm was steady. When he handed the cup back, Helena nodded in approval.
“That will help ye rest, lad,” she said softly.
“I’m afraid to sleep,” Kian murmured, his gaze flicking to Abigail. “What if I wake up and find ye gone?”
“I’ll nae leave ye,” Abigail whispered, clasping his hand in her own. “I swear it. But ye must rest. Let yer body mend.”
Kian’s lashes fluttered as the draught started taking effect. Warmth spread through his chest, easing the pain there.
He turned slightly toward Abigail, drawing strength from her presence. Her fingers curled around his, anchoring him, even as darkness pulled him under.
Sleep took him swiftly then.
The pain dulled to a faint ache, and the storm in his mind quieted. Dreams came slow, blurred, like fog curling over the hills. And in the distance, a soft voice whispered his name.
Hours passed by. The room changed with the hours—sunlight slipped across the floor and faded, and lanterns cast yellow light on the stone walls. He stirred once or twice, but the weight of sleep held him fast. The only constant was the warmth of Abigail’s presence.
When morning dawned and the light touched his brow, Kian stirred again.
His good eye opened slowly, blinking against the brightness. For a moment, he did not move, afraid the peace would shatter. But then he turned his head, and there she was.
“Ye’re still here?” he rasped, his voice rough from sleep.
“Aye,” Abigail said softly. “I promised I wouldnae leave.”
Kian exhaled slowly, the knot in his chest loosening. He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Then I’ll heal, if only for that reason.”
Abigail’s smile widened, and she brought her other hand to brush the hair from his brow. “Rested better this night, did ye?”
“Like I’d been pulled down to the depths of the earth,” he said, closing his eye for a moment. “I think it was the sound of yer breathing that kept me anchored.”
She laughed gently. “Then I’ll stay right here, breathin’ steady as a hearth fire, till ye’re strong enough to rise.”
Kian opened his eye again, looking at her with renewed clarity. “It wasnae just the draught. It was ye. Always ye.”
Abigail leaned forward and kissed his temple. “And I’ll be here, always. As I said.”
Outside the window, the morning birds had begun their song, and a breeze stirred the curtains. But inside the room, time seemed to slow down, wrapping them in the quiet hush of hope.
Abigail’s still here. That’s all that matters.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Abigail stirred slowly from her nap, the warmth of Kian’s body beside hers steady and strong.
He had drifted in and out of sleep all day, and she’d remained curled up against him, listening to the sound of his breathing and the occasional murmur of dreams.
Now, the light outside the window was fading, and the scent of roasting meat drifted in from the lower halls. Her heart thudded with anticipation; tonight, she would tell her family.
What will they say?
She eased herself off the bed, careful not to wake him. He looked peaceful, and the bruises on his skin were already fading. He’d be all right. She had to believe that.
Her footsteps echoed softly as she made her way to the family dining room. Laughter drifted from inside, along with the soundof her family sharing supper. It would not have been right for them to eat in the Great Hall with the rest of the clan without the Laird to properly receive them.
