Page 73 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
“Ye poisoned me maither,” he said redundantly while his body vibrated with anger. “For jealousy.”
“Oh, I wouldnae say that,” Callum jeered. “It was for the best. If she had chosen wisely, she wouldnae have ended up a mess. Just like ye, if ye had not dragged this lovely lass into this, she wouldnae end up dead.”
Ethan had enough, he could not sit by and hope divine intervention would change Callum’s mind but knew he could not attack directly. He lunged to Callum’s side and the man twisted enough that Violet was able to slip out of his grasp.
Throwing himself at the man, he grappled, avoiding the knife while trying to overpower Callum. The blows he had sustained before were flaring up as he twisted on the ground, he gasped as the blow to his side jabbed a hot spike of pain through him.
Callum jabbed the knife down and Ethan barely grabbed his arm to stop the knife from plunging into his throat. He struggled and felt his arms about to give out when Callum was yanked off him. Ethan blinked the sweat dripping in his eyes away to see his father wrestling with his brother and forcing him into a corner.
He scrambled to his feet, rushing to Violet and shielding her while watching with his heart in his throat for his father. His father sank a meaty fist into Callum’s stomach, who then doubled over and crumpled to the ground, not moving.
His father braced an arm on the wall and gasped in deep breaths. Ethan inched forward to his father who was grabbing at his chest. He must have ridden the three miles to the castle with the hounds of hell on his heels to have arrived so quickly. Resting a hand on his father’s shoulder he turned him away from his brother and embraced him without a word.
Relieved, Ethan pulled away and, in that second, saw Callum leap to his feet with the blade ready to kill. He pushed his father away and took the stab. The steel sank into his skin with an unnatural heat and fire erupted from the middle of his back and then…all he knew was black.
Epilogue
Sitting beside the peacefully sleeping Ethan, Violet reached out and lightly cupped his jaw that was sporting nearly a weeks-worth of soft stubble. That night in the bailey was still vivid in her mind, the salvation-moment when she had heard Ethan’s voice through the solid door trapping her in the dungeons.
Wake up, me love.
Violet stifled a shiver at the memory of Mister MacFerson, the now-imprisonedMacFerson, holding her against him and the knife against her neck. She remembered how Ethan had come to her rescue, like the knight she knew he was, and had fought for her life while she stood, cowering, against a wall.
She knew Ethan had not seen it when his father had rushed in but she had and was ready to tell him all when he woke up and stayed awake for more some fleeting moments. As he was lying on his side, her thumb traced over his angular cheekbone lovingly while trying not to linger on how the knife had sunk into his back, or how she had screamed herself hoarse in terror.
Ethan was alive and recovering in his bed after the healers had set him right. When his father had rushed him up to the healers, new ones that his brother had brought in, but still competent in healing, they had leaped into action and began to work.
She had nearly fainted at the blood pouring out of his back, fearing the knife had destroyed an organ or artery that could not be repaired, but a healer had shouted in relief. The knife had been blocked by his shoulder blades and had done damage to his skin and muscle, but not his organs.
They had to give him an infusion of willow tree bark to kill his pain while rosemary burnt in the corner to counter infections that might set in. She had taken it upon herself to be near him, to lay a cold rag on his forehead when he began to get feverish and help him drink whenever he woke and was parched while longing for the day when he would wake for more than a few hazy moments.
Smoothing his eyebrow, she felt him shift under her hand but she did not move it. With hope building, she watched his eyes flutter then open to slits. Thick curtains shielded the brunt of the sunlight from coming in, so he had not to worry about being blinded.
When he came awake fully, she saw complete consciousness resting there and smiled. “Welcome back.”
He nuzzled into her hand, and hoarsely asked, “How long have I been asleep?”
“Almost five days,” she said pulling away to get him some water. “But yer healing quickly.” She helped him to sit up, then held the goblet to his lips, and he drank slowly. “How are ye feeling?”
He pulled away, “As if a herd of bulls trampled me twice over. I feel numb at some points, but somehow, I can still feel pain threatening to override the numbness.”
“The healers gave me some of the willow-bark tree infusion if ye—”
“Nay need,” he shook his head. “I’m nay in pain…yet.” he paused and swallowed. “What happened after…after Callum stabbed me?”
Nibbling a corner of her lip, Violet dared ask. “Are ye sure ye want to ken what happened?”
“Aye,” he whispered.
Carding her fingers through his hair, she recalled what happened in the last five days, “When he…stabbed ye, yer faither yanked MacFerson off and slammed him in the wall, yanked his hand back so far it dislocated his shoulder and nearly broke his arm. Some men rushed into the room, luckily, they were our men. MacTrye and Mister Rogan and a few other soldiers. They took MacFerson out while ye faither rushed ye to the infirmary. Ye were bleeding so badly, I kent…” the words died in her throat, but she pushed through, “I kent ye would die, but they said the knife only hit yer shoulder blades and nae…nae anything so dire ye’d die.”
His lips pressed tight, “I regret having ye see any of that.”
Pushing her feeling aside, she continued, “MacTrye planned for a coup. He had the first fifty soldiers battle MacFerson’s men and called for the second set when they were barely hanging on. We won over them before dawn came and when it did, they had to strike a reluctant truce. The men were just tools, nae the preparator, and there was grief on either side about those who had been cut down because of one man’s madness.”
“And what about Callum?” Ethan asked, stiffly. “Is he alive still?”
“After all he confessed, aye, he is,” Violet replied. “Yer faither wanted to run him through with a sword, but held back because he wanted ye to pronounce his punishment. As soon as ye’re well enough, he wants ye to be yer uncle’s judge.”
