Page 21 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
A bigail’s boots tapped softly on the stone floor as she paced her chamber, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Her heart thudded with every turn, the heated events from two nights ago still lingering like a heat she could neither chase away nor embrace fully.
Kian’s touch and his proposal echoed in her mind, like the ringing of a distant bell she couldn’t ignore.
Why would a man like him—fierce, confident, and desirable—choose me? I am nae thin or beautiful like other women.
She paused at the window, watching the morning mist drift above the hills in the distance.
“Oh,” she whispered, leaning her head against the cool pane, “the prettier lasses with simpler pasts and nay sisters waitin’ to skin the man who kidnapped them—that should be his choice.”
Her lips curved faintly, though no real humor touched her eyes. Still, her heart fluttered when she thought of the way his voice had softened.
“Be mine, Abigail. Officially.”
Shaking her head, she turned and grabbed her shawl from the back of the chair. She needed answers, or at least someone who might help her untangle this mess of longing and doubt.
Only one person came to mind—Helena.
The healer had been kind, observant, and oddly steady through the chaos.
Her feet led her down the corridor, her thoughts so fixated on Kian’s voice and how he brought her to bliss that she never noticed the figure until she collided with it.
“Oh!” She stumbled backward, catching herself against the wall.
Peyton let out a laugh. “Well, we must stop meetin’ like this, darling. Or else folks will start whisperin’.”
Abigail flushed. “Forgive me, I wasnae lookin’ where I was going. Me thoughts were elsewhere.”
“They must’ve been deep ones, then,” Peyton said with a sly smile. “I find a walk always helps clear the fog.”
“I dinnae think I’m up to walkin’ just now,” Abigail murmured.
“Och, are ye sure? I can join ye if ye like?” Peyton offered with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
“Nay, thank ye, but—” Abigail started.
“And the air is fresh this morn—lots of sunshine to be had,” Peyton continued. “I could use the company.”
“I am sorry, but I am on me way to speak with Helena. Another time,” Abigail said.
“Of course. Try nae to knock over any more cousins,” Peyton said with a wink, gliding off in a swish of lavender skirts.
Abigail let out a breath and fixed her shawl. The encounter left her feeling even more off-kilter.
Why did Peyton have to look like the kind of woman Kian should marry?
Elegant, poised, not a hint of doubt in her movements.
She continued walking until she reached the narrow stairwell that led to the healer’s chambers. The scent of herbs hit her before she stepped inside—lavender, mint, and something sharper, almost bitter.
Helena stood at the worktable, her sleeves rolled up, her hands grinding something with a small mortar and pestle.
Abigail knocked lightly on the open door. “Helena?”
Helena looked up and smiled. “Oh, come in, Abigail. I’m makin’ an ointment for a patient’s shoulder. His shoulder hurts less after he used the last dose I gave him, and I want to continue the treatment,” she said. “Do ye need some ointment yerself? Are ye well?”
“I am well, but… I didnae come for medicine.”
Helena set the pestle down and wiped her hands. “What is it, then?”
“I need to ask ye something. About… Kian.”
Helena’s eyebrows rose slightly, but she nodded. “Aye, go on.”
“What kind of man is he, really?” Abigail leaned against the wall, her arms folded. “I ken he’s bold, stubborn as a mule, but is he… I mean, does he mean the things he says?”
Helena tilted her head, studying her. “He’s a good man, though he does a fine job of hidin’ it under all that gruffness. His pride gets in the way, often . But he’d never say a thing he didnae mean. If he’s spoken somethin’ to ye, it’s because it burns him nae to say it.”
Abigail’s throat tightened. She lowered her gaze, fussing with a loose thread on her sleeve. “And… has he ever… cared for another?”
Helena’s eyes widened just a touch. “Ye mean, another woman?”
Abigail didn’t respond at first, then whispered, “Aye.”
“Nay. Nae in a way that counts.”
Abigail exhaled, her thoughts still clouded. “But if—if a man takes a woman from her home and then offers to marry her… it could mean guilt, could it nae?”
Helena frowned. “Abigail, did he ask ye to marry him?”
Abigail quickly shook her head.
She did not like lying to Helena, but she did not want anyone to know about the proposal, even if it made her feel guilty.
“Nay. I only wonder… if he were to ask, would it be out of duty or desire?”
Helena crossed the room and rested a gentle hand on her arm. “He’s nae the kind to marry out of guilt. He’d sooner run headlong into a sword than chain himself for the sake of honor.”
Abigail’s heart flipped at those words. But still, the fear in her chest coiled tighter. “But me sisters… they’d never forgive him.”
“That may be true,” Helena acknowledged. “But it’s yer heart ye must answer to, nae theirs.”
Silence hung between them for a long moment. The herbs on the table gave off a sharp, earthy scent that grounded her slightly.
“I’m afraid,” Abigail admitted. “If I choose him, I betray them. But if I walk away… I betray somethin’ inside me.”
Helena’s voice was soft. “Then maybe the real question is, what part of ye are ye willin’ to live without?”
Abigail blinked rapidly, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. “I dinnae ken anymore.”
Helena gave her arm a squeeze and stepped back. “Ye have time, but nae forever.”
Abigail nodded slowly, feeling no closer to clarity, but grateful to at least have been heard. “Thank ye, Helena.”
“Any time,” Helena said, returning to her work. “And Abigail?”
“Aye?”
“Whatever he’s done, he looks at ye like a man who’s finally found the thing he didnae ken he needed.”
Abigail blinked at her, watching the knowing smile curving her lips.
“I ken just the thing to get yer mind off what’s ailin’ ye,” Helena said, brushing her hair from her face.
“Aye? And what might that be?” Abigail asked, raising an eyebrow.
Helena shoved a mortar and pestle into her hands. “Good, hard work.”
A laugh escaped Abigail’s lips before she could stop it. The heaviness in her chest eased just a little. “Ye might be right.”
“Come then, roll up yer sleeves,” Helena instructed, already gathering bundles of dried herbs.
Abigail set the mortar down on the wooden table and rolled her sleeves up to her elbows. The scent of lavender and elderflower was strong in the warm room.
She stood beside Helena, ready for the distraction. “I’m happy to help.”
Helena handed her little pouches of herbs. “These are to be crushed together first. Lavender, valerian, and chamomile. Good for sleep and frayed nerves.”
“Sounds like somethin’ I could use meself,” Abigail muttered with a smile as she took the pestle and began grinding. “Lack of sleep leads to roamin’ the halls and… well, nothing.”
Helena raised an eyebrow. “I’ll boil some water for some tea. Sounds like ye need it.”
They worked quietly at first, the rhythmic scrape of stone on stone soothing Abigail’s frayed nerves. The simplicity of it helped. It felt good to use her hands for something steady. Something real .
Helena showed her how to measure the dried roots and leaves, placing a mixture of chamomile, yarrow, and comfrey into the stone bowl.
“Ye want to grind in slow, circular motion. Just like that,” she said, watching Abigail’s movements with sharp eyes.
Abigail nodded, the rhythm of the task grounding her in a way that surprised her.
“I quite like this,” she admitted, pushing the pestle deeper, the crunch of the herbs oddly satisfying.
The sharp tang of dried mint invaded her nostrils, stirring her senses.
“Me sister is a healer, and I have been helping her since I was young,” she revealed.
“That’s good to ken. It helps to do somethin’ with yer hands,” Helena said, adjusting a bundle of herbs hanging from a rafter. “Gets yer thoughts movin’ in the right direction, instead of spiralin’.”
“What are those for?” Abigail asked, nodding toward a row of amber-colored bottles.
“That one’s for bruises and pain, that one is for stab wounds, that one’s for poison, and some are for broken bones,” Helena replied, placing a stopper in one. “Ye’d be surprised how much folks get hurt around here.”
Abigail chuckled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. There was something about the healer—something soothing and kind.
“Ye always ken what to say,” she noted gently. “I dinnae think I’ve ever felt so… glad and at ease around someone that isnae me sisters.”
Helena looked touched, brushing a strand of hair from her brow. “Och, lass. That’s the kindest thing anyone has said to me all week. Maybe ever.”
“I like it here,” Abigail said after a moment. “This room feels… safe.”
Helena looked up, her hands busy cutting leaves into strips. “Aye. It’s meant to be.”
They went on like that for another hour, their hands busy with leaves and roots as conversation flowed between them.
“Did ye hear about the goose again?” Helena asked, dropping a handful of dried thyme into a bowl and stirring it with a small wooden spoon.
Abigail looked up with interest. “The one that escaped the pens three times last week?”
“Aye, that one. Bold as brass, it strutted into the Great Hall during supper yesterday. Right past me husband!”
Abigail laughed, the sound loud and carefree. “What did he do?”
“He looked it square in the eye,” Helena said, mimicking a stern face. “‘Are we feedin’ birds now, or has Cook taken to sendin’ his meat walkin’?’”
Abigail covered her mouth to stifle another laugh. “Surely someone caught it?”
“Aye, eventually. Took three of the lads and a broom to corner the beast. I swear it’s smarter than half the men on this side of the castle.”
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.
Abigail tried to speak, but her lips felt heavy. “Peyt—why…”
Darkness swallowed her before she could finish.