Page 27 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

K ian stirred in the bed, his limbs heavy as stone, but his mind finally broke through the fog. Warmth pressed against his arm, and when he shifted his gaze, he found Abigail curled up beside him, her head resting on her folded arms.

The sound of her slow breaths calmed the ache in his chest more than any tincture ever could.

He swallowed, his throat raw. “Bunny…” he rasped.

Her head snapped up at once, her eyes wide and red-rimmed from exhaustion and tears. She gasped, then broke into a tremulous smile as tears slid down her cheeks.

“Kian…” she whispered, before throwing her arms around him, careful to avoid his wound. “Ye’re awake. Thank the heavens, ye’re awake.”

He coughed, pain flickering across his brow, and she quickly reached for the cup on the bedside table. She pressed the rim to his lips, guiding him as he drank in small sips.

“Easy now,” she murmured. “Ye’ve been through hell.”

When he pulled back, he groaned, his hand drifting to his side. The dull throb there spoke of fresh stitches.

“What in God’s name…” he muttered.

“Ye were stabbed,” she said softly. “Helena stitched ye up, but the blade was poisoned. Ye nearly died.”

His eyebrows drew together.

“What do ye remember?” she asked.

“What do I remember?” he said slowly. “I remember the cold… like it was pullin’ me under. I remember thinkin’ I hadnae made it back with ye to the castle, where ye’d be safe. I remember thinkin’ ye were lost… and I’d failed ye.”

Abigail’s breath hitched, and she clutched his hand tightly. “I felt the same, Kian. Watchin’ ye lie there so still… I thought I’d go mad. I dinnae want to live in a world where ye’re gone.”

“I dinnae want to wake up if ye’d perished. That thought scares me more than death itself,” he admitted.

She broke into a soft sob, leaning forward and resting her forehead on his.

“I missed ye,” she whispered. “I was so afraid.”

“How long have ye been here?” he asked, his thumb brushing the back of her hand.

“All night,” she said with a small smile, despite her tears. “I’ve nae left yer side. It’s late into the next day.”

He squeezed her hand. “Then I’m still here because ye kept me tethered.”

She nodded, wiping her cheek with her sleeve.

“Helena did what she could, but the poison… it was strong. We had to act quickly. Peyton…” Her jaw clenched slightly. “That is, Leighton locked her up in the dungeons. I managed to speak with her, got the name of the poison from her, but we cannae trust if it’s the truth.”

Kian’s expression darkened, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “Leave it to Peyton to use poison. The coward’s weapon.”

Abigail exhaled slowly. “There’s more. We needed yarrow to counter the poison, and only one person came to mind. I had Leighton fetch me sister Freya. She kens herbs better than anyone, and she always has yarrow in her gardens.”

Kian’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Freya? Did she come?”

“Aye,” Abigail confirmed, smiling softly. “She did come. She brought the yarrow and brewed the tincture herself. She saved yer life, Kian. She’s here now, in the castle with her husband, Michael, and his son Cody, and Cody’s wife, Amara.”

Kian blinked slowly, trying to process it all. “Yer clan’s here…”

“They came for me,” she said, her voice soft with emotion.

He closed his eye for a long moment, breathing slowly, steadily. Then, he looked back at her.

“They are takin’ ye away?” he asked.

“Nay, nae now. I am here with ye. Dinnae fash, I am here,” she soothed.

She bent forward, pressing her lips to his forehead.

“I willnae let them take me,” she promised.

The room fell quiet again, save for the howl of the wind beyond the windows and the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

Kian turned his head to look at her, his hand still clasped in hers. He let out a slow breath, and for the first time since he woke up, his heart lightened a little.

“I kept beggin’ the heavens to let ye live,” Abigail whispered.

He closed his eye briefly, drawing strength from her nearness. “Ye were the light that kept me tethered,” he murmured. “Even in the dark.”

They sat like that for a long moment, their foreheads touching, their hands clasped. Then, Abigail pulled back slightly and gave a tentative smile.

“I spoke with Freya…”

Kian opened his eye. “Aye?”

“She and her husband… they’re open to discussin’ a trade agreement with ye.”

He exhaled, but the relief in his chest had nothing to do with the news. “I dinnae care about that right now.” He looked at her, his gaze intense. “I care about yer answer.”

She blinked, her eyebrows drawing together. “What answer?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Will ye marry me?”

Her eyes went wide, then shimmered. “Aye. Aye, Kian. I’ll marry ye.”

Relief crashed over him like a wave breaking on stone. His breath hitched as joy and disbelief tangled in his chest.

She said aye. I’m nae dreaming.

“I want ye to be me wife, more than I want breath in me lungs. Nothin’ else matters,” he whispered.

She pressed his hand to her cheek, her tears spilling freely now. “I want that too, with all me heart. But… I dinnae ken if me family will give their blessing. They’re angry that ye took me from them.”

“Aye, I can understand their anger. They dinnae trust me, so I’ll have to earn it,” he said fiercely. “I’ll try harder than ever. I’ll speak to them meself. But I’ll nae let anyone stand between us.”

Abigail nodded, her determination shining through her tears. “I’ll talk with them again. I’ll nae stop until they see what I see—that ye’re good, and brave, and worthy of their trust.”

He chuckled low, though it hurt. “I dinnae ken if I’m worthy of ye, but I ken one thing—I’ll love ye every day I’m breathin’. If that’s nae enough for them, I’ll keep provin’ it until it is.”

She leaned in and kissed his brow, whispering, “It’s enough for me.”

Kian stirred at the creak of the door. His body still ached, his limbs heavy, but he turned his head slowly toward the sound.

Abigail rose from the stool beside his bed and stepped back as Helena entered first, a basket of herbs on her arm, her keen eyes already assessing him.

“Kian! Thank God, ye’re awake!”

Leighton followed behind her, broad-shouldered and grinning like a fool who’d just heard the best jest in the hall.

“Well, would ye look at that,” he drawled, moving to the bed. “The dead do rise. I was ready to plan yer funeral, Me Laird.”

Kian gave a faint smirk. “Aye? And who’d ye have leadin’ the ceremony? Yerself, weepin’ at the pulpit?”

Leighton chuckled, lowering himself onto the stool Abigail had just vacated. “Nay, nae me. I was already arguin’ with Helena over what sort of stone to carve. I was pushin’ for one that said ‘ Here lies the greatest laird to ever ride into battle .’”

Kian gave a quiet smile but winced, his hand instinctively moving to his side, where the stitches tugged. “Careful, or I’ll have the strength to kick ye out soon.”

Helena approached the bed, setting her basket down and taking out a small cloth. “He sounds like himself, which is a miracle in itself. Let me take a look at those stitches.”

Abigail reached for Kian’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze as Helena pulled the blanket down to inspect his wound. Her touch grounded him.

Kian’s eyes didn’t leave Abigail’s face, even as Helena carefully lifted the bandage.

“They’ve held,” she murmured, pleased. “Swelling’s gone down. That tincture Freya made worked better than I thought.”

“She brought more than tinctures,” Abigail said softly. “She brought hope.”

Kian looked up at her. “And ye. Ye stayed.”

“Aye,” she whispered. “I stayed.”

Leighton rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes bright with relief. “I’m truly glad ye’re healin’.”

Helena gently pressed the bandages back in place and gave Kian a nod. “It’s holdin’. Yer fightin’ spirit did the rest. And Freya’s knowledge saved yer life. That blade was laced with something nasty.”

“Peyton’s poisoned hand,” Kian muttered, his voice hoarse.

Leighton’s face darkened. “She’s locked in the dungeons now. Spittin’ venom, but nae a danger anymore.”

Helena checked his pulse and touched his brow. “Ye’ve a bit of a fever still, but it’s nae dangerous. I’ll make a draught for the pain.”

Kian nodded once, his gaze drifting back to Abigail. His gaze met hers, and though his body ached, his heart swelled with purpose.

“Well, looks like ye’ve gone and made it through the worst,” Leighton remarked with a smirk.

The room fell quiet for a moment, filled only with the soft crackling of the fire and the sound of Kian’s steady breathing. He still had a long road ahead to recover. But with Abigail’s hand in his, he felt stronger already.

Helena gathered her basket and looked at Abigail. “Come, lass. I’ll show ye how to make the draught.”

Abigail nodded.

Kian watched as she moved across the room with Helena and worked on the tonic.

“Ye have a good woman there. Try nae to die on her again, aye?” Leighton teased.

“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.