Page 8 of Heart of the Highlands: The Rose (Protectors of the Crown #6)

Achoo!

Abby covered her sneeze with her kerchief. Her throat felt raw, as if she’d swallowed a handful of thorns. It was swollen and ached each time she coughed. The gunk draining from her nose to the back of her throat seemed to worsen. She sat upright on the bed, and a sharp, dry cough racked her chest.

“By the saints,” she muttered, rubbing her throat.

She hated lying about, but this was the result and consequence of standing out in the cold rain. But it was worth it. Her moments spent in the garden with a complete stranger had momentarily suspended any thought of the lad in the market so many months ago. Was she finally giving up her pursuit of looking for him? The thought lingered, uncomfortable, as though the answer might be too painful to admit.

The man's words lingered in her mind long after they had spoken. Her heart ached at his kindness, which gave her a sliver of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, others might gaze upon her with the same intense understanding and genuine concern he had shown. She had spent so long chasing a fleeting moment, a half-formed possibility, that she never thought to allow her heart to open to anyone else. But Bella was right, and so many potential suitors were just waiting for her to love. The path forward wasn’t clear, but if she were to have another vision to tell her what to do or how this would end, now would be the time.

She picked up the black beetroot tea Helena had left for her earlier. It was horrible stuff, but Helena had sweetened it with honey to rid it of its bitter taste. Abby waited for it to cool slightly before picking up the mug. As she took the first sip, the hot liquid seemed to soothe her voice as the steam momentarily unblocked her stuffed-up nostrils. Alys, with nothing more than pure motherly intentions, accurately predicted Abby would get sick. Abby wondered if she had become a seer as well. When she was young, she had always played in the rain, and despite her sister’s warnings, she had not once become sick until now. She had barely slept after waking several times with coughing fits and spitting up mouthfuls of phlegm. She could not recall another time she’d ever felt this sick.

It had rained considerably the past two days, and the sun had yet to find a break in the clouds. Outside, the wind grew stronger and rattled the windowpane. Abby shivered, her body heavy with fatigue. She coughed once more, wincing at the sharp pain in her throat.

“Wretched weather,” she cursed.

Abby lifted the woolen blanket higher and buried her face in the soft fabric. She was cold and tired, and her growling stomach continued to remind her how hungry she had become, having not eaten anything yet this morning. After much internal debate, Abby pulled herself out of bed. She donned her heavy robe and shuffled toward the small hearth in the corner of her room. The heat of the flames warmed her chilled skin. Outside the window, the landscape was bleak, with dense fog stretching across the sea and creeping onto the shore. The faintest hint of sun struggled to cut through the gloomy grey skies, proving to be another cold and damp day.

A soft knock at the door broke the silence. Helena stepped inside with a concerned frown creasing her brow. She was bundled in a woolen shawl, her fair hair tucked beneath a simple linen coif, but her eyes, wide with worry, caught Abby’s attention.

“Abby, lass, what are ye doin’ out of bed?” Helena’s voice was tinged with disbelief as she crossed the threshold, carrying a steaming bowl of broth in her hands. The savory scent of garlic and herbs filled the room, making Abby’s stomach growl. Ye shouldna be out of bed. The colds still clingin’ to ye. You’ll only worsen if ye dinna rest.”

Abby sighed.

“Helena, ye know I am no’ one for sitting idle all day. I’ve been cooped up in that bed long enough. The broth is all I need.”

“Ye no’ fine, and ye know it. I can see it in yer eyes, the fever still holds ye. Yer color is all wrong. Get back to bed before ye catch yer death.”

Abby’s eyes darted toward the bed, where the blankets still lay in disarray, as if mocking her. She grimaced. “I am no’ some helpless bairn, Helena. I can sit here by the fire to keep warm. I dinna need to lie there like a corpse.”

Helena gave an exaggerated sigh, clearly frustrated. She set the bowl of broth down on the small table. “Yer as willful as ever,” she muttered, “But yer right about one thing. A sip o’ this broth will help, even if ye won't be staying in bed like ye should.”

Abby pulled a chair and sat down. She reached for the bowl, its warmth seeping into her cold fingers. She took a careful sip. The broth was rich in flavor and comforting, the heat spreading through her chest, soothing the ache in her throat.

“See, I’m feeling better already.”

Helena shook her head, refusing to argue further. She remade the bed as Abby continued to finish the broth. With as much hope as she had that she was starting to feel better, a fresh, dull ache that had not faded with the rise of the sun pounded in her head. She waited for Helena to leave before crawling back into bed and slept the rest of the night.

The stillness of the room surrounded her until, with the first light of dawn creeping through the curtains, she was jolted awake by a persistent tapping on her door. Each knock echoed in the quiet space and coaxed her from her dreams.

“Abby?” It was Alys’s voice, bright and unmistakably chipper. “Are ye awake? May I come in?”

The door opened, creaking on its rusty hinges as her sister stepped inside, her smile wide and unrestrained. She was dressed in a soft blue gown, her hair pinned neatly atop her head. She radiated a kind of excitement Abby could hardly bear to witness in her bitter, deadpan state.

“Young lady, ye’ve been moping ‘round here like the dead spirits haunting these halls.”

“I’m sleeping, go away,” Abby argued.

“Nonsense. Fresh air is what ye need. Besides, I have come wit’ good news. Yer cousin Bella has found herself a proper suitor, and I have agreed to help wit’ the wedding. Leland is traveling today to Dingwall to meet with his brother, so I will need yer help.”

Abby groaned, sinking further into the bed.

“Oh, marvelous. A wedding. I supposed I should be thrilled. The dresses, the flowers, the endless talk about napkins that match the shade of the tablecloths,” she paused and shot her sister a dramatic look, “Ye are planning on discussing napkins, aren’t ye? Ye know I’d only be on the way. I could be out of the way if perhaps I went to Dingwall with Leland where there are actual useful things to do. I could help him mend a fence, or I dinna know, chase down a runaway cow. Anything that doesn’t involve organizing which lace goes with which flower petal.”

Alys crossed her arms.

“It’s an important day, and she is your cousin.”

“She’ll still be my cousin, married or no’, and I am sure it will be lovely wedding.”

Alys looked at her for a long moment, her lips pressed together. Then, with a sign, she finally gave in. “Fine, ye can go with Leland to Dingwall.”

Abby’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Aye, but dinna get yerself into trouble, and ye are no’ to leave Leland’s side unescorted. I dinna want to hear about ye getting caught in a bog or injured wrestling a sheep or whatever else ye get yer mischievous self into.”

“How much trouble can I get into?”

At that moment, a cascade of vivid images flooded her mind—at least a dozen memories of times when she had found herself in less-than-ideal situations.

To her defense, she was only a child and often unsupervised.