Page 82 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

The sound of running feet approached the door at that moment, and the children came in before Oscar knew it. Tommy reached the bed first, while Paisley followed with a folded blanket clasped against her chest. Ness poked her head around the door behind them, but Mairi caught the goat’s lead before she could reach Muriel’s satchel.

“We heard ye came to the healer,” Tommy said. “Even Ness was worried.”

“Mind her ribs,” Muriel warned.

Tommy wrapped his arms carefully around Ceana’s waist. Paisley took Ceana’s uninjured hand before spreading the blanket over her legs.

“Ness wouldnae eat,” Tommy said. “She only walked around.”

Paisley looked toward Muriel and went still. “Ye are still here.”

“Of course, darlin’,” Muriel responded, stroking her hair gently. “I told ye I would wait for yer faither to return.”

Eventually, her hand dropped, and Paisley turned back to Ceana. “Is yer family safe?”

“Aye.” Ceana’s gaze found Oscar. “Thanks to yer faither.”

His right hand moved toward his hip. The sword belt was gone, so his fingers stopped against his bloodied shirt. His jaw worked once, but he did not speak.

“Take her upstairs now,” Muriel said, gesturing towards Ceana.

“I will carry her.” Oscar stepped toward the bed.

Ceana set her feet on the floor. “I can walk, for the love of God.”

Muriel watched her stand, then nodded to Mairi.

Oscar held himself still as Mairi supported Ceana’s uninjured side. Paisley remained beside her, and Tommy hurried ahead to clear the passage, with Ness following close behind.

Before Ceana turned away, she laid her fingers on Oscar’s forearm. The touch lasted only a moment. He watched her climb the stairs until she disappeared beyond the landing.

“She will recover,” Muriel assured him. “Now, where were we?”

He kept his eyes on the landing, taking deep breaths. A board creaked above him, followed by the faint scrape of a footstep. His right arm still held the curve it had taken around Ceana on the road. Snapping himself back to the present, he forced it to his side.

Behind him, water poured into a basin. Muriel washed her hands, folded the used cloths, and closed the buckles of her satchel. She took the chair nearest the wall, angled so she could see the door.

“Yer wife is kind,” she remarked. “Ye are fortunate.”

Oscar faced her. The scar across her cheek ended near the corner of her mouth, pale against her skin.

“I wish ye had been as fortunate.” He moved closer and stopped at the table across from her. “Did Angus do that to ye?”

Muriel rested the folded cloth on her knee. “Nay, Bryce did.”

Oscar’s fingers closed around the table’s edge.

“I hadnae conceived during the first year of me marriage,” she continued. “Bryce decided Angus needed another wife, so, naturally, he ordered his son to kill me.”

The wood dug into Oscar’s palm. “And Angus obeyed?”

“He stood there. Bryce grew tired of waitin’ and took up the blade himself.” Muriel touched neither scar. She kept her gaze on him. “He began before Angus found the courage to stop him.”

Oscar quickly rounded the table. Muriel’s fingers froze on the cloth. He saw it and halted. Slowly, he opened his hand.

“How did Angus stop him?”

Muriel sighed. “Well, he took the blade from him and said he understood what must be done. Bryce believed Angus would finish it once we were alone.” Her thumb brushed across the linen. “When Bryce left, Angus apologized. Then he carried me beyond Gilmore land and found a healer willing to hide me.”