Page 62 of Wicked Kilted Highlander

CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN

Acold shiver ran down Darragh's spine as Nona stepped away from examining Lara, her face a mask of grim concern. His heart clenched in his chest, and he could feel the weight of Laird MacLean’s gaze upon him as they stood side by side by the bed.

"Ye must tell us what ye ken," Darragh urged, his voice strained with worry.

The healer hesitated, her eyes darting between the family as if she were weighing the consequences of her words. She wrung her hands together nervously, and Darragh's stomach twisted into knots.

"Speak, woman!" the laird barked, his obvious fear making him harsh.

"I can tell ye nay more then afore," the healer finally confessed, biting her lip.

Darragh felt his world crumbling around him, his breath catching in his throat. Memories of losing his parents flooded his mind, and the fear of losing someone else he cared for threatened to overwhelm him. He fought back those thoughts, refusing to let them take hold.

"Can ye nae dae anything?" Darragh demanded, his voice shaking, betraying his desperation. "There has tae be something ye can dae."

"I'm doing all I can, lad," the healer said softly. "But I dinnae have any guarantees."

"Then we'll find another healer," the laird declared, his determination resolute. "We'll bring in every healer in Scotland here if we must."

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the family huddled together in the chamber, each one consumed by their own thoughts and fears. Darragh couldn't take his eyes off the patient, willing her to recover and come back to him. He felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility for what had happened. He had sworn to protect her, and now she was in danger.

"What ye should ken," Nona said hesitantly, breaking Darragh's train of thought, "is that I found traces of a strange substance. It may be that she's been poisoned, but I cannae say fer sure."

"Poisoned?" Darragh's voice cracked with rage and grief. "Who would dare tae harm her?"

The laird's expression hardened, his jaw clenched tight, and he looked at Darragh with suspicion in his eyes. "I suspect that someone close tae me has betrayed me."

Darragh understood immediately that he was being accused. "Surely, ye dinnae think it was me? Why would I dae such a thing? I care deeply fer Lara. Ye cannae think I’d stoop tae poison her just because I’m a MacDonald. Are ye mad?" Darragh cried in self-defense, staring at the Laird in panicked disbelief.

"Maybe," the laird replied grimly. "Whatever the case, ye’ll be helping me tae find out the truth ."

Darragh nodded, his throat tight with emotion. "Whatever ye need me tae dae, I shall."

The laird turned to the healer. "Dae whatever it takes to save her. Dinnae stop until ye beat whatever this poison is and bring her back to us."

"Aye, m'laird," the healer said, bowing her head in respect. As the laird left the room, the healer closed the door behind him.

Darragh's heart clenched as the healer's solemn gaze met his own, a look that spoke volumes without uttering a word. The air felt heavy, and each breath he took felt like a laborious task.

Lara lay motionless on the bed, her once rosy cheeks now the color of freshly fallen snow. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting an ethereal glow on her fragile form, as if she were a ghostly apparition. The sight of her like that, so near to death's cold embrace, tore at Darragh's very soul.

"Stay with her," the healer urged gently, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Your presence may give her strength in this dark hour."

"Thank ye," Darragh whispered, sinking into a chair beside Lara's bed. He took her icy hand in his, the contrast between their skin temperature sending shivers down his spine. He vowed then and there that he would not let her slip away from him, that he would fight for her life with every ounce of his being.

"Ye willnae leave me, Lara," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I swear it on me own life."

As he sat vigil by her side, thoughts of vengeance consumed him like a ravenous beast, gnawing at the edge of his mind. He would find the one who had dared to bring such suffering upon Lara, and they would know his full wrath.

Darragh's heart pounded in his chest like a war drum as he kept watch over Lara. The healer, an older woman with a wise and steady gaze, moved about the room tending to her patient. She mixed herbs and potions, murmuring incantations under her breath. Though Darragh was not one to put much faith in such things, he prayed that her craft would save Lara.

"Ye acted quickly, and fer that, ye have my gratitude," the healer said, addressing Darragh. "Because of yer swift action, I now can say that I believe she will recover."

"Thank ye," Darragh whispered hoarsely, relief washing over him like a tide, though it did little to quell the storm raging within him. His emotions were a tempest swirling inside him, a mixture of anger and fear for Lara's well-being.

"Stay with me, lass," he murmured, his heart aching.. "For I cannae bear tae lose ye."

The room seemed to close in around Darragh, as if the very walls were conspiring to suffocate him. He tightened his grip on Lara's hand, her fingers cool and limp in his own.

Who did this tae ye, lass? I swear by all that’s holy, they’ll pay fer it!

Darragh's mind raced, grappling with the enormity of the task before him. Who could harbor such ill will towards Lara? And why? It was a tangled web, a mystery that threatened to consume him.

"Forgive me, lass," he whispered, even as his eyelids fluttered shut. "I will find justice for ye. I promise." With those words, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.