Page 56 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

Her hands curled into fists. "Then I’ll stay here."

He raised a brow. "It could take all night."

"Then I’ll stay all night."

“Dae as ye please,” he sighed, then shut the door without another word.

She sank to the floor, pressing her back to the stone wall. Her gown twisted uncomfortably around her legs, and the chill from the ground seeped into her bones, but she didn’t move.

Agnes had never felt so powerless.

Eyes squeezed shut, she focused on the rough texture digging into her scalp, anything to anchor herself against the memory of Tav's limp body dragged through the castle. Her limbs trembled, not from exhaustion but from the sickening realization that she had almost lost him. Might still lose him.

He could die. The thought broke something loose inside her. Her chest ached with it. Minutes passed. Hours. Time became a slow, dragging thing. Servants passed by and tried not to look at her. A few offered her water or bread. She refused it all.

The door finally opened. The healer stepped out, pulling off his bloodied gloves.

She rose to her feet so fast her legs nearly gave out. "Is he⁠—?"

The healer looked weary. "He lives. Fer now."

She gripped the edge of the doorway. "Is it bad?"

"It is worse than I hoped. There is an older wound—nae healed properly. It has festered. The ride reopened it. I have done what I can. Cleaned it, stitched it, applied salve. But the fever remains. And if it worsens..."

He didn’t finish.

"I have tae see him," she whispered.

He shook his head. "There is risk o’ infection. I will nae let ye in. Fer his sake."

"But ye said he might die. If he’s dying, I want tae be with him."

"He is nae dying. Nae yet. But the line is thin." his voice softened as he spoke the next words. "I will dae everything I can tae bring him back. But ye must go. Rest. If he wakes, I will send fer ye."

Agnes didn’t reply. Couldn’t. Her throat was tight and her heart thundered so loud she thought it might burst through her chest. But she gave a small nod, and let herself be steered away from the heavy door, even as every instinct screamed to turn back.

The hall outside was deserted, quiet but for the low moan of wind threading through the high windows. She dropped to the floor and sat there, not sure whether she was more worried or more relieved that he was alive. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she momentarily closed her eyes.

Or so she thought. She suddenly awoke and looked around. She must have drifted off for a while. As the healer had not come out, she got up and walked swiftly, her bare feet making soft taps on the stone as she descended back toward her chambers.

But as she turned the corner, a shadow moved in front of her.

“Lady Agnes,” came a smooth, pleasant voice.

She startled, stepping back. Laird Caithness stood in the middle of the corridor, dressed not for sleep but still in fine wool with a cloak thrown over his shoulders.

“Me apologies,” she said quickly, her voice hoarse.

His gaze moved over her, curious, perhaps, though not unkind. “Is yer accommodation insufficient in some way?”

“What?” she blinked, startled. “Nay. Nae at all. Everything’s perfect. I… I thank ye, me laird. Truly. I’m very grateful. I just…” Her words caught, and something in her expression must have told him the rest.

“The man,” he said, head tilting slightly. “Yer guard.”

Agnes nodded, her jaw tight.

Caithness was quiet for a moment, then let out a slow sigh. “I understand. Ye care fer him.”