Page 58 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

Her gaze moved over him, registering the way his lips parted slightly with every strained breath, like he was tasting the air for something that had already slipped away. Sweat glistened across his brow and hairline, darkening the strands until they stuck in damp curls.

The sob came up too fast to stop. Agnes clapped a hand to her mouth, but the sound escaped anyway, muffled but raw. Her shoulders shook as the tears pushed free, slipping down her cheeks in quiet streams.

“Tav,” she breathed, voice breaking around the name. “Ye daft, brave fool...”

She bowed her head. The sobs came harder then, wracking her chest, shaking her ribs until it felt like her body might split from the ache. All the fear she had buried during the ride, all the horror she’d shoved down while waiting for him to come back, all the love she hadn’t dared name poured out of her in great, shuddering gasps.

She cried until the fire blurred through her tears. Until her throat felt raw and hollow. Until she had nothing left but the sound of his breathing and the faint crackle of the hearth.

She closed her eyes. Let the silence fall heavy again.

“Agnes...”

Her eyes flew open. His voice was barely a breath, hoarse and slurred. But he still spoke her name.

“Agnes,” he murmured again, his brow twitching faintly, lips dry and cracked.

She surged forward, gripping his hand with both of hers. Her heart stuttered so hard it almost hurt.

“I’m here,” she said, leaning in close. Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “I’m here, Tav. Ye’re safe. Gods, ye’re safe. Ye’re alive.”

He groaned softly, head shifting on the pillow. His eyes didn’t open. Whatever dream he was trapped in, it held him fast. But his fingers twitched weakly in hers, like some part of him knew she was there.

“I’m right here,” she whispered again, pressing his hand to her cheek.

She glanced around the room for something that could help him. A basin sat beside the bed, filled with water gone cool. A clean, white cloth rested beside it. She reached for both with shaking hands, dipping the cloth and wringing it out until it dripped softly into the bucket.

Then she returned to his side and pressed it gently to his brow.

He twitched at the touch but didn’t pull away. She worked slowly, carefully, brushing sweat from his face, his temples, down the side of his neck. Each pass of the cloth felt like a prayer, a way to tether him here.

Tav muttered again, something unintelligible this time, but the sound broke her open all over again. She leaned down and kissed his knuckles.

“I willnae leave ye,” she said. “Even if ye never open yer eyes again. I’ll be right here.”