Page 61 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The pain came first.

A dull, pulsing heat, like coals smoldering just beneath the skin. Then came the sharp, stabbing ache in his side with every breath, the stiffness in his limbs, the dry, cloying taste of metal and moss on his tongue. Tav drifted up from the depths like a man surfacing through thick ice, the light overhead faint and far away.

He didn’t know where he was.

For a moment, there was nothing but fragments. The cold bite of wind. The clash of steel. A boot striking his ribs. Someone shouting his name, distant and desperate. Then—nothing. Just black. Now, something warm brushed against his skin. A hand, maybe. The smell of lavender and firewood floated nearby.

He forced his eyes open. The light stabbed through his skull like a blade. A groan escaped from his chest. Movement stirred beside him. Then a voice, low and sharp with relief.

“Tav?”

Agnes.

His gaze was slow to focus, like trying to see through water, but he managed to turn his head slightly. She was there, sitting in a chair drawn close to the bed, her fingers curled tightly in her lap. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and her eyes were rimmed red. But her face lit with something fierce and unguarded when she saw him blink.

“Ye’re awake,” she breathed, as if the words might scare him back into the dark.

He blinked again. Swallowed, though it felt like gravel in his throat. “What… happened?”

Agnes leaned forward, brushing a damp curl back from his forehead. “During the fight… the wound in yer ribs tore open. Ye were bleedin’ badly, Tav. We nearly lost ye.” Her voice caught, but she steadied it. “The healer says ye’re past the worst o’ it now. Ye’ve been unconscious fer a day.”

A day. Gods.

He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Pain flared through his side, hot and cruel. He hissed through clenched teeth.

Agnes reached out instinctively, one hand on his shoulder. “Easy,” she murmured. “The healer says ye need rest. But the medicine he gave ye is helping. He said ye’d be on yer feet soon enough.”

Tav let out a breath, head sinking back against the pillow. His ribs screamed, but the pain was distant compared to the whirlwind in his chest.

She was there. Safe.

“Have…” he rasped, eyes flicking toward her, “Have ye been here? The whole time?”

Agnes shifted. “I… I stayed a bit,” she said, looking away too quickly.

His brow rose slightly, though even that hurt. “A bit?”

She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, as a faint blush crept up her neck.

He watched her for a long moment, letting the silence stretch until her shoulders stiffened. Then, slowly, gritting his teeth against the pull of pain in his side, he raised one trembling hand. The motion felt like dragging lead through water, every inch a battle. But he pushed through it, breath shallow, until his fingers touched the curve of her cheek.

She looked back, startled, but didn’t pull away.

“Thank ye,” he said softly. “Fer stayin’.”

Agnes swallowed. Her lips parted like she might say something, but the words didn’t come.

Tav didn’t need them. The way she leaned into his touch, the way her eyes shimmered was enough for him. Enough to let something unspoken and raw settle heavy in his chest. The feel of her beneath his hand steadied him more than the healer’s draught ever could.

A knock at the door broke the moment. Agnes drew back quickly, standing. The door opened, and the healer stepped in. A stout man with white hair and the no-nonsense air of someone who’d seen far too many close calls.

“Ah. Ye’re up,” Josiah said, nodding approvingly. “Good. Means the poultice helped.”

“I’ll give ye a moment,” Agnes said, smoothing her skirts. She gave Tav a small, lingering glance before slipping out the door, closing it behind her.

Josiah set a small wooden tray down beside the bed. It held a fresh bandage, a pot of salve, and something sharp-looking Tav chose not to examine too closely.