Page 63 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

Tav raised an eyebrow, though the motion tugged unpleasantly at the muscles along his neck. “Aye? Did he now?”

The maid offered a brief smile. “He did. Said ye looked like the type who’d try tae drag yerself out the door before ye were half-healed.”

Tav let out a soft breath through his nose, close to a laugh, though it ended in a grimace. “He’s nae wrong.” He tried to shift his legs toward the edge of the bed, each movement sending sharp sparks of pain through his side. The wound throbbed beneath the bandages, stubborn and angry.

The maid stepped forward instinctively, one hand halfway outstretched, but she hesitated when he held up a palm.

“I can manage,” he muttered.

“Aye,” she said, not pressing further. “But ye’ll take it slow, or Josiah will have me cleanin’ chamber pots fer a month.”

Tav didn’t argue with that.

He planted his feet on the ground, every inch of his body protesting, and braced himself on the edge of the mattress. Just sitting upright sent a fresh wave of sweat to his brow, and he clutched the bedpost until the room stopped its slow, lazy spin. He had to grip the bedpost to keep from pitching over.

The maid moved toward him instinctively, but he shook his head. “I’m nae made o’ glass,” he muttered.

“Nay,” came a voice from the doorway, soft and firm at once. “But ye’re nae made o’ iron either.”

Agnes. She had been there… all that time. She stepped into view, her presence like a gust of warm air through a window left ajar. She wasn’t smiling, exactly, but her eyes were bright and searching. She looked like someone who hadn’t dared hope until this very moment.

“Ye’re walking?” she asked, voice breathy.

“Sort o’,” Tav grunted, trying to straighten his spine. It didn’t work. The pain wouldn’t let him. “More like shufflin’.”

Agnes moved to his side, slipping her arm beneath his without hesitation. “Let me help ye.”

He wanted to protest. He wanted to be strong. But strength wasn’t in his limbs right now. It was in not pushing her away.

They walked slowly, following the maid down the hall. Tav hated how much he leaned on her. Hated the grimace that carved itself into his face with every second step. The castle air was cool but sweat slicked his neck and gathered at the back of his knees. His wound throbbed with every heartbeat, and more than once, he caught Agnes looking at him with worry she didn’t bother to hide.

They reached the room without speaking. The maid opened the door and stepped aside, revealing a modest chamber lit by soft afternoon light spilling through tall windows. The bed looked almost too clean to touch. The fire had already been lit, and a small armchair sat by the hearth. Bookshelves lined one wall, their contents neat and unassuming.

Agnes helped him over the threshold. He paused there, catching his breath.

“Ye alright?” she asked softly.

He gave her a look. “Ye ken the answer.”

She smiled then, barely, and guided him the last few steps to the bed. He sat down hard, a sharp gasp escaping as his ribs protested.

The maid lingered only a moment longer at the door. “If ye need anything just ring the bell there on the table,” she said, nodding toward a small brass piece beside the hearth. “I’ll be close by.” Her voice was gentle, but firm enough to make it clear she expected him to use it if necessary.

Then she curtsied once more, gave a small, knowing smile to Agnes, and slipped out, pulling the door softly shut behind her.

Agnes hovered nearby. “Is it worse?”

“Nae worse than it’s been.”

“Ye’ve always been a poor liar.”

Tav didn’t argue. She looked around the room, then back at him. Her fingers were still laced together at her waist, as if unsure whether to stay or leave.

“I… wanted tae tell ye something,” she said at last.

He raised an eyebrow, trying to look calm despite the sweat beading at his temples.

“There’s goin’ tae be a ball.”