“Marissa!” Arthur yelled, hurling himself to her side and falling to his knees next to her.
Immediately, he reached down, his hands shaking as he moved her arm away from her face. Her eyes were closed, her lashes not fluttering.
“Marissa!” he yelled again, his voice breaking.
Still. She did not stir.
He grabbed her, slipping his arms underneath her and pulling her into his lap. Arthur tried to focus, slowing his breathing and his wildly beating heart so that he might be able to hear her, before pressing his head to her chest.
It took him a moment to find it, took him a second to realize if what he was hearing was her heartbeat or his own. But, sure enough, after a moment or two had passed, Arthur was able to hear it.
Marissa’s heart was beating, loud and steady beneath his cheek.
“If ye wanted to touch me breasts, ye could have just said so. Ye didnae need to go on a killin’ spree and nearly knock me head off.”
At the sound of her voice, his head snapped up. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, but they were open. She was looking at him with lips half-cocked in a smirk, and a wave of relief flooded him.
“Ye’re all right,” he said, unable to stop the disbelief from seeping into his tone.
“I dinnae ken about that,” she groaned. “Me head is hurtin’ somethin’ awful. But there’s nay way I feel as bad as ye look. Ye look like ye’ve bathed yerself in blood, ye do.”
Arthur chuckled despite himself. He didn’t care. He was so happy that she was alive, so happy that Eric was dead and he would not cause them any more strife, that he bent down and pressed his bloodied lips to hers.
Apparently, Marissa didn’t care either. She returned his kiss fiercely, pressing her mouth to his with all the passion she felt.
He stirred beneath his kilt, and with a strength that he did not know he possessed, he broke their kiss and pulled away from her.
“Enough of that,” he mumbled. “Shouldnae bed ye when a dead man is lyin’ right next to us.”
A look of disgust flickered across Marissa’s face before she nodded, and then winced.
Slowly, Arthur extricated himself from beneath her and then helped her to her feet. She was a bit unsteady, and it took her a couple of seconds of just standing there before she got her bearings.
Whether it was from the hit to her head or the stress of everything that had happened, Arthur could not be sure. Either way, she eventually felt steady enough for them to begin walking back toward the castle.
It was slow going, and the moment they arrived at the gate, the guards took one look at them both and sprang into action.
“What happened, Me Laird?” one of the guards asked, rushing forward.
The moment Arthur told Joseph what had happened, his brother sent guards out to start cleaning up the bodies. They would not receive a proper burial—Arthur did not think the men who’d served such a cowardly, sniveling laird deserved that.
But that did not mean he wanted their flesh corrupting his beloved loch. And so the guards would dispose of the bodies in whatever way they saw fit.
The healer arrived, and although he tried to tend to Arthur first, Arthur had waved him off. He had a few cuts where some of the men had nicked him with their blades. But he was more concerned about Marissa.
And so while the healer tended to her, he sat in the courtyard, eagerly waiting for his men to return home.
“Ye’ve had quite the day,” Ayla’s voice sounded from behind him.
He didn’t turn to look at her. Didn’t think he had the energy to. So, he kept his gaze fixed on the horizon as she walked around the bench and sat next to him.
“Aye,” he grunted. “But he’ll nae bother us anymore.”
“We got a healer from Clan Murray. He says she’s goin’ to be all right, ye ken.” His sister’s voice was soft as she spoke. “Says that she’ll need a day or two of good rest, but that she’ll be right as rain before ye ken it. He’s givin’ her a tonic now to help with the pain.”
Arthur nodded but didn’t respond.
“So,” Ayla continued pointedly, “ye should go inside and let him tend to ye.”
