Page 55 of Forbidden Kilted Highlander

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I’m Paisley, me lady,” she said softly. “Laird Caithness asked me tae see tae yer needs. If ye’ll follow me, I’ll take ye tae yer chambers.”

The maid waited quietly by the stairs, hands folded, her expression soft and expectant. She looked young, maybe not much older than Agnes herself, with a crown of brown curls tucked under her cap and wide hazel eyes that didn’t flinch from Agnes’s.

Agnes nodded, her limbs leaden and aching with exhaustion. She followed the girl down a corridor that curved into the west wing. The castle was unfamiliar and grand, in a way that did not comfort her. Its long halls echoed strangely, too quiet, too hollow. Every sound reminded her she did not belong there. And Tav… Tav was not at her side.

They reached a set of oaken double doors carved with a crest she did not recognize, and Paisley opened them to reveal a chamber lit with candlelight. It was beautiful, Agnes supposed. A large bed covered in thick woolen blankets, a roaring hearth, and an ornate tub already steaming in the corner.

“Would ye like help with yer dress, me lady?” Paisley asked, soft and careful.

Agnes hesitated for a bit, then nodded. The maid’s hands were gentle as she helped her undress, then into the bath and finally poured warm water over her hair, the scent of lavender rising around them.

“Ye must be worn through,” Paisley murmured. “The road’s been cruel tae ye.”

Agnes made no reply, afraid of what might come out if she opened her mouth. Her throat burned with unshed grief, and her lips trembled with the effort to keep herself contained. If she spoke, even a single word, she feared she might unravel completely. Her arms curled tightly around herself as she sat in the tub, the heat of the water doing little to thaw the chill that had settled deep in her bones.

She stared down at the surface of the bathwater. It had turned cloudy, swirling faintly with soot and grime from the road, and something about seeing herself faded and distorted in its reflection made her chest tighten painfully. She had never felt so alone. So uncertain.

She blinked hard, willing the tears away as Paisley returned with a soft towel, wrapping it gently around her shoulders. The maid didn’t speak again, but her hands were careful and kind, as if she understood something Agnes couldn’t bring herself to say aloud.

Once dry, Paisley helped her get into a plain blue gown hanging near the hearth.

“Thank ye,” Agnes managed to say, as she moved to the doorway on unsteady legs, refusing the offered tray of food. Her mouth was too dry. Her thoughts too loud.

“Me lady,” Paisley started, “would ye like tae get some rest? Perhaps I could prepare yer bed?”

“Nay,” Agnes shook her head as she headed toward the hall. “I’d like tae wait fer me guard in the hall.”

“Of course, me lady,” the maid said as she bowed her head. “As ye wish.”

She was already moving again when the shouting came from the outer court. She rushed toward the hall.

The castle gates yawned like a beast’s maw, torchlight licking hungrily at the stones as the guards dragged Tav inside. Agnes stood frozen in the archway, her fingers digging into the damp mortar behind her. There was only the frantic drumbeat of her heart and the coppery tang of blood thick in the air.

Tav slumped between two guards, his boots scraping trails through the rushes. His head lolled forward, dark hair clinging to his brow, eyelids fluttering as if he were drowning in the very air. The torchlight painted his tunic black where the blood hadn’t already.

"Take him tae the healer! Hurry!" she cried, but the guards were already moving, already rushing Tav toward a door near the great hall. She tried to follow.

The guards hauled Tav down the narrow passageway, his boots dragging twin trails of mud and blood across the flagstones. Agnes followed like a shadow, close enough to hear the wet rasp of his breathing, yet powerless to reach through the wall of armored shoulders separating them.

The healer's door loomed ahead, oak banded with iron. It swung open with a groan of hinges, swallowing Tav whole before slamming shut with a sound like a coffin lid.

Her palm hit the wood before she could stop herself. "Let me in!"

The plea echoed down the empty corridor, unanswered. Somewhere within, a container clattered to the floor. Water sloshed. Then came the first muffled cry of pain. Tav's voice was raw, unrecognizable, and Agnes realized she'd been holding her breath since the door had closed.

She knocked, once, then again.

"Please, let me in!" a cry tore from her throat.

The door opened only slightly. The healer, an older man with white hair tied back in a leather thong and blood already staining his sleeves, peeked through. "Nay."

"Please," she whispered, voice trembling now. "Please, I have tae see him."

"Me lady,” the healer bit out, wiping bloodied hands on his apron, “if ye want me tae save his life, ye’ll let me work. He is burning with fever. He is barely conscious. He needs stillness,” he gave a pointed glare at her white-knuckled grip on the doorframe. “Nae yer fretting."

Another plea burned her tongue, a desperate litany of please and I’ll dae anything. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails biting half-moons into her palms as if physical pain could eclipse the terror clawing up her throat. But the healer’s gaze held no cruelty, only the unflinching certainty of a man who’d seen death’s ledger and knew its accounts.