Page 66 of The Wolf Laird's Obsession
She set the knife down and pressed her hand to her forehead. Her skin was damp with sweat, cold in a way that made her stomach turn.
What is happenin’ to me?
She tried to stand, to call out for Flora, to do anything that might stop the world from spinning around her. But her legs would not hold her. The floor rushed up to meet her face, and she felt her body hit the cold stone, and then there was nothing at all.
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the corridor.
“Sorcha!”
Rowan’s head snapped up. He was already moving before the second cry echoed off the stone walls.
“Help! Someone help me! The lady isnae breathin’ right!”
His heart slammed against his ribs as he broke into a run, his boots pounding against the floor. Servants and guards scattered out of his way. The terror in Flora’s voice sent ice through his veins.
He burst into Sorcha’s chamber, and the sight hit him like a blow to the chest.
Sorcha lay crumpled on the floor beside the dresser, deathly pale, her lips tinged blue. Her fingers were still curled tightly around the handle of her small knife. Flora knelt beside her, sobbing and shaking her shoulders, while Morag pressed a hand to her forehead.
“She is burnin’ up,” Morag said grimly. “This isnae natural.”
Rowan crossed the room in three long strides, dropping to one knee beside his wife. He reached out and brushed trembling fingers across her cold cheek.
“What the hell happened?” His voice came out rough, barely controlled.
The healer arrived moments later, took one look at Sorcha, and began barking orders. “Lay her on the bed. Gently! We need to get the poison out of her blood before it reaches her heart.”
Rowan’s stomach dropped.
“Poison?” he repeated, the word tasting like ash. The color drained from his face as the guards carefully lifted Sorcha onto the bed.
Who would dare do such a thing?
He stood up and went to the bed, looking down at Sorcha’s still form. Her face was so pale that she seemed to disappear into thewhite linen of the pillow, her fair hair spread around her like a golden halo.
“How? Who?” he asked.
“I daenae ken.” The healer was mixing powders in a cup of wine, her movements quick and efficient. “I only ken that if ye want her to live, ye need to let me work. Ye can question the servants and search for answers once she is out of danger.”
Rowan did not move. He stood at the foot of the bed like a statue carved from stone, his hands gripping the wooden frame so tightly that his knuckles went white.
I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and whoever is responsible will pay!
“Rowan.” Ewan appeared in the doorway, his sandy hair disheveled and his face creased with concern. “The cook is in the kitchen. The guards are searching the stores. We will find out who did this.”
“Find them,” Rowan said, his voice full of such fury that the healer flinched. “Find them and bring them to me. I daenae care who they are or who sent them. I want them in the dungeons before the sun sets.”
Ewan nodded and disappeared down the corridor, his boots echoing on the stone as he ran to carry out the order.
The healer lifted Sorcha’s head and pressed the cup to her lips, coaxing her to swallow. Sorcha choked and coughed, but some of the liquid went down, and the healer nodded with grim satisfaction.
“That will draw the poison from her blood,” she said. “But it will take time. She needs to rest. She needs to be kept warm. And she needs someone to stay with her, to watch for any change in her condition.”
“I will stay,” Flora said from her place by the window. “I willnae leave her.”
The healer nodded and stood, gathering her things. “I will return at midday to check on her progress. If her condition worsens before then, send for me immediately.”
She left, and the room fell silent except for the sound of Sorcha’s shallow breathing and the crackle of the fire that Morag had built up to warm the chamber.
