Page 56 of A Highlander’s Heart

Chapter Thirty-Three

Cheers erupted from the Gunn clan. The Oliphant laird looked for a moment as if he was going to have his men attack, but instead he waved at them to stand down.

In the midst of the cheers from the Gunn clan, Morgan heard a cry of fright behind him. He spun around to face Emma and felt as though all the blood left his face. Maisie had her arm wrapped around Emma’s neck with a short sword resting against her throat.

“Ye killed him!” she screamed. Her face was blood red and her eyes bulged, giving her a look of derangement. Morgan took a step toward the woman, and she pushed the sword a bit into Emma’s throat. “Nay! Ye killed my mon, so I will kill yer lady.”

Fighting to stay calm, he held up his hand. “Be reasonable, Maisie. If ye do that, ye will hang.”

His heart was in his throat and all he could see was Emma staring at him, blood dripping down her neck, panic on her face.

“I dinna kill yer man, Maisie, the king ordered him hanged.”

Maisie scowled. “No’ him, ye fool. ’Twas our plan to take over the clan. Me and Patrick. We would have killed that old mon. Now ye killed my mon, and I must kill yer lady.”

Morgan ran his hand down his face. “Ye doona want to do this.”

“Aye, I do. Ye banned me from the clan and ye killed Patrick. I have no’hing left, so why no’ take yer precious lass from ye?”

Just then one of the Gunn warriors came up behind the two women and yanked Maisie back by her hair. Startled, she plunged the knife into Emma’s chest. Most likely in a panic, Emma grabbed the weapon and yanked it out before she fell to the floor.

It was the worst thing she could have done.

“Get the healer,” Morgan shouted as he slid his still-bloody sword into its scabbard and raced to Emma’s side.

“Margaret is the healer now, Laird, and I will fetch her, but I doona think she will be of much help,” said one of the young kitchen maids, who was part of the crowd watching the battle between Patrick and Morgan.

“Get her,” he growled.

A man from the Oliphant clan pushed his way to the front of the men standing behind his laird. “My name is Marcus and I am a healer, Laird. If ye would allow me to look at yer wife, I might be able to save her.”

His first thought was how could he trust a man who was about to fight against the Gunn clan?

While he held a linen someone had passed him against the wound, he looked up at the man and thought of himself lying on a table in an enemy keep and depending on their healer to help him after his horse fell on him.

’Twas as if he’d gone in a complete circle.

With his Emma.

Who could not die.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Morgan reached down and scooped Emma into his arms. “Hold that linen against her chest,” he bellowed at the maid standing next to him.

He turned back to the man who had offered to help Emma. “Aye. I appreciate the offer, but ye will be watched and anything that looks wrong will find ye with a missing head.” He gestured to one of his warriors. “Watch him.”

The Oliphant warrior nodded and began to instruct Morgan on how to carry Emma without making things worse. He also called for another of the maids to bring hot water and clean linens to the bedchamber.

Morgan studied his wife as they moved up the stairs to the bedchamber floor. She was unconscious, for which he was grateful because she wasn’t experiencing pain, but he also kept watching her chest rise and fall, frantic that it might stop. He could not lose her. He loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Have many bairns, many arguments that ended in their bed.

As she was settled on their mattress, the maids entered the room with linens and water. The mon turned to them. “Where is yer healer?”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “She is no’ in the healing hut, sir.”

The man drew in a breath of frustration. “I need supplies. Where is yer healing room?”

Morgan scrutinized the man, then nodded. “My wife is a healer, and the room next to us is set up with her supplies.” He gestured toward the door separating the two rooms.