Highlander's Trials of Fire

Jonathan kept going for his throat, clearly the only way he would be able to kill Matthew without a weapon. Matthew gasped for air, his arms pinned under Jonathan’s legs, waiting for his opening.

“She will never love ye,” Matthew rasped.

Jonathan’s eyes went black with hate. “She doesnae have to. As long as she isnae with anyone else. I will fight for her.”

“Ye forget one thing, Jonathan,” Matthew murmured. Jonathan narrowed his eyes, not having to ask his question aloud. Even though there was little air left in his lungs, his vision blurring, Matthew smiled. “She can fight for herself.”

Jonet swung. The stick she had retrieved collided into the side of Jonathan’s head with enough force to throw him off Matthew. Arms now free, Matthew crawled on top of him and rammed the stone into his head. New blood coated his hands, mixing with the one that poured from his wound. He did not stop. He kept slamming the stone down over and over until there was no way Jonathan would move again.

Matthew got to his feet. Freya was whimpering, crying. Jonet rushed to his side just in time to catch him before he sank to his knees.

“Matthew.” She patted his face, her tone worried. “Stay with me.”

“Is he…”

“Aye, he’s nay longer alive.”

“And Freya?”

“She isnae going anywhere.”

Matthew nodded. His head was heavy. He was losing too much blood, the pain storming his entire body. Vaguely, he noticed that Jonet had lowered him to the ground. She swam before his vision.

“Daenae die on me, Matthew,” she begged, her voice thick. “Ye cannae leave me now.”

“I promise I willnae,” he murmured, raising a bloody hand to her cheek. “How can I when ye’re finally free of yer past?”

She was crying. Cradling him and talking, but he could not hear anything else she said. His eyes drifted shut and for a moment, he wondered if he would be able to keep his promise to her.

Chapter 29

For the next week, Jonet spent her time in only one spot. By Matthew’s bed. She held his hand, she murmured to him, she cried softly into her shawl, not wanting to risk him hearing, but she did not mov

e. She slept there and, when she could manage it, she ate there as well.

He still did not open his eyes.

No one would speak to her. If they did, Jonet refused to hear them. She did not take her eyes from his face, remembering that moment she thought she had lost him. When his eyes had drifted closed and his blood warmed her hands... There had been so much blood. She could hardly see anything else, could not see the handsome face she had fallen in love with.

The face that had been twisted with anger when he had charged after Freya. The one who had been filled with determination as he fought Jonathan. The one that had pride fluttering over its features the moment the fight was over and Jonet had tossed her stick aside. She could not believe he had smiled in that moment, even though he was covered in his own blood.

Well, Jonet could not believe a lot of things anymore.

“Miss Jonet?”

She did not move at Georgie’s familiar voice. He had recovered well enough to move around now and took that as his chance to go straight back to work, anxious as he was. Yet he was given the chance to check on her whenever he wanted to, which was often. She could hear the worry in his voice.

“Ye need to eat, lass.” That was Christal. It was very rare seeing her emerge from the scullery. She felt her heavy hand on her shoulder, trying to urge her to turn.

Jonet merely lifted it and shrugged her off. She did not want to be mean, but she had no interest in eating.

However, Christal was not one to simply take no for an answer. In the corner of Jonet’s eye, she saw Christal jerk her chin at her and Georgie swooped in. He picked up Jonet’s chair, nearly making her tip over, and turned it around.

“Christal, I’m nae in the mood to eat,” she complained softly.

“Aye, and that’s why ye’ve been wastin’ away like that. Ye wouldnae want him to wake up to find ye rail thin, would ye?”

Jonet’s response to that was only to look over at Matthew’s still face. She could still feel tremors of that bone-chilling fear when he had fallen unconscious. His heart had been but a flutter in his chest. It had torn at her to leave him, knowing that she could not possibly carry him back to the Castle on her own. So, she had taken Temper and, as if the horse understood that his rider needed his help, he did not so much as snort at her as they raced back to the Castle.