Three days.
The cursed storm lasted three days!
Three days trapped inside, staring longingly at the mountain through a window.
Three days trying to think about anything but Broden.
Three days failing to think about anything but Broden.
And with the obsessive thoughts came the rising emptiness and a growing sickness. She could hardly keep her food down and her head wouldn't stop aching. By the third day, Abigail couldn't even muster the energy to pull herself out of bed. Somehow, the only thing that her body seemed willing to respond to—willing to even stand up for—was the promise that she’d allow it to go into the highlands; to go find Broden.
Her Broden.
She didn’t even try to fight those thoughts anymore. They were too frequent, too demanding, and, as long as she was being honest with herself, the only thing short of actually seeing Broden that made the sickness subside. All of which was absurd. Tarah would have said so—probably would have laughed in her face for even thinking it—if Abigail wasn’t working so hard to keep it from everyone else. Her parents were easy enough to elude, but only because she was staying home. Not going out against their wishes and not giving them reason to worry was, as it turned out, a great way to not get their attention. But Tarah had come knocking a few times in the past three days. She’d heard that Abigail hadn’t been at the pub and, being both the friend and caregiver she was, she’d come to check in on her. Abigail had been asleep for her first visit, a fact that one of their servants had been quick to relay and, as the servant later told her, this seemed to please Tarah, who’d said she was long overdue for some rest. The irony in that was almost enough to get Abigail to track her friend down and lay down a world class lecture. Almost. The second and third time Tarah had come knocking—the last two times; once in the beginning and then again at the end of the third day—Abigail had been awake, and on both occasions she’d explained that the weather just had her feeling blue.
This, she figured, wasn’t really a lie. It was about as indirect and falsified as a truth could get without becoming a lie, however. But, in her defense, the weather was what was keeping her from Broden, and being kept from Broden was what was causing all the trouble. That part, though, wasn’t the part that Abigail saw as the potential lie. No. It was the “blue”-part—as though what she was feeling could be boiled down to a simple depression.
And that just wasn’t the case.
She felt like she was dying. She felt like every sickness she’d ever known was upon her at once, and all of it had conspired to become an even greater force against her unless she was with Broden. This was no broken heart or fanciful lovesickness like something from a romantic novel; this was a genuine sickness that, somehow, clung to her obsessive thoughts of the highlander. By the end of the third day, after Tarah had come and gone, Abigail decided that Broden must have done something to her. A part of her—most of her—refused to believe that the man could be in any way responsible for this, she’d outright known he would never allow harm to come to her, but there was no denying that something like this didn’t just happen.
Then again, to the best of Abigail’s knowledge, highlanders couldn’t cast enchantments.
And something like this could only be the product of witchcraft… right?
Groaning, she cast the thought from her head and it was instantly replaced by a vision of Broden’s intense gaze looking down at her. Obsessing over the beasts was as surreal as she wanted to get. Thoughts of magic and curses had no place in her head at that moment. Or ever, if she had her way.
“Abigail? How are ye feeling today?” her mother’s voice, soft and worried, carried into the room as she peeked around the edge of the door. Without an answer, she stepped inside and crept closer—acting as though any sudden movement might threaten Abigail’s heath further—and worked her big, puffy dress so that she could kneel beside the bed.
So much for not getting attention.
Abigail resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her mother was trying in her own way, and she recognized that for what it was.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered as though Abigail was on her deathbed, and, resentfully, she had to admit that it felt like she was. “I should’ve been keeping a better eye on ye.”
“It’s no’ yer fault,” Abigail assured her, this time almost losing the battle against her desire to roll her eyes.
Her mother enjoyed being dramatic, and with this illness becoming something more than just an inconvenience—now it’s a full-fledged event! A real attention getter, she thought morbidly—it had become a way to parade themselves as the woeful victims of their daughters dwindling health. Her father, no doubt, was using this turn of events as leverage in some way. Heaven forbid any of the actual attention of concern be wasted on their daughter. This, however, was just their nature. They’d never had to learn compassion so long as money and power could convince others to pretend they cared for Abigail. There was no blaming a creature for following its nature. And so, irritated as she was with the circumstances, Abigail couldn’t bring herself to be angry at her parents—neither her mother’s drama nor her father’s manipulations—but, she decided, she could see it for what it was.
Abigail finally rolled her eyes.
“I…” she stifled a groan as she worked to sit up, then finally begin to stand. It was a tolling effort, one that she was sure showed, but she managed through it by repeating to herself that she’d waited long enough. She was going to see Broden. When she was finally standing (though not well), she said, “I’m going to get some fresh air.”
“Are… are ye sure? Ye still doona look…” her mother trailed off, leaving her statement to hang in the air with untold potential. She was, understandably, skeptical as she stood, concern still showing on her face. Despite this, she made no move to approach her daughter or help her remain upright.
Worry only goes so far, I see, Abigail thought with a sigh.
“I’m sure I look like shite,” Abigail finished for her, ignoring the feigned gasp she earned with her language. “But I’m no’ gonna feel any better lying in a stuffy room in a bed I’ve been lying sick in for the past few days.” She worked to stretch her stiff joints and took a few test steps, finding that the promise of tracking down Broden was returning much of her strength to her. Confident that her self-assigned mission could be carried out, she gave her mother a reassuring nod and said, “I’ll be back in a little while.”
* * *
Every step towards the outskirts of the village made her feel healthier.
Every step away from home made her mind feel clearer.
Every step up the mountain made her feel stronger.
Though Abigail had no way of knowing that Broden would be waiting where they’d met before, her body was responding as though he already was. Though she’d thought herself crazy for believing that the promise of seeing the highlander would somehow cure her, there was no arguing with the results. Then, as if to emphasize this truth, she surprised herself by beginning to run up the steep incline. She could wait no longer; would wait no longer! Until…
Stopping at the small opening in the forest where she had been three days earlier, she frowned at the emptiness she felt when she didn't see him there.
What was she expecting?
That he would just magically know to be there?
She felt her cheeks heat at the mixed emotions she felt, and, taking another deep breath, she sat on a log in the middle of the clearing.
“Ye’ve got it bad, Abby,” she whispered to herself.
The past few days had felt so wrong to her. Her home, her bed, everything that she had grown up with just didn't feel the same. She’d been feeling wrong not being where she was now, but being there at that moment felt just as empty without Broden being there with her. Sure, sitting in the forest was curing her of the sickness and haze, but with her renewed strength and clarity came an even worse sense of loneliness. A whimper slipped past her lips as she realized that she’d almost preferred the sickness. Disappointed but not ready to go back to the place that no longer felt like home, she lied back on the log and let herself stare up at the patchwork of sky and treetops that stretched overhead. The forest was surprisingly quiet all except for a few chirps or footsteps of small animals and she found herself getting lost in the serenity of it all. Closing her eyes, she began to fall into a peaceful sleep that she hadn’t had in some time.
* * *
Broden was fooling himself.
He knew it even as he continued to trek towards the clearing where he had been with Abby three days earlier. The past three days had been a nightmare for him. He’d been unfocused, and, despite trying to eat more than he usually did, his appetite refused to cooperate. He was sure that his brothers just assumed that he was starving himself for their benefit again, but the truth was that any food he tried to eat caught in his throat or was just as quickly coughed up. This, along with the growing dizziness and aches, had left him just as bedridden and antisocial as Callum.
Except he has an excuse… Broden had reminded himself in the throes of his bizarre ailment.
As a therion, he never got sick. Sure, he and his brothers couldn’t transform, but they were still not human. Their bodies were more resilient to injury, and any injuries they did sustain healed faster; any one of Broden’s scars had, upon their conception, been the sort of injury that would likely kill a human. Leaping into a bare-handed fight against a bear to save Lyle or falling over the edge of a cliff to spare a drunken Grant the same fate had represented minor inconveniences to him, though the tapestry of scarring seemed to tell of harder times. That was just the way of their kind. They were a resilient sort of creature. And yet, despite that, he’d been sick. Nearly fatally so—or so it felt. But then, deciding that he could bear it no longer and, startled to find his body responsive to the promise of seeing Abby, he’d managed to drag himself out of the cave.
Suddenly his hunger returned.
Suddenly his fever broke.
Suddenly he felt… good.
Broden felt good!
And all because he believed that Abby was out there, waiting by that clearing. So he ran, knowing even then that he was fooling himself. But, fooling himself or not, he felt strong—felt good!—to be fooled at that moment, and, seeing him coming out of his crippling illness, his brothers’ cheers and howls of joy followed him down the mountain.
Even if he was fooling himself…
Even if he was fooling himself…
Even if he was…
But then he smelled Abby in the forest—in their clearing—and all the doubts and concerns vanished with the rest of his mysterious sickness.
Then, like something out of the perfect dream, she was there: splayed across a log. Her pale form was draped before him like a gift from the gods, her long blonde hair casting a halo around her head as her dress rode up her legs. As if her position wasn't enough, the moon, just as eager to touch her as he was, lit her within a silver glow that seemed almost transcendent. Something within him stirred at the sight, and a low, passionate growl echoed from the barrel of his chest.
Hearing this, Abby’s bright blue eyes opened, her body moving to take him into her gaze, and her face lit up. She gazed at him like he was her savior, like he was the only one she’d ever wanted to see.
She gazed at him like she loved him.
“Ye came,” she whispered, disbelief saturating those two words.
He nodded, taking a step towards her. “So did ye,” he said, just as disbelieving.
“I…” she blushed and looked away, embarrassed. “I couldn’t…”
“Couldn’t stay away?” he finished for her, confessing his own dilemma as he did.
“I feel so much better now,” she said, and though it shouldn’t have made sense Broden knew exactly what she meant.
“Aye,” he nodded, and this understanding seemed to speak a great deal to Abby, who marveled up at him; a fresh and, were it possible, even brighter smile stretching across her rosy cheeks.
“I… I wanted to see ye,” she went on. “I couldn't stop thinking about ye these past few days.”
Broden realized that his breathing was shallow, catching in his throat. Nodding again, he repeated, “Aye.”
“I’m just…” she blushed, “I’m new to all this.”
He trembled. “All this?”
Her honesty was what undid him. She wanted to see him! He knew that her being human was dangerous for his kind, but what harm would there be in seeing where this could take them? If things ended up not working out, he could figure that out later. He didn't want to lose this chance.
“I’m no’ sure how to describe it without sounding absolutely foolish,” she bit her lip.
“Try me,” he grinned, stepping forward and sat beside her. “Because I’m feeling the same way about ye, lass.”
* * *
Abigail looked up in surprise at Broden’s story. She was afraid that she would’ve scared him off with her own confession, but then she’d heard his. Suddenly she didn’t feel so crazy for the past three days. Then again, staring into Broden’s eyes—eyes she’d been obsessing over in all that time—and considering everything he’d told her, she began to wonder if they were both crazy. That, however, she didn’t mind the idea of.
He swayed towards her, seeming to test her reaction to his closeness before committing to being nearer. She responded by bringing herself closer still. Seeing this, he craned his neck ever so slightly—seeming almost to tease her, but, again, she could see that he was testing her reaction. She leaned her head back, aiming her lips at his. This was all the confirmation he needed. He closed the rest of the distance slowly and deliberately, but the impact of his lips still felt like it could have knocked her on her back. Or it would have, were it not for the strong arm Broden had hooked around her back. She gasped at the feeling of his lips against hers and moaned into his mouth. He burred back, the vibration running along her tongue. Without meaning to, she lifted her hands and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him against her. His strong body leaned down and his large hands captured her waist as he helped her into his lap, having her straddle him. She was so small compared to him, but she felt no fear as the two deepened the kiss.
“Lass, ye scald me,” he groaned between their kisses.
“Doona stop,” she moaned. “This… it feels amazing!”
He didn’t respond. Not with words, anyhow. He ran his mouth down her chin, slipping to her throat and laying playful nips at the soft skin there. She moaned at the sensation, stretching her neck and exposing more of it to him as she held him closer, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. She ran her hands up his shoulders and then began to move them across his chest, enjoying the feel of his muscles and the scars; feeling as if she could read his stories through them. He groaned, pausing in his onslaught to shift beneath her, and she looked up at him, catching him panting from the intensity of the moment. Blushing, she realized she could hear her own labored breathing, as well.
“Ye okay?” she whispered.
“Aye,” he chuckled. “Just had to… readjust my kilt.”
She opened her mouth to speak and then realized the position they were in and felt a second wave of heat take her. She might not have been experienced, but she knew enough to know what he was adjusting… and why.
“S-sorry…” she stammered.
Broden chuckled at that. “No’ something ye need to be sorry fer,” he said. “I wasn’t helping matters, either.”
Abigail giggled and looked up at him with all the want she was feeling at that moment. “I’d say ye were helping matters just fine,” she purred, nipping at his own lip and trailing her hand along his torso again, pausing along her path and smiling at the sight. “Where did ye get these?” she asked, tracing one of his tattoos.
He shrugged the opposite shoulder. “Me da mostly,” he said. “Rites of passage and such. He gave all of us—me an’ me brothers—our first tattoos: a rune of his choosing to grant us strength,” he pointed to the most faded of the tattoos, a still-bold symbol that seemed to depict a trident jutting upward with three points. Though she wasn’t sure why, Abigail felt it was appropriate for him.
She traced her hand over this for a moment, appreciating it all the more, before glancing over the rest. “And the others?” she asked.
“Lachlan,” he said, smirking. “One of me brothers. Da’s tattooing interested him enough to try some of his own, but the others were too afraid to let him try out on them, so I volunteered to be his pin cushion.”
“So all of these…?” she asked, trailing her hand over a cluster of smaller designs.
Broden nodded.
“His work is amazing,” she smiled. “Do ye think I could meet him?”
He pulled away slightly at that. “Ye want to meet them? My brothers?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’d like that,” she admitted, then, seeing him look away, bit her lip. “I mean, unless you’d rather I didn’t.”
“It…” he sighed, “It’s no’ like that. I just…” he shrugged. “I’ve been taking care of my brothers most of my life. I’ve… I’ve let myself get hurt and forced myself to go hungry so that they wouldn’t.” He sighed and looked down. “Because of that, they’re all… well, Le’s just say I’m no’ the prettiest of my brothers.”
Abigail frowned at this, looking down. “And ye’re afraid that, if I meet yer brothers, I’ll think less of ye?”
He nodded.
“Why would ye think that?”
He sighed and said, “Because it’s how it’s always happened. Whenever me brother Grant an’ I went to the village to get supplies, girls would always look at him an’, if they ever laid an eye on me in the first place, avoided me altogether.”
Abigail startled both of them then by giggling.
Broden stared at her, shocked.
Stifling the giggles, she gave him a warm look and asked, “Did ye ever smile when ye were in the village?”
“I… uh, well, no. I suppose no’,” he admitted.
Abigail nodded. “An’ yer brother… Grant, was it?”—Broden nodded—“did he ever smile?”
Broden rolled his eyes and looked away. “Grant’s never no’ smiling,” he growled.
Abigail nodded again and laid her hands on his chest. “Ye say that ye’ve let yerself be hurt and starved fer the sake of yer brothers, an’ I can see the ye’ve let yerself believe that the scars or complexion might make ye less to look at, but…” she kissed him and smiled, “A smile makes all the difference sometimes.” Then, grinning, she climbed on top of him, “An’ that means that I’m the first girl that’s gotten to enjoy yer smile.”
He smiled at that, running his hand over her cheek and tilted his head. “I like that yer that first,” he admitted, nodding then and letting out a deep sigh. “I think, with all that said, I’d like ye to meet them.”
She smiled at that and leaned into his hand, enjoying the feel. She realized there was no fighting what she felt with him. When she was away from him, everything felt wrong, and, apparently, it was the same for him. And while this fact haunted her and demanded all sorts of answers, she didn’t want to worry about any of them at that moment.
That moment was…
Broden tensed suddenly and shifted to stand in front of her, his lip peeling back. Before she could ask him what was wrong, she heard what had him agitated: footsteps—chaotic and approaching fast—and eager, loud breaths. Standing from the log but staying behind Broden, she peeked around him and in the direction of the noise. Broden, seeming to grow hotter and broader with each resounding step, started to growl. It was a strange response, but somehow, like the rune tattoo, seemed appropriate.
And then Tarah crashed through the brush. Her hair, normally tied in a neat and tidy bun, had come undone and the long, wavy red locks fell all the way to her lower back. Abby frowned as she realized she had never seen her friend’s hair down, or, for that matter, this frazzled. Spotting the two of them, Tarah adjusted her spectacles, which had twisted on her face.
“Tarah!” Abigail was already slipping by Broden and starting towards her friend. “Tarah, what’s wrong?”
Realizing that she wasn’t a threat, Broden’s defensive stance shifted and he followed after, mirroring Abigail’s concern.
Tarah stopped as she reached Abigail and, shooting an uncertain look at Broden, worked to catch her breath.
“W-we… we need… to go! Now!” she said between pants.
“Go?” Abigail blinked at the worry in her friend’s voice. “Go where? Why?”
“Yer parents, Abby! Yer parents are crazed! They’ve been scouring the entire village fer… well, fer hours! When they realized ye weren’t there, they started askin’ ‘round, demanding who knew where ye might’ve gone, an’… an’…”
“An’ what?” Abigail demanded.
Tarah shook her head. “Ross! He told ‘em ‘bout yer fixation with the beasts, an’ yer parents came to the conclusion that, in yer delirium—thanks fer being honest about that with me, by the way—ye must’ve come out here on yer own! They’re certain that ye’re gonna stumble off a cliff or… or worse.”
Abigail and Broden shared an awkward glance at one another.
“An’ who in the blazes is this?” Tarah demanded, finally looking at Broden. “Does he realize what sort of trouble yer out here getting yerself into?”
“I’m sure he cares as much as I do,” Abigail said, stepping between Tarah and Broden. “An, quite frankly, I doona care much about what my parents think right now.”
Tarah scowled and moved to grab her wrist and pull her away.
Abigail, refusing to let anything or anyone separate her and Broden again, yanked free and returned to his side.
Tarah stared, confused. “Are ye daft? They’re sending a search party! Abby, they’re coming out here to find ye!”
“I’m sorry,” Abby looked down. “But I’m no’ going with ye. I’m staying here… with Broden.”
Tarah took a moment to process this before looking up at Broden in this new light. Though Abigail could see that she was excited to see that her friend had finally found someone—and, knowing Tarah’s secret fantasy for highlanders, likely a bit jealous, too—but this, with everything else, was buried in concern. Nodding, she said, “I’m sure he’s a fine man, Abby, an’ I hope ye two find happiness,” she sighed and shook her head, “but if yer parents’ search party finds ye out here with him…”
Abby froze at that and looked up at Broden, who was looking down at her, concern and confusion in his eyes. “She’s right,” he said, sighing. “I canna say I wouldn’t be able to defend myself, but that would only make things worse. If ye go back now—” he glanced up at Tarah, hope in his eyes as he said, “tell yer parents that yer friend here found ye asleep out here—then they’ll have no reason to scour these hills.”
“But I doona want to leave ye again!” Abigail fought to keep a wave of tears at bay.
Broden nodded. “I know. I doona want to see ye leave, either,” he cupped a palm against her cheek. “But if ye do this then we can meet again tomorrow—first thing in the morning—an’ I’ll introduce ye to my brothers.”
Sniffling, she nodded, accepting that it was for the best, and lifted her head to press a kiss to his cheek before turning and beginning to follow her friend down the mountain. Tarah was quiet for a time, and Abigail noticed a few glimmers of sadness as they walked; her shoulders were tensed. Abigail bit her lip at that, wondering if Tarah was jealous of her new relationship.
“Tarah, I’m—”
“Doona, Abby,” Tarah let out a soft breath. “I am happy for ye, I really am. I just…” she sighed and rolled her eyes, “Ye already know that I’ve always wanted something like that. Well, maybe no’ with that man—he’s yers now, after all—but…” she shrugged. Abby watched as Tarah chuckled lightly, nervously.
Abigail set a hand on her shoulder. “Tarah, it’ll happen for ye. I’m sure of it!”
“Oh, aye? Yer sure, are ye? Well that’s grand! Because I’m no’ even sure I’m going to survive the night, li’l miss! Look at me! I’m a mess because of ye!” she grinned and shook her head, trying to hide it as she quickly wiped at her eye. “Runnin’ ‘round the damn highlands—hair’s all a mess and my spectacles… I dropped these!” she adjusted them again and Abigail saw that they still hung crooked on her friend’s nose. “Ye owe me, Abby! Ye owe me big. Like, if one of those brothers yer highlander mentioned is looking for a workaholic with crazy, tangled hair then—”
“I think yer hair looks good down! I never knew it was that long,” Abigail offered, smiling and nodding. “And if ye keep it lookin’ that good I’m even more sure ye’ll find someone!”
“Uh-huh,” Tarah rolled her eyes. “Assuming yer parents doona kill me when I get ye to ‘em.”