Untamed {Mature Reading}

Chapter XXIII

The sound of Alec's body crumpling to the ground echoed rang in Bianca's ears. Without thinking, the priestess moved towards the fallen heir but a hand held her back.

"Nay lass." It was Moira's voice. Moira's hand holding her back. Bianca turned to watch her friend grimaced. "Best not." Bianca watched as Moira's gaze flickered about and her own followed, noting how many watched her with growing curiosity, if not some disdain. Suddenly, the murmurs of the crowd didn't seem wholly focused on the fight, but more so the cause of it. Her.

Heat burned in Bianca's chest, creeping up her throat to reach her hairline as she felt gazes shift towards her. She looked back, watching as MacKenzie men moved around their heir, Alec's father hovering towards the edge, his brows furrowed with concern as he watched his son, still limp, be taken away towards the castle.

"Come on," Moira urged, her grip turning gentler as they watched Alec being carried away. "You look like you need to sit down." Concern lit her features. "Let's get you inside."

Bianca did not wished to be fussed over, not when she could see Alec's lone arm dangling lifelessly in the arms of the men who carried him. But her body did feel weak, as if her legs were going to give out from underneath her. So she allowed Moira to carefully guide her back towards the castle.

Bianca looked back, even just for a second to see Callum still standing, looking down at the patch of ground where Alec had crumpled. His fists had loosened so that they were barely more than a slight curl of fingers. His dark head was bowed, his expression unreadable, though she sworn something close to regret shone in his eyes.

She watched as Rosalind's slender form slipped beside him, a pale hand touching his strong arm. Across the field, Rosalind's father watched the two, his expression thoughtful but under the linger of Bianca's gaze, his own turned to her. The priestess swore that he arched a brow at her, even from a distance.

She quickly turned away.

Moira did not let go of Bianca as they walked towards the kitchens where Mrs Lowe could be heard barking orders at the girls who scurried around her. When her sharp gaze turned to Moira and Bianca, she immediately demanded. "What happened?"

Bianca could not bear to speak of it, so Moira gave a milder version – Callum and Alec had fought, Alec had not stirred yet. The priestess could feel Mrs Lowe's gaze on her and could not bring herself to meet it. Though Moira had not uttered the words, the air felt heavy with the unspoken truth – the reason for why they were fighting.

"Sit," Mrs Lowe waved some of the kitchen maids away from the large worn table. "Clare, go make the girls some tea."

Moira guided Bianca to the wooden bench. "I'd say she needs somethin' stronger than tea."

The elder woman's lips turned down in a frown, but she moved, her last frame bustling as she rummaged through draws until she produced a large brown bottle, amber liquid gleaming in the weak lighting. Working hands fetched three glasses and placed them before to the two girls, Mrs Lowe taking a seat oppose. Carefully, she poured out a good measure in each her gaze cutting towards Bianca.

"I know ye don't like ter drink," Her voice was soft, gentle. "But this'll put some fine in ye. Warm, up te fright ye got."

Bianca nodded numbly as her fingers curled around the glass, clutching it as if it were an anchor. Slowly, she raised the rim to her lips.

The cool liquid burned a trail down her throat, resting heavily in her stomach. It felt warm, like sunlight had seeped into her body, radiating from within. She sighed.

Mrs Lowe watched her, nodding with approval. "So, ye girls goin' to tell me what's got the Lairds and their heirs in such a state?"

"Me," Bianca whispered after a moment. "I think."