Page 1 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)
CHAPTER ONE
“ W e had a bad harvest this year, plain and simple,” Kian said, his voice low and steady. “The rain was scarce, the crops withered, and the soil grew weary. We cannae pretend that the stores are full, but they must be reserved for the less fortunate.”
He folded his arms across his broad chest, his dark eye scanning the grim faces gathered around the table.
Paul shifted in his seat, his fingers tapping nervously on the carved wood.
“Me Laird, the castle’s reserves are meant for emergencies, nae for feedin’ every mouth that grumbles.
If we use them now, there’ll be nothin’ left when real disaster hits.
” His tone was cautious but firm, like a man used to measured decisions.
Kian’s gaze hardened, cold as a Highland frost. “Are ye suggestin’ it’s better to let the people starve to death, Paul?” he asked sharply.
The older man flinched beneath his stare, shrinking back as if the room had suddenly grown colder.
“I will deal with the shortage,” Kian continued, his voice unwavering. “Ye and the other councilmen need only concern yerselves with the fair distribution of what we have left. The lives of our folk depend on it.”
The council chamber in Castle McKenna was a cold, stone-walled room, lit only by flickering torchlight that threw dancing shadows across the ancient banners hanging from the rafters.
Heavy wooden beams creaked overhead, and a long, scarred table stood at the center, surrounded by stiff-backed chairs worn from years of use.
Kian paced the length of the chamber like a lion in its den, each step heavy and deliberate on the cold flagstones. His dark eye burned with fierce purpose as he stopped and faced his councilmen, his presence filling the room. The eyepatch over his left eye made him look more menacing than ever.
“Ye sit here, arguin’ and decidin’ what’s best for the clan, yet ye forget the very blood that runs through these halls,” he thundered.
“But Me Laird—” a councilman began.
“We’re nae led by fear of empty coffers, but by duty to our folks!” Kian roared.
The councilmen shrank back in their seats, their faces pale beneath the torchlight, afraid to meet his gaze. No one dared interrupt when his temper flared, cutting through the silence like a blade.
“Ye sit comfortably, feastin’ on safety, while the people starve and suffer!” he growled, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “Is that the kind of leadership ye offer this clan? If so, then ye’re nae fit for the positions ye hold!”
His words echoed harshly off the stone, rattling the walls with their weight.
The councilmen cowered beneath the fierce storm of his wrath, silenced by the man who would brook no weakness.
Kian stormed out of the council chamber, the cold stone corridors stretching before him like a familiar battlefield.
“The council’s a bunch of bampots—I have to fix everything meself,” he muttered under his breath with a scowl.
Their empty words and fearful glances did nothing but slow him down.
“Useless folk,” he grumbled, his boots clicking loudly on the cold floor.
Rounding a corner, he spotted Robert, a stout guard leaning on his spear by the archway.
“Robert,” he called sharply, “where’s Leighton?”
The guard straightened, his gaze alert. “He’s out on the training grounds, Me Laird. Workin’ the new recruits hard, as always.”
Without hesitation, Kian made his way through the castle’s winding halls, the air thick with the smell of burning peat and stone dust. He stepped out into the chilly morning air through the side door and crossed the courtyard.
The fields beyond rolled wide and open under the grey sky, the training grounds alive with movement.
Ahead, Leighton stood tall among a cluster of young men, his voice booming as he drilled the recruits with relentless precision.
The men swung wooden swords, parrying and striking with clumsy eagerness, sweat glistening on their brows despite the cool breeze. Leighton barked orders, correcting stances and pushing each recruit beyond their limits, his sharp eyes missing nothing.
The clang of wood on wood rang out as one recruit faltered, and Leighton’s hand snapped down on the offender’s shoulder, pushing him back into the fight.
Watching the scene, Kian felt the weight of years pressing down on his shoulders.
His uncle’s greed and weakness had left the clan fractured and vulnerable, and it was up to him to build strength where there was none.
He knew the road ahead was long and hard, and every blade trained today might be a life saved tomorrow.
The faces of the recruits blurred in the cold light, but his resolve burned bright—McKenna would rise again.
“Leighton, follow me.” His voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding.
Leighton didn’t hesitate. “Aye, Me Laird.”
He dropped his wooden sword and fell into step beside him.
“What’s amiss, Kian? Ye look like a man carryin’ the weight of the world on yer shoulders.”
He furrowed his brow with concern as they moved away from the recruits.
Kian glanced around to be sure no one was listening. “I’ll tell ye, but nae here.” He gestured toward the empty field ahead, where the wind rustled the tall grass.
He led Leighton across the fields beyond the castle. When they reached the middle of a meadow, he stopped and scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of eavesdroppers.
Satisfied they were alone, he turned to Leighton and spoke low, “We had a bad harvest—the worst to date.”
His words were few but heavy, carrying the weight of coming hardship.
Leighton’s jaw tightened. “What’s the plan, then? We cannae sit idle while our folk go hungry.” He looked Kian right in the eye, steady and unwavering, waiting for his order. “We need to do something—quick.”
Kian nodded grimly. “Aye, but the council’s weak, and their fear slows us down. We cannae trust them to act with speed.” He clenched his fists, his gaze darkening. “The stores willnae last, and winter’s comin’ hard.”
Leighton rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Could we send men to hunt game from the hills? Feed what we can, if only for a while?” His breath misted in the cold air, his eyes never leaving Kian’s. “It’s nae a long-term solution, but it would buy us time.”
“Aye,” Kian agreed. “We will do that, but it’s nae enough. The people need more than scraps and luck.” He looked toward the tree line, where the forest began, vast and untamed. “We need allies—strong ones—or else McKenna will fall.”
Leighton furrowed his brow. “Allies are hard to get by nowadays, after yer uncle’s rule pushed them all away. They demand trust and gifts. Ye think they’ll come to our aid readily?” His tone was skeptical but open, weighing the odds. “What clan do ye have in mind?”
Kian’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “We’re nae askin’ for help—we’re takin’ it.” His voice dropped, fierce and unyielding. “I have a plan, but it requires the utmost secrecy.”
Leighton’s eyes widened. “Secrecy? A forced alliance? Ye mean war, then?” His hand hovered over the sword at his side, his muscles tensing. “This is dangerous talk, Kian.”
Kian’s glare was cold steel. “Danger’s all we have left. If we wait for an invitation, McKenna will die slow and bitter.” He took a step closer, his voice low and urgent. “We’ll nae need to go to war to force their loyalty.”
Leighton’s breath caught, and for a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the low whistle of the wind.
“Which clan are we callin’ on to make this alliance?” he asked cautiously. “They’ll nae take kindly to such an offer.”
Kian’s eyes gleamed with fierce resolve. “None.” His answer was sharp and sure. “We’ll make them bend, nae ask them to bow.”
Leighton swallowed hard. “Ye’re sayin’ we’ll raid, then? Force kinship with blood and steel?” The thought was grim, but the resolve behind it was undeniable. “If we’re doing this, we’ll need every blade ready and every secret kept.”
“Nay, we willnae raid. We’ll prepare in silence, move swiftly, and show them the strength of Clan McKenna.” Kian rested his hand on Leighton’s shoulder—a silent vow. “We’ll forge a future out of our wits, or there’ll be none at all.”
He watched as Leighton furrowed his brow in confusion.
The road ahead was dark and uncertain, but Kian’s heart burned with the promise of reclaiming what was lost. In the quiet between them, the clan’s fate was already being written.
“We shall find leverage. Ye will help me,” he said.