Page 15 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A bigail walked in silence beside Kian, her skirts brushing against the long grass. Her heart still thundered in her chest, but no longer from fear.

She could scarcely believe she’d nearly been trampled—and less still that Kian had risked his life to save her. He’d wrapped his arm around her like she was precious, like she mattered.

She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to glance at him again.

When he’d yanked her back from death’s door, she had wanted to kiss him. Her lips still tingled at the mere thought. But she hadn’t—couldn’t. Her pride, her confusion, her fear all tangled together like thorny vines in her chest.

Suddenly, a frantic voice rang out. “Laird McKenna! Wait—please, wait!”

Abigail turned, her pulse quickening again. The stablemaster ran toward them from the stables, his face flushed and glistening with sweat. He was tall and thick around the middle, his breathing ragged as he approached, his eyes wide with panic.

“Me Laird, I’m sorry! I had nay idea the beast had broken free. I?—”

Abigail watched Kian round on him with fire in his eye. His jaw clenched, his glare cold enough to freeze the wind.

“Enough of yer empty platitudes,” he growled. “What would ye have done if I hadnae been here? The lass would’ve been hurt if nae killed.”

The stablemaster paled beneath his beard, his words caught in his throat as he fumbled to speak. “I-I dinnae ken what happened. The latch?—”

“I should have ye flogged,” Kian snapped. “If yer oversight had cost her?—”

Abigail reached out without thinking, her heart aching from the rising tension. Her fingers brushed his forearm, her touch soft but firm.

“I’m fine,” she assured, despite her quivering voice. “So dinnae punish him, please. It was an accident.”

She watched as Kian looked down at her hand. His frown lingered for a moment longer, but at last he gave a begrudging nod.

“Fine.” He turned back to the stablemaster, who hadn’t dared to draw in a breath. “Ye should thank yer lucky stars. If it wasnae for Abigail, I wouldnae let this pass so easily. But I’ve got to get the lass inside.”

Abigail bristled. “I can take meself inside,” she hissed, stepping back from him.

Kian arched an eyebrow. “Aye? Clearly, ye cannae even stand in a field without temptin’ fate, so forgive me if I dinnae trust ye to walk yerself to safety.”

“I was standin’ still,” she fired back. “The horse came at me, if ye recall.”

“And if I hadnae come when I did, ye’d be nothin’ but a bloody mess in the grass!” Kian pointed out, stepping toward her. “Ye think I’m enjoyin’ draggin’ ye about like a disobedient child?”

Abigail squared her shoulders. “Then stop draggin’ me about! I never asked ye to save me!”

His jaw ticked, and for a moment, he looked as though she’d slapped him across the face.

“Well, I did,” he said, his voice low. “Ye’re under me care till I say otherwise.”

“I’m nae some sick animal ye need to fuss over,” she bit out. “I’m a woman. One ye dragged here, in case ye forgot.”

Kian took another step closer, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Aye,” he said darkly, “I remember.”

She shoved past him then, her skirts swishing as she stalked toward the castle. Her heart was pounding all over again—not from fear, not from anger, but from something more dangerous. More consuming.

She squealed in protest as his strong arms suddenly swept her off her feet. Before she could catch her breath, he tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing more than a bundle of hay.

“Kian! Put me down this instant!” she cried, her face flushing as her skirts bunched awkwardly around her thighs.

He didn’t answer, just grunted and adjusted his grip on her, his large hand curling around the back of her thighs.

She pounded her fists against his back, but it was like striking stone. “Ye brute! This is undignified!” she protested, mortified.

Her heart hammered not just from embarrassment, but from the way her body tingled where his hand touched her.

“Settle down,” Kian muttered. “Ye’ve caused enough stir for one day, lass.”

Abigail gasped. “Me? Ye’re the one carryin’ me like a sack of grain in front of the whole bloody castle!”

“Because ye dinnae ken how to stay out of trouble,” he said simply.

As they walked into the keep and through the main corridor, several servants paused to gape at them. One dropped a tray of cups. Another whispered behind her hand, her eyes wide with shock.

Abigail groaned and covered her face with both hands, wishing she could melt into the stone walls.

“This is humiliating,” she muttered.

“Good,” Kian said. “Maybe next time ye’ll listen when ye’re told to stay inside.”

Abigail peeked through her fingers, catching the amused grin of a guard they passed by. She squeezed her eyes shut again and pounded her fist once against Kian’s back.

“I hope ye fall down the stairs.”

“I hope ye remember who just saved yer life,” he replied, unfazed.

He finally stopped at the door to her chambers, pushed it open with one strong kick, and stepped inside.

Isolde, who was tending to the fire, jumped up, her eyes going wide, before scurrying out of the room without a word.

Abigail didn’t blame her—Kian had that effect on people.

He bent and unceremoniously set her down on her feet. Abigail stumbled, trying to regain her balance, her cheeks burning as she avoided his gaze.

“Ye cannae just throw me around like a rag doll!” she huffed, brushing her hands down her skirts.

Kian folded his arms across his chest, watching her with that infuriating, unreadable expression. “Aye, I can. And I did.”

Abigail opened her mouth to argue again, but the words caught in her throat. She was too breathless, too flustered, too aware of how close he was. How warm her skin still felt where he’d touched her.

She took a step back and swallowed hard. “I… I didnae need ye to carry me.”

Kian tilted his head slightly. “Ye didnae complain so much once I had ye in me arms.”

Abigail’s eyes narrowed on him. “I was too mortified to speak, ye arrogant oaf.”

“What were ye doin’ outside yer rooms without me?” he growled.

Abigail flushed, both from the heat of his anger and disappointment. “I was out on a walk with Helena,” she replied evenly, lifting her chin. “Ye never told me I couldnae do that.”

She scolded herself inwardly. She’d forgotten, even just for a moment, that she was a prisoner here.

This man only wants to use ye. Dinnae fall for his possessive words, Abigail.

Kian stepped closer, his broad shoulders tensing. “Ye arenae to go anywhere without me, bunny. Do ye understand?”

“I may be yer prisoner,” Abigail snapped, “but I’m nae yers to command, Laird McKenna.”

“Oh, but this is where ye’re mistaken, lass.” His voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble. “While ye’re in me castle, ye are mine. And if ye dinnae obey me, ye will be punished.”

Abigail straightened her back and shot him a cold look. “I will never obey ye. Ye arenae and will never be me laird.”

His eyebrows rose. “We’ll see about that.”

There was a pause.

Silence pulsed between them, thick with heat and something else she didn’t dare name. Then, without warning, Kian closed the distance between them in two strides and cupped her face in both hands.

His mouth crashed down onto hers.

Abigail gasped, shocked by the hunger in his kiss, then cursed herself for not pulling away. Her fingers curled instinctively into his shirt, gripping it tightly. Her lips moved against his before her mind caught up with her body’s betrayal.

She hated him. She did. But oh, her body hadn’t gotten the message.

The kiss deepened, fierce and claiming. It was like being swept under a tide—helpless, breathless, and too overwhelmed to fight. Her knees buckled, and she leaned into him, clinging to his strong chest.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his good eye dark and unreadable.

Abigail was trembling, her chest heaving. She hated how much she wanted more.

“That’s why ye must stay close,” he murmured against her lips. “Because if anythin’ happens to ye, lass… I’ll tear the bloody world apart.”

She turned her face, breaking eye contact, her cheeks red. “Ye cannae just kiss me when ye’re angry.”

He tilted his head. “Seems the only time ye listen is when I do.”

She swallowed hard, her voice faltering. “Ye dinnae own me, Kian.”

“Nay,” he agreed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I will. One day, ye’ll nae want to leave.”

Abigail pulled back then, her breath catching in her throat. She didn’t answer him. She couldn’t.

Because deep down, a traitorous part of her feared he might be right.

“Do ye want me to stop, bunny? Or do ye want more?” he groaned.

Once again, she didn’t answer. Her chest heaved against her tight corset, making her bosom practically spill out. His eye flicked to her cleavage as though it answered for her.

His lips were back on hers before she could form a proper thought, stealing her breath and replacing it with something else—heat, longing, something dangerous and heady.

Abigail should have pushed him away. She should have slapped him, screamed, anything to stop the madness curling in her belly. Instead, her fingers tightened on his shirt, holding him close as if she’d drown without him.

His hand moved, strong and assured, sliding down her waist with maddening slowness. Her breath hitched as he traced her side, the heat of his palm seeping through the fabric of her gown.

Everywhere he touched burned with awareness, her senses overwhelmed by the smell of him—smoke, leather, and wild wind.

She had never been held like this. Never been touched like this—like she was something precious and desired, not just some pawn in a game.

Kian’s mouth moved over hers with unrelenting hunger, tasting, teasing, claiming. Her body trembled beneath his touch, caught somewhere between fear and excitement.

When his hand splayed against the small of her back, pulling her flush against him, she gasped softly into the kiss, feeling his hard manhood against her thigh.

Her knees wobbled, her heart thudding wildly against her ribs. She had never imagined she could want someone she hated so fiercely. But this wasn’t hatred anymore—at least not entirely. It was something far more complicated, tangled in fire and fury.

When his thumb brushed the underside of her breasts, a shiver coursed through her. She found herself leaning in, chasing the heat of his mouth as he pulled away slightly.

“Ye taste like defiance, bunny,” he murmured, his breath fanning her lips. “And I cannae get enough of it.”

His words only ignited something fiercer.

Abigail’s hands found their way to his shoulders, her fingertips brushing the curve of his neck, feeling the strength coiled beneath his skin. Her eyes fluttered open for the briefest second, just long enough to catch the want in his expression.

He looked at her like he wanted to devour her. And worse still, she wanted to let him.

She pulled back with effort, her breathing ragged, her lips tingling, her mind spinning. “This… this is madness,” she whispered.

“Aye,” Kian said hoarsely, pressing his forehead against hers. “But it’s our madness.”

Her pulse fluttered like a frightened bird in her throat. She didn’t know what to do with all of it—this want, this fire she hadn’t asked for. All she knew was that when his hands were on her, when his mouth claimed hers, nothing else existed.

Not the feud between them. Not the fact that he’d taken her against her will.

Only him.

Only the way he made her feel—alive, undone, and entirely his.

Suddenly, she felt his hand trail over her breasts, and fire shot through her. She knew if she let him go any further, she would not be able to stop.

She pulled away from him and stepped backward until her back pressed against the wall.

He gave a rare smirk then, sharp and far too charming. “Well, I’ll leave ye to yer sulking, bunny.”

He turned and strode out of the room without another word, leaving her alone, flustered, and more confused than ever.

She stared after him, her chest rising and falling. She should be furious. She was furious.

But God help her, a part of her had enjoyed every second.

Why does he make me feel like this? One moment, he is a brute, barking orders and shooting glares; the next, he is risking his life, holding me like I am made of glass.

She didn’t know what to do with that.

Still, her heart raced. Not because of her brush with death, but because of the memory of the way he’d looked at her—like she was his to protect. Like she mattered more than he wanted to admit.

And worse still, she wanted it to be true.

But deep down, she was conflicted.

He is only seducin’ me because he needs me to secure an alliance. Nay one could be interested in me, least of all a powerful laird.