Page 16 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

K ian paced the length of his bedchamber like a caged wolf.

His muscles were tight, his blood still pumping hot, and sleep eluded him.

Every time he closed his eye, he felt Abigail again—her trembling breath, her soft lips, her lush curves.

The memories haunted him, unsettled him, changed something in him he couldn’t name.

He’d tried to lie down, tried to will rest upon himself, but the sheets felt like fire, and his bed was far too cold without her in it.

Eventually, he threw the furs aside and sat on the edge of the mattress, his hands curled into fists on his knees. His heart thudded slowly and heavily, a beat that mocked him for being weak enough to care.

What madness has taken hold of me that one kiss could undo me so?

The night was unbearable, filled with restless tossing and turning. When the sky lightened with the gray haze of morning, he was already dressed, boots on, and waiting in the bailey for Leighton.

“Good mornin’ to ye.” Leighton smiled.

“It is anything but. Let us start our journey, as it will be a black day,” Kian groaned.

He knew that his mood was due to a lack of sleep and the matter at hand, but Leighton took it in stride, which Kian was grateful for as they saddled their horses.

By the time they mounted their horses and rode past the village, the sun had begun to climb, pale and unhelpful in the dry, cloudless sky. Dust shot up behind them, clinging to the hems of their cloaks.

There had been no rain in weeks. The land cried out for water, and the Lord remained silent despite their pleas.

The orchards lay in brittle rows just over the southern ridge. What had once been a lush grove humming with bees was now a cracked and thirsty graveyard.

“This is a dire sight, indeed,” Kian remarked.

“Aye, I have never seen it like this,” Leighton said.

Branches drooped, and leaves curled in on themselves. Fruit that should have swelled into rich color was shriveled or absent altogether. The air smelled of dust and desperation.

Kian dismounted with a grim face, his gaze sweeping across the sun-scorched fields.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “It’s worse than I thought.”

Leighton let out a long breath. “Aye. Paul tried to prepare ye, but words never convey the full picture.”

Kian stepped up to one of the trees and ran his fingers along a branch. It broke clean in his hand with the lightest pressure.

“They’ll starve come winter if this continues on.”

“They will,” Leighton agreed, his voice tight. “And nae just here. The tenants near the moors have been sayin’ the wells are drying, too.”

Kian clenched his jaw, then turned his back to the tree and looked out toward the hills. “This land has fed our people for generations. Now, it gives us nothin’ but dust.”

“That’s nae yer fault, Kian,” Leighton said, walking up to him. “Ye dinnae command the skies. Ye can lead men, swing a sword, broker peace, but ye cannae summon rain.”

“Still,” Kian muttered, “I’m the Laird. These are me people, and I promised them safety, stability. What use is a laird who cannae even feed his clan?”

Leighton sighed and crossed his arms. “Ye’ve done what any good laird would. Ye sent a request for help. Ye’ve rationed food, even gone without, and delayed collecting taxes from the poor.”

Kian scoffed. “That’s naught but duty. And it doesnae fill empty bellies.”

They walked together down a row of trees, each more pathetic than the last. Bees buzzed faintly—fewer than usual—and birds were absent altogether.

Kian picked up a fallen apple, soft and brown at the core. He tossed it away with a growl.

“If the McEwans or the Reids dinnae answer me soon, it’ll be too late,” he said. “I need their trade. I need access to their stores and their waters. And if it takes keepin’ Abigail here to secure that alliance, so be it.”

Leighton eyed him. “That lass… she’s more than just leverage to ye, is she nae?”

Kian didn’t answer. His eye stayed fixed on the withered trees, but something in his throat tightened.

Leighton went on anyway. “I saw the look on yer face when she nearly got trampled. That wasnae just concern for an asset.”

“She’s under me protection,” Kian said gruffly.

“And in yer thoughts, clearly,” Leighton countered. “Ye could’ve left her under Helena’s watch, but ye followed. Ye stormed down there like a man possessed.”

Kian said nothing. His silence was admission enough.

“I ken ye’re tryin’ to do right by our people, Kian,” Leighton said after a beat. “But dinnae twist yerself in knots. Aye, this drought is cruel, but it willnae break our strength. We’ve survived worse.”

Kian exhaled slowly, the anger draining from his shoulders, replaced with weariness. “I hope ye’re right, Leighton. Because I feel the weight of every empty basket, every hungry mouth. And if I lose them…”

“Ye willnae,” Leighton declared. “Ye’ve got fire in yer blood, and the heart of a warrior. And maybe… maybe even the heart of a husband.”

Kian shot him a glare, but it lacked heat. “Dinnae start.”

Leighton chuckled. “I’m only sayin’ that there are worse things than a strong lass at yer side.”

Kian looked out over the orchard again, silent. The sky remained stubbornly clear, and the heat pressed down like judgment. Somewhere in the tree line, a crow cawed.

“We’ll ride back,” he said, eventually. “I need to speak with Paul again—see what can be done for the poorest families. Distribute more from the reserves, if there’s anything left.”

“Aye,” Leighton agreed, mounting his horse. “And I’ll see to the granaries meself.”

Kian took one last look at the withered trees before swinging himself up into the saddle. The wind barely stirred, dry and empty as his thoughts.

As they turned their horses toward the castle, he whispered low, almost to himself, “Come rain. Or come ruin.”

And with that, they took off.

The ride back from the orchard was silent, the horses’ hooves thudding dully against the dirt path that wound through the heart of the village.

Kian’s jaw was tight, his eye sharp as it swept across the cottages, the thin folks, the barefooted, hollow-cheeked children. The orchard’s ruin weighed heavily on him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of failure.

Leighton rode beside him, his face drawn, the air between them thick with unspoken worry.

Then came the shouting.

Kian jerked his head toward the commotion down one of the narrow alleys. A woman’s scream cut sharply through the stillness, followed by another cry—this one of a child. Without a word, Kian kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks, and it bolted toward the noise, Leighton right behind.

They rounded a corner to find a woman on the ground, clutching her shawl to her chest, and two others trying to shield sacks of grain and bundles of wool.

A bandit, whose face was half-hidden beneath a tattered hood, yanked the sack from the woman’s hands and turned to flee.

“Oi!” Kian’s voice boomed like thunder, full of warning. “Drop it, ye filthy bastard!”

The bandit froze for half a heartbeat, then bolted down the alley.

Kian was after him on his horse in a flash.

The world narrowed to that fleeing figure—nothing else mattered. With a burst of energy, Kian lunged from his saddle and tackled the man to the ground.

They went down hard. The thief scrambled, swinging wildly, but Kian was already on top of him, slamming his forearm into the man’s neck and pinning him to the ground.

The bandit thrashed, desperate, but Kian was an immovable mountain, a wall of muscles and fury.

He growled low and drove his fist into the thief’s jaw. The man yelped, his head snapping back, blood spraying from his lip. Another punch—harder this time—left the thief dazed and gasping.

“Ye picked the wrong day,” Kian snarled. “I should gut ye for what ye’ve done.”

The man whimpered, his arms trembling beneath Kian’s iron grip, his eyes wild with fear.

Leighton jogged up behind, his sword drawn, but Kian already had the bandit under control.

“Tie him,” he barked, pulling the thief to his knees.

Leighton threw down a length of rope and helped secure the man’s wrists behind his back.

Kian grabbed the bandit by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet.

“Ye’re unlucky, lad,” he hissed in his ear. “If ye’d stolen from any other village, ye might’ve slithered off. But here? On me lands? Ye’ll pay for every crumb ye tried to take.”

The women, still shaken, nodded their thanks.

Kian nodded in return. “Nay one steals from us.”

His blood pumped through his veins from the chase and the fight.

“Tie him to yer horse,” he ordered.

Leighton tied the thief to the saddle, ignoring his feeble protests.

They rode back to the castle with the thief slumped, roped tight and groaning, his face already bruising as he limped along behind them.

Kian’s eye remained on the horizon, his mind racing. His people were starving, the crops had failed, and now thieves were roaming free?

This was his land, his responsibility, and he’d be damned before letting it all fall apart.

When they reached the castle gates, the guards looked up in surprise.

Kian didn’t slow down.

“Open the bloody gates,” he commanded.

The gates swung wide immediately.

He dismounted and dragged the bandit away from the horse, gripping the rope and leading him like a dog toward the dungeons. The thief stumbled, muttering a prayer under his breath.

Once they stepped inside, the temperature dropped. The dungeons sat beneath the keep, cold and damp, the walls slick with moisture and history. The torches flickered as they descended, casting long shadows on the stones.

Kian shoved open the iron gate at the bottom. “This is where cowards like ye belong,” he growled.

He pushed the man into a dank cell, the door clanging shut behind him.

Leighton came to stand beside him, his arms folded. “Ye handled that well, Kian.”

“He’s lucky I didnae kill him,” Kian bit out. “But maybe the rats will get to him first.”

They turned and ascended the stairs, leaving the thief shivering in the dark.

Kian didn’t speak again until they reached the main hall. His shoulders were tight with rage, but more than that, with pressure. His people were suffering. And if the world thought to test him now, it would find him more than ready.

He was a McKenna, and he’d protect what was his. At any cost.

He stormed through the corridor, his boots thudding heavily against the stone floor. His fists remained clenched at his sides, the thrill of the fight coursing through him.

He didn’t know if it was the drought, the thief, or the sight of his people scraping by, but something inside him had snapped. He was tired of watching helplessly as his lands withered and his clan suffered.

Leighton followed behind, silent for once, knowing better than to prod when Kian was in this state.

They reached his study, and Kian threw the door open with a grunt, crossing straight to the window. He stared out at the brown hills in the distance, the dull heather, the cloudless sky.

“Rain,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s all it takes. A sky that willnae weep for its own.”

Leighton leaned against the doorframe. “Ye’ve done what ye can. Ye cannae squeeze water from stone.”

“Aye, but I can break a few heads if they think to steal from the women and bairns again,” Kian snapped.

Leighton gave a short nod. “He’ll rot in that cell.”

Kian’s eye burned with a deeper ache now—not just fury, but something knotted tight in his chest.

He’d gone from the orchard to the thief to the dungeons like a man possessed, and not once had he stopped to think about what really gnawed at him.

Abigail.

He closed his eye and saw her—her face flushed, her lips parted in shock as he pulled her out of that damned horse’s way. The way her fingers had trembled against his chest. The way he’d wanted to kiss her again, right there in the dirt.

She haunted him like a fever.

He exhaled slowly. “I dinnae ken if me plan will work now. The lass puts herself in danger. She shouldnae have been outside. If she had been killed, I would have lost leverage.”

“She was with Helena,” Leighton said quietly. “And ye ken as well as I do that Abigail needed the air.”

“She could’ve died,” Kian growled.

“But she didnae.”

Kian turned away from the window, his hands gripping the edge of his desk. “What am I supposed to do with her, Leighton?”

Leighton shrugged. “That depends. Are ye askin’ as her captor or… as a man who’s losin’ sleep over her?”

Kian shot him a glare but said nothing. The truth hit too close. It burned behind his ribs.

“She’s only meant to be a bargaining chip,” he muttered. “A way to bring the Reids and McEwans to the table.”

“And yet,” Leighton said, pushing off the wall, “ye carried her through the castle like she was already yers.”

Kian let out a frustrated groan and ran a hand through his hair. “Aye, well, maybe I am losin’ me mind. But if this… if the clans reject me offer…”

“Then we find another way,” Leighton said firmly. “And we make sure those under yer care survive, come rain or fire.”

Kian nodded slowly. He had to be strong—for his lands, for his clan.

But damn it all if he didn’t want her , too.