Page 17 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T he next morning, guilt clung to Abigail like a second skin. She had barely slept, tossing and turning in her bed, her thoughts tangled in the memory of Kian’s hands on her waist, his lips devouring hers like a man starved.

He wanted to use her—she knew that as plain as the sky above. She was a pawn in his scheme, nothing more. And yet her traitorous heart beat faster every time she thought of him.

She pushed off the coverlet with a scowl, breathing in sharply through her nose.

Enough. She could not stay here, waiting to be handed over like a prize, her sisters forced into agreements they didn’t want. She had to get out, for her sake and theirs.

When she tried the door, she expected it to be locked, as it always was. But to her astonishment, the handle turned easily in her grasp.

She froze, blinking.

Could it be…?

Abigail stepped cautiously into the corridor, half-expecting guards to leap out and drag her back. But no one came.

Heart in her throat, she moved quickly through the stone halls, heading toward the main entrance. Her feet made barely a sound.

As she passed a trio of maids near the kitchens, their voices dropped, but not quickly enough.

“She sleeps near the Laird’s chamber,” one whispered.

“How can she be so close to a monster like him?” the other said.

“I’d be tremblin’ in me boots.”

Abigail’s steps faltered. Blood surged hot in her cheeks, but she kept walking, holding her head high despite the sting behind her eyes.

She did not owe them anything. And yet their words sank deep, like a stone in her belly.

She rounded the corner too fast and collided with someone.

“Oh!” she gasped, stumbling back.

A pair of steady hands caught her by the elbows. “Careful now,” came a soft voice. “Are ye all right?”

Abigail looked up and recognized Peyton, Kian’s fair-haired cousin. Her eyes were warm brown, her expression gentle.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, brushing her skirt as if to compose herself.

Peyton smiled kindly. “There’s nothin’ to apologize for. Happens to me at least twice a week. These halls are cursed with corners.”

Abigail couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little.

Peyton tilted her head slightly. “Ye looked like ye were on a mission, though. Everything all right?”

Abigail opened her mouth, then closed it. She shook her head, sighing. “I just… needed air.”

“Aye,” Peyton said softly. “There’s never enough of it within these walls, especially when folks cannae hold their tongues.”

Abigail furrowed her brow. “So ye heard them, too?”

Peyton glanced back down the hall, then met her eyes again. “The maids? Aye. But they’re just bored, and bored tongues wag the loudest. Best to ignore them.”

“I wish it were that easy,” Abigail muttered, then blinked. “I mean, thank ye.”

Peyton folded her hands in front of her. “It’s hard bein’ the subject of whispers; I ken that well enough.”

Abigail tilted her head. “How do ye do it? Stay so calm? So kind?”

Peyton’s smile was serene. “Faith helps. But mostly, I remind meself that I dinnae have to answer for anyone but me.”

Abigail studied her grace, her softness. “Ye’re… Kian’s cousin, aye?” she said in an attempt to confirm the information.

Peyton nodded. “That I am.”

“I cannae believe it,” Abigail blurted before she could stop herself.

To her horror, Peyton chuckled. “Ye’re nae the first to say that.”

“I didnae mean—” Abigail stammered. “I just… ye’re so different.”

Peyton’s eyes twinkled. “And yet maybe nae so different, in the end.”

Abigail flushed scarlet. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Nae at all.” Peyton placed a hand on her arm. “Truly, Abigail, ye’ve done nothin’ wrong. There’s nothin’ wrong in bein’ curious.”

Abigail swallowed hard and looked down at her hands. “I just… I suppose I’ve made a mess of things.”

Peyton’s voice softened. “Did he hurt ye?”

Abigail’s heart lurched. “Nay,” she whispered.

For a moment, neither woman spoke.

The castle seemed to breathe around them, cold stone and flickering torches and unseen footsteps in distant corridors.

“Would ye care for a walk?” Peyton offered, her expression as serene as ever, her hands folded neatly in front of her.

Abigail blinked, her thoughts straying for a breath before she nodded. “Aye, a walk would be lovely.”

Inside, a plan was already taking shape. She had been searching for an opportunity—anything to slip out of the castle and make her way home.

Peyton might not let her go—it would be against her cousin’s orders, after all—but if she got distracted long enough, perhaps Abigail could get a head start.

She hated herself for plotting. There was a warmth in Peyton that called to her, something honest and kind. But Abigail had already decided to escape at all costs.

She followed Peyton down the winding corridor, the sound of their boots crunching against stone the only noise between them.

Peyton smiled, leading her through a small side passage Abigail hadn’t noticed before. It wound sharply and dipped slightly, cool air drifting from the arched exit ahead.

“This passage leads out to the woods,” Peyton explained. “Laird McKenna uses it during huntin’ parties, but I find it quieter than the front courtyard.”

Abigail gave a cautious smile. “It’s strange, I hadnae seen this path before.”

“There are many things in this castle ye have yet to see, I imagine,” Peyton replied with a knowing glance. “But ye’ve nae exactly been allowed to wander.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Abigail relented, watching the sunlight grow brighter as they neared the exit.

The two women stepped through the narrow gate of the outer wall and into the meadow beyond. Just beyond stood a copse of trees.

“It’s beautiful,” Abigail murmured.

“It is,” Peyton agreed, leading her to the trees. “I like to come here when I need to clear me head. Or pray.”

Abigail glanced sideways. “Ye pray often?”

Peyton nodded, her steps slow and thoughtful. “Each day, if I can. I help the minister in the village when I’m able. We tend the sick and teach the children how to write and read scripture, even memorize some verses. It’s honest work.”

“That sounds… peaceful,” Abigail noted after a pause.

“It is,” Peyton agreed, smiling softly. “Faith doesnae fix everything, but it can hold ye steady when the world’s draggin’ ye every which way.”

Abigail hesitated, then asked, “Do ye ever question it?”

Peyton stopped, considering. “Sometimes. But faith isnae about certainty. It’s about holdin’ on, even when things dinnae make sense.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sound the crunch of grass beneath their feet.

Abigail’s mind was spinning. Peyton seemed so gentle, so sure of herself. But deep down, Abigail held tight to caution. A maid she knew had once trusted a man who seemed gentle. He had turned cruel in the blink of an eye, and the maid had never truly been the same since.

Peyton must have sensed the shift in her mood.

“I ken it’s strange,” she said quietly. “Me bein’ so kind to ye, when ye dinnae really ken me.”

Abigail froze. “I?—”

“It’s all right,” Peyton assured her. “I can see it in yer eyes. Ye’re wary. As ye should be. This place, this life… It’s nae what ye expected.”

“Nay,” Abigail admitted. “It isnae. I was kidnapped, and now I’m bein’ used.”

Peyton turned to her, stopping beneath the shade of a tree. “Laird McKenna… he’s nae always easy to understand. But he’s nae as heartless as the whispers make him out to be.”

Abigail looked away. “He’s hard to understand.”

Peyton didn’t show surprise; she simply nodded. “Aye, I feel the same way.”

“And ye are family,” Abigail whispered.

Peyton’s expression softened. “There’s more to him than duty to his clan.”

Abigail’s gaze flicked across the open field, her heart pounding. This was her chance. If she could distract Peyton?—

“What do ye think of the village?” Peyton asked suddenly.

Abigail blinked. “I’ve barely seen it.”

“Would ye like to?”

“I… I’d like that.” Her voice caught in her throat.

“We can walk a bit further,” Peyton offered, already stepping ahead.

Abigail nodded, walking beside her, her fingers clenched tight in her skirt. Her pulse thrummed at her neck, but her eyes scanned the distance. If she broke into a run, she could reach the hill. Perhaps there was a path beyond it, a way to?—

Peyton turned around and caught her eye. “Ye dinnae have to run,” she said softly, as if reading her thoughts. “There’s nay lock on yer door. Nay guards chasin’ ye now. If ye wanted to go, ye could’ve left this mornin’.”

Abigail stared at her, stunned.

“I invited ye for a walk because I thought ye needed the air,” Peyton continued. “Nae because I was watchin’ ye.”

Abigail’s throat tightened. “Then why… why does it feel like I’m still trapped?”

“Because yer heart’s caught between wantin’ to flee and wantin’ to stay,” Peyton replied gently. “And that’s a harder prison than any stone wall.”

Abigail looked down at her hands. “I dinnae ken what I want anymore.”

Peyton stepped closer, her voice kind. “Then stay here in the meadow a while longer. Let the wind clear yer head. Ye dinnae have to decide today.”

Abigail nodded slowly, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

And for the first time in what felt like days, she breathed deeply, without that weight pressing on her chest.

“Come,” Peyton urged, patting a soft patch of grass beneath the wide-boughed tree. “Sit with me for a while, lass. The world willnae chase us here.”

Abigail nodded and lowered herself onto the earth, smoothing her skirts as the heather tickled her calves. She wrapped her arms around her knees, her gaze drifting to the horizon.

Peyton didn’t press her. She simply settled beside her, calm and patient.

It struck Abigail then how easily this woman could read her without a single word spoken. She could feel Peyton’s eyes on her from time to time, not judging, not questioning, just knowing.

She had always prided herself on hiding her emotions well, but here, in this strange land, with strangers who spoke with warmth yet acted with power, she felt utterly exposed.

And Kian… Kian made all of it worse.

Or better.

She didn’t know anymore.

He had taken her from her home, forced her into a scheme she had never asked to be part of. And yet his touch haunted her. His kiss lingered like a brand on her skin, and the look in his eye when he held her after the horse nearly trampled her…

There had been fear there. Real fear. For her.

“I’m going to fetch us some berries,” Peyton said suddenly, standing up and brushing down her skirts. “There’s a bush over there, ripe and sweet. I’ll be just a moment.”

Abigail nodded, watching her walk away through the tall grass.

Peyton bent over the bush, her soft humming drifting in the wind.

Realization dawned on Abigail like a hammer: Peyton’s back was turned. This was her chance.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

There were no guards. No stone walls. Nothing but open fields and the edge of the forest, a shadowy line in the distance. If she started running now, she might reach it before anyone noticed.

Her hands pressed into the grass. Her knees tensed, ready to spring. But she didn’t move.

She sat frozen, her breath caught in her chest. The wind tugged at her skirts, as if urging her to go, but she couldn’t.

Her feet were planted in the soil, her limbs heavy as stone.

Why? Why am I nae runnin’?

The answer came like a whisper in her bones, and it terrified her.

Because a part of me doesnae want to leave.

She blinked rapidly, shocked by the thought, trying to push it away, pretend it wasn’t true. But it was. As much as her mind screamed for freedom, her heart held her in place.

And Kian Wright—the damned beast he was—was the reason why.