Page 23 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

“ K ian,” Abigail sobbed.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, burning hot trails against the chill in the air. Kian was bleeding. She saw the dark stain spreading fast beneath his shirt, saw him sway for half a second before he straightened with a growl.

Peyton’s words echoed in her mind, cold and sharp.

“She’s the reason ye’re weak, and she’s the reason ye’ll die.”

Her. Abigail. She was the weakness Peyton spoke of, the chink in his armor. And now, he might die for it, because he cared for her. Because he’d come for her.

Her heart twisted in her chest, thudding like a drum of guilt and longing as she watched Kian square off against the bandits.

One charged, his blade raised high, but Kian pivoted quickly despite his wound. The man’s weapon sliced through the air.

With a roar, Kian brought his sword down on the man’s shoulder, sending him to the ground.

“Get him, ye cowards!” Peyton shouted.

“Leave him alone, Peyton!” Abigail begged.

Peyton narrowed her eyes at her.

It was what Abigail wanted—to lure her to her side—because she did not want her to stab Kian again.

Peyton marched toward her, but Abigail’s eyes were fixed on the fight.

Another bandit came at Kian from behind, but he turned in time, slashing low and fast.

His injury slowed him. Abigail could see it in his stance, in the way his knees buckled ever so slightly when he shifted. Yet he moved determinedly, every swing of his sword swift and precise.

“Och, ye will die!” one of the bandits shouted.

He swung his dirk, but Kian blocked it, catching the man’s wrist and twisting it until the weapon clattered to the ground. He drove his elbow into the man’s throat, then kicked him back with a snarl.

Abigail looked at Peyton, who now stood nearby, tearing a strip of fabric from the hem of her skirt. Then, she wrapped it around Abigail’s mouth and tied it.

“There, that will shut ye up,” she hissed.

A third man charged at Kian while he was just turning around, hitting his injured side.

Abigail gasped when he stumbled, his body curling inward.

But he didn’t fall. He spun with brute force and drove his sword into the man’s chest. Blood spurted into the air before the bandit collapsed with a gurgling cry.

The last one hesitated, looking at the fallen bodies of his comrades.

“Do it, ye coward!” Peyton barked.

The man gritted his teeth and swung wildly at Kian’s head.

Kian ducked, then surged up with a powerful thrust of his blade straight through the man’s gut. The bandit choked, his eyes wide, and fell to his knees before toppling over.

Silence fell over the clearing, punctuated by Kian’s ragged breathing. He staggered, pressing a hand to his side, where blood flowed freely. Peyton stood unmoved, her lips curled in disgust.

Abigail could see her clearly now, the glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

“Kian,” she tried to moan through the gag.

He lifted his gaze to her, his chest heaving, blood dripping from his sword.

Peyton clicked her tongue. “Touching, truly. Look at ye, bleedin’ like a gutted pig and still makin’ eyes at her.”

“Ye’ve lost, Peyton,” Kian growled, steadying himself. “Even if I fall, ye’ll never have the lairdship. Ye’ll never lead the clan.”

“Because of her?” Peyton scoffed, pointing a finger at Abigail. “She’s cost ye everything.”

Abigail’s heart clenched as Peyton’s harsh gaze landed on her. Her hands shook, useless and cold, but her eyes locked onto Kian’s, and something fierce burned there—an unspoken vow, defiance even in pain.

“I’d lose it all over again for her,” Kian declared, his voice full of conviction. “Because ye dinnae understand what it means to care for anyone but yerself, Peyton. That’s why ye’ll always lose.”

Peyton sneered, but her eyes flickered. Just for a breath, doubt crept in. Abigail saw it.

Peyton stalked toward Kian, lifting her chin defiantly. “Shut yer mouth,” she hissed.

“Ye’ve let bitterness blind ye. I’ve bled for me people, fought for them. Ye only ever fought for yerself,” Kian spat.

“Ye ken nothin’,” Peyton snapped.

“I ken what it means to love the clan more than meself,” Kian shot back. “That’s more power than ye’ll ever have.”

“Stop it! Stop it!” Peyton shouted hysterically.

Abigail watched, her heart clenching in her chest as Peyton charged toward Kian with wild fury.

Her hands trembled against the ropes that bound them, trying to get free, her breath caught in her throat.

Kian, bloodied and barely standing, twisted at the last moment. With the hilt of his sword, he struck Peyton on the head, and she dropped like a stone.

Abigail gasped, her eyes wide.

The silence that followed echoed louder than the clash of steel. Kian stumbled toward her, his steps uneven, one hand pressed hard to his side. His sword clattered to the ground as he knelt beside her, cutting her bonds with his blade.

She felt the ropes loosen, and then his hand brushed hers.

“There ye go, bunny,” he rasped, the pain thick in every word.

“Kian…” Abigail started, turning to him, but he swayed.

He collapsed into her arms with a groan, his head slumping against her shoulder. Blood soaked the fabric of his shirt, warm and frightening.

Abigail lowered him onto the grass, cradling his head in her lap as tears slid down her cheeks.

“Ye came for me,” she whispered.

“I always would,” he said, cracking a smile. “But… I think this might be the end, Abigail.”

“Nay,” she breathed, shaking her head fiercely. “Dinnae say that.”

“Ye must go back,” he whispered. “There may be more bandits… I cannae protect ye now. Leave me be.”

“I willnae,” she said firmly, brushing the hair from his forehead.

“Lass…” He coughed, blood flying from the corners of his lips. “Ye’re stubborn.”

“Aye,” she sniffled. “And ye’ll just have to live with that.”

“I am yer Laird,” he rasped, lifting his head with fading strength. “And I demand ye get to safety. I am dying.”

“Then I’ll be stubborn and disobedient,” she snapped. “I’ll nae leave ye here.”

She hurried to his horse and grabbed the reins with shaking hands. “Ye saved me. Now, let me do the same for ye. We need to get ye on the horse and back to the castle.”

But when she turned back, his eye was closed.

“Kian?” she called, rushing back to him. “Kian!”

His body was limp, his chest rising with shallow, uneven breaths.

“Nay, nay, nay!” she cried.

She dropped to her knees, trying to lift him with all her strength, but he was too heavy, too still. Panic surged through her, and she ripped at her skirts, tearing a wide strip from the hem.

With trembling fingers, she pressed it hard against his wound and wrapped it around his waist, tying it tight.

“Stay with me,” she whispered brokenly. “Please, just stay.”

Her breath hitched, but the panic that had clawed at her chest moments ago slowly dulled into a strange calm.

There was no time to fall apart. She tore her gaze away from him and turned to Peyton, who lay unconscious.

With shaking fingers, she grabbed the ropes that had once bound her wrists and knelt beside Peyton.

“Ye’re nae takin’ him from me,” she whispered fiercely, knotting the ropes tight around the woman’s hands and ankles and tying her to a fallen log.

Peyton groaned faintly but did not stir.

Abigail tightened the last knot with a final tug, her jaw clenched. Then, she stumbled to her feet and rushed to Kian’s horse, whispering soothing words.

“Come now, we dinnae have time,” she muttered, guiding the beast toward Kian.

With a grunt, she bent to lift him, but he was still too heavy.

“Please,” she choked out, more tears spilling over, “dinnae leave me now.”

After several failed attempts, she couldn’t heave him up to get him in the saddle. He groaned faintly, but his head lolled forward.

“Kian… ye have to hold on,” she pleaded, brushing bloodied hair from his brow.

His face was pale, the faint rise and fall of his chest barely visible, and her heart felt as though it would break in two. She pressed her lips to his forehead, then forced herself to rise.

“I’ll return with help, I promise. But ye must hold on. Ye must fight.”

She hoisted herself into the saddle with effort and steered the horse toward the dense woods. Her skirt tangled around her legs, the blood on her hands sticky, but she gritted her teeth and spurred the beast forward. Behind her, the trees closed in, Kian lying alone on the ground.

Tears blurred her vision as the wind lashed her face.

“Ye cannae die,” she whispered hoarsely. “I’ll nae let ye.”

The thought of losing him—her fierce, infuriating, selfless Laird—knocked the breath from her chest.

“He cannae leave me,” she cried, her voice breaking. “I’d rather die than live without him.”

The trees thinned, the familiar outline of the castle walls rising in the distance like salvation. Abigail urged the horse faster, the thudding hooves pounding in rhythm with her heartbeat.

She flew through the gates and into the courtyard, her voice already rising.

“Help! Ring the bell!” she screamed, her eyes wild. “The Laird’s been injured! Hurry!”

The bell rang out seconds later, loud and jarring, and guards poured into the courtyard.

Helena burst through the main doors, Leighton hot on her heels, their expressions stunned at the sight of Abigail’s blood-stained gown.

“Abigail!” she shouted, rushing forward. “Are ye hurt? Where’s the wound?”

Abigail shook her head, choking back a sob. “It’s nae mine. It’s Kian’s. He’s in the woods—Peyton ambushed us with bandits. He’s hurt badly, Helena. He needs ye.”

“I’ll get me bag,” Helena said, spinning around and vanishing back into the keep.

Leighton gripped Abigail’s arm. “Where is he?”

“North of the stream, just past the big elm where the old fence ends,” she sobbed. “He’s lyin’ there, bleedin’.”

“I’ll ready the horses.” He turned on his heel and barked at the nearest guards, “Ten of ye, with me! Bring the cart. Now!”

The courtyard exploded into motion as guards mounted their horses and checked their weapons.

Abigail stood in the center of it all, her body frozen but her mind racing.

She felt like she was suspended between life and death, torn between the last place she’d seen Kian breathing and the overwhelming fear that he might not be by the time they returned.

She clutched the pommel, her knuckles white. “Please,” she whispered into the air. “Let us be on time.”

Helena returned with her bag and mounted one of the waiting horses.

Leighton gave Abigail a reassuring nod before she led the rescue party through the gates.