Page 30 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY

“ S he said I was the reason he was weak,” Abigail murmured, her voice low, almost drowned by the breeze. “That I was the reason he’d die. And it haunts me, Amara. Nay matter how I try to shake it off.”

The garden paths were damp with morning dew, the stones glistening beneath her slippers as she walked alongside Amara. Her hands were clasped before her, her gaze fixed ahead, her mind adrift despite the peace and quiet in the garden.

Amara made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. “It sounds to me as though Peyton said a great many things, most of them cruel. Ye cannae let a bitter lass’s words get to ye.”

Abigail frowned. “But what if she’s right? What if lovin’ me makes him vulnerable?”

“Then I say, good for him,” Amara answered, her tone steady. “If love disarms him, it also gives him a reason to fight harder.”

They paused near a bench shaded by a willow tree, and she gestured for her to sit.

“A man’s nae weaker for carin’. He’s stronger for what he’s willing to protect.”

Abigail sank down onto the bench, the skirt of her gown brushing the edge of the stone.

“I never thought I’d love anyone like I love him,” she admitted softly. “But now, I keep wonderin’ if me love will cost him dearly.”

Amara sat beside her, not crowding her but close enough to offer comfort. “Abigail, ye arenae a burden. Ye’re a blessing.”

Abigail looked down at her hands, twisting a fold of fabric between her fingers. “It’s just… hard nae to question it all, after everything. The poison, the betrayal, nearly losing him. How can I nae wonder if this love is dangerous for him and he’s better off without me?”

Amara gave her a small smile, her voice warm with quiet strength. “Love always carries risk. But it’s also the only thing that makes survivin’ worth the pain.”

The gate creaked behind them, and they turned to see Freya walking toward them, her skirts brushing against the grass. She carried a basket of herbs, but her sharp gaze landed on Abigail.

“I heard what ye said,” she announced plainly. “And I’ll nae have it fester inside ye like rot.”

Abigail blinked, startled, as her sister sat down on the other side of the bench.

“Love makes ye vulnerable, aye, but it makes ye dangerous, too,” Freya continued, her tone fierce. “When two hearts beat for each other, they dinnae make each other weak. They make each other whole .”

Abigail’s breath caught, her sister’s words piercing her doubts like sunlight through mist.

“Ye think I’d let me sister marry a man if I thought she’d weaken him?” Freya arched an eyebrow. “Nay. I’ve watched him look at ye, Abigail. He’d burn down the whole world if it threatened ye, and ye’d do the same for him. That nae only makes ye strong as man and wife, but as leaders of a clan.”

Abigail let out a slow breath and looked toward the flowers again, letting the words sink in. “I care for him so much that it hurts. And maybe that’s what scares me.”

Freya took her hand and squeezed it tightly. “That hurt is the proof that it matters.”

Amara nodded in agreement, a smile still on her lips. “Ye’ll nae be his weakness in marriage, Abigail. Ye’ll be his rock.”

Abigail looked between the two of them, the knot in her chest loosening just a little. “Then I’ll learn to stop fearing it… and start embracing it.”

The breeze picked up again, rustling the leaves around them.

Abigail closed her eyes for a moment. She imagined Kian’s voice, his hands, his steady presence, and the storm within her began to quiet. She opened her eyes, her mind clearer now.

Love willnae be his downfall. It will be his strength.

Later that day, she led her sister and the others to the nearest village. Behind her rode Michael, Cody, and Amara.

“Thank ye for riding with me, Sister.” She glanced sideways at Freya.

“I think it was needed,” Freya said.

Abigail slowed her mount as they reached the first thatch-roofed hut. A girl peeked from the doorway, her face hollow, her eyes wide with a silent plea. Smoke did not curl up from most chimneys.

“I wanted ye to see it with yer own eyes,” Abigail continued, turning in the saddle to face Michael. “Nae just stories exchanged among councilmen. These folks are on the edge of starvation.”

Michael’s jaw tightened as he took in the scene. “I didnae think it was this bad.” His gaze landed on an old man limping toward a well with an empty bucket. “Nay one should live like this.”

Freya dismounted beside her, watching as a woman doled out scraps of barley bread to her children.

“God above,” she whispered, her hands clenched. “They’re rationin’ food like men in a siege.”

Amara moved forward. “There’s barely a harvest to speak of. How long have they lived like this, Abigail?”

“Since late summer,” Abigail replied. “They didnae complain right away. Shame, pride—ye ken how it goes. There was hope of late summer rain to salvage whatever they could, but it never came.”

Michael’s hand curled into a fist as he watched another family carry water from a cracked well. He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. “What made ye bring us down here, lass? Kian’s still mendin’, and ye’ve had yer hands full.”

“Because someone had to,” Abigail answered firmly. “They’ve been forgotten. And I needed ye to see it with yer own eyes, nae through scrolls or ledgers.”

Michael nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the lean faces around them. “I see it. Terrible thing, it is.”

A barefoot girl tugged at Abigail’s skirt, offering her a wilted flower with both hands. Abigail knelt, accepting it with a gentle smile. “Thank ye, sweet one.”

The girl beamed before scampering off to her home.

Abigail rose and turned back to Michael, the weight of her resolve settling in her chest. “They need more than bread and seed. They need hope—something that will last till the next planting season and harvest.”

Freya looked around the square, her voice trembling. “They’ve been sufferin’ in silence. But now we ken, and we cannae look away.”

“Nay,” Abigail agreed. “We cannae.”

“Lead us to the fields, then,” Michael said.

“This way.” Abigail mounted her horse, and the others followed her to the outskirts of the village.

She watched Michael’s face as he took it all in, his eyes narrowed, his lips tight with thinly veiled horror. Cody looked from one end of the withered field to the other, his jaw tense.

Michael swung down from his horse, landing with a grunt. He stepped forward, his boots crunching on brittle ground, and knelt to press his fingers into the soil. It broke apart like ash in his palm, slipping between his fingers.

“Saints, lass… It’s worse than I imagined.”

“I brought ye here so ye could understand,” Abigail said, sliding down from her own mount. Her voice trembled, but she kept it steady. “This is what Kian’s been facin’. This is why he took me.”

Freya dismounted quietly and took Amara’s hand, leading her to the edge of the field.

Amara turned her face away, blinking fast. Freya murmured something in a voice too low to hear, but the grief in her tone was plain. There were no birds in the air, no bees in the blooms, because there were no blooms.

Michael rose slowly, brushing his palms on his tunic. “But why now? Why’s the land like this when the clans up north still harvest?”

Abigail met his eyes, her heart heavy. “It didnae rain this year, Michael. For some reason, this area was spared. Our clans are well fed, but here… they’ve had naught but prayers and root vegetables for months.”

Michael turned, taking it all in with a haunted expression. Cody joined him, his mouth tight, his gaze flocking to the farthest hill, where a few desperate stalks tried to grow.

“I thought the tales were exaggerated,” he muttered. “But this… this is hunger.”

Abigail nodded. “Kian tried to trade with other clans. Sent letters. Sent offers. They turned him down. So he…” She hesitated, pressing her lips together. “He did what he thought was best—he abducted me. Hopin’ that bringin’ me here would force our clans’ hand to a trade.”

Michael flinched, his jaw working. “I’ll nae say I approve of what he did. It was rash. Dangerous.” He paused, glancing again at the dry fields. “But… if me own people were on the brink of starvation, I dinnae ken what I might do either.”

Cody exhaled slowly, his shoulders sagging as reality hit him. “Da… perhaps it’s time we discuss a trade deal, after all.”

“Aye,” Michael said, turning toward Abigail with soft eyes. “Clan McEwan will answer the call. Nae because of threats or schemes, but because we’ve seen what’s at stake. We cannae ignore this.”

Freya stepped forward, her eyes glassy with emotion. “I’ll write to Marissa,” she said, her voice thick. “She needs to ken what’s happenin’ down here. Clan Reid will do their part too, I’m certain of it.”

Abigail covered her mouth, her breath catching in her throat. Relief overwhelmed her, and she stumbled forward, wrapping her arms around Freya and Michael in turn.

“Thank ye,” she whispered. “Thank ye both. I didnae ken if anyone would listen.”

Amara joined them, slipping her hand into Cody’s as they stood beneath the blazing sky. The wind rustled the dead stalks, whispering like ghosts.

“We’ll send word to the granaries before dusk,” Amara said gently. “There’s nay time to waste.”

Abigail stepped back, her cheeks wet. “Ye’ll save them. They’ve suffered for so long, and they dinnae deserve this.”

“We’ll help,” Michael assured her. “We’ll start with flour, potatoes, and oats. And I’ll speak with Kian about long-term trade.”

Abigail smiled through her tears, reaching for her horse’s reins. “Let’s head back to the castle, then. There’s much to plan, and Kian will want to hear this.”

They mounted their horses quickly, a solemn sense of purpose settling over them. As they rode back, the wind picked up ever so slightly, a cool breeze brushing Abigail’s cheeks as if to signal that change was coming.

She looked at the horizon, hope blooming in her chest for the first time in days. The road ahead was long, but she would walk it gladly side by side with those who chose compassion over fear.

Freya rode beside her and touched her arm. “Ye did what Kian couldnae. Ye opened their eyes.”

“I only showed them what needed to be seen,” Abigail murmured. “But maybe now we have a chance to fill more than just empty bellies.”

Michael rode ahead with Cody, the two men deep in conversation. Abigail’s gaze drifted to the castle, where smoke curled up gently from the chimneys.

Kian would still be resting, his body recovering slowly from the poison. She thought of his face, pale but determined, and the pain in his eye when he’d told her he’d do anything to save his people.

He’d made a terrible choice, but it was out of love, not cruelty. And now, finally, someone else had seen that too.

Freya tilted her head, a warm smile playing on her lips.

“Ye’ve changed, Abby. I can see it plain as day. Ye’ve grown into someone strong, someone who can lead, nae just follow.”

Abigail’s cheeks flushed at the praise, and she looked down at the reins in her hands. “Thank ye, Freya. That means more than ye ken… I never thought I’d be makin’ decisions like these.”

“Aye, but ye have,” Freya said proudly. “Ye stood before us, nae as a frightened lass beggin’ to come home but as a woman demandin’ we see the truth. I am proud of ye.”

Abigail smiled, her heart swelling at the words. “I wanted ye to see it for yerself. This land… It’s strugglin’, aye, but the people never once pitied themselves. They keep goin’, day after day.”

Freya gave a thoughtful nod, her gaze drifting out across the fields.

“Do ye really want this to be yer home, Abby? If ye marry Kian, this land, these people, will be yers to serve and protect.”

Abigail inhaled deeply. “I do. It’s nae what I expected when I first arrived, but… it’s grown on me. The villages, the meadows, the loch. There’s beauty here, even in hardship.”

Freya glanced over at her. “And the castle? Nae feelin’ like a prison anymore?”

A soft chuckle escaped Abigail’s lips. “Nae at all. It feels like… a place where I’ve found purpose. Aye, it’s nae easy, but I feel needed here.”

Freya’s smile widened. “Then mayhaps this was where ye were always meant to be. Strange, how life has a way of takin’ us the long way around, eh?”

“Aye,” Abigail whispered, looking toward the castle rising in the distance. “But I’m glad it did.”

The wind lifted the hem of Freya’s cloak as she leaned closer. “Ye will be Lady McKenna. Is that a title ye truly want?”

Abigail’s throat tightened at the question. “I do. It came slowly, through the anger and misunderstandings, but now… I cannae imagine me life without Kian in it. I’m ready to assume that title.”

Freya nodded, her eyes misting slightly. “Then I’ll stand by ye. And I’ll write to Marissa, tell her what I saw with me own eyes. Clan McEwan willnae turn its back on this place, nor will Clan Reid, because our sister is the future Lady McKenna.”

Tears pricked Abigail’s eyes as she reached across and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Thank ye, Freya. For seein’ it. For believin’ in me.”

Freya gave her hand a gentle squeeze back. “Always, wee dove. Always.”

The castle gates came into view, the wind carrying the faint scent of heather and hearthfire.

Abigail inhaled the sweet, clean air. For once, she didn’t dread riding through the gates. For once, the path ahead felt like the start of something right.

It feels like home.