Page 31 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“ Y e should rest,” Leighton muttered. “Ye’re still healing, and the wound hasnae closed.”

Kian gritted his teeth as he leaned on Leighton’s arm, his feet dragging slightly along the corridor. Pain lanced through his side where the stitches held tight, but he pressed forward, his jaw clenched. The torchlight danced across the walls, casting long shadows over his hardened face.

“We dinnae have time,” he growled. “They’re already whisperin’. I’ll nae give ‘em more reason to doubt me.”

They reached the heavy oak doors of the council chamber, and Leighton pushed them open.

The air inside stilled. Seven councilmen stood at the long table, their conversation hushing as Kian entered. His presence struck like a blade across glass.

Paul, the oldest among them, stepped forward with a respectful bow of his head. “Me Laird. ‘Tis good to see ye up again.”

Kian did not return the bow. He stood tall despite the pain, his gaze sweeping across the gathered men. “I hear there’s been talk.”

“Only concerns,” Paul said, keeping his tone light. “Ye were wounded, by a woman. It’s nay small thing for a laird to fall so easily. Some wonder if yer judgment has been clouded.”

Kian’s eyes narrowed. “Are ye questionin’ me strength, Paul?”

“Nae directly,” Paul replied. “But the men are uneasy. Clan McEwan and Clan Reid havenae sent any aid, though ye risked much to bring them to the table. The crops dinnae grow, and the stores are low. The folks are askin’ what’s the next plan.”

Kian stepped forward, the movement pulling at his stitches. His voice came low and sharp. “So ye doubt me.”

“We need assurance. The council only seeks?—”

Ye think bleedin’ makes me weak? I bled for this clan. I nearly died for it. And if any man in this chamber thinks he can do better, then rise now and take the mantle, though ken that I willnae give it up without a fight.”

Silence fell like a hammer. No man moved.

Leighton stayed by the door, silent, but the fire in his eyes mirrored Kian’s.

Kian glared at them all. “I stared death in the face and didnae blink. A blade in me gut didnae stop me then, and it’ll nae stop me now. D’ye truly believe feedin’ this clan is a burden I bear lightly?”

Paul hesitated, then cleared his throat. “We meant nay offense, Me Laird. But desperation led to rash action. Abductin’ a woman hasnae secured the trade deal ye?—”

“I did what I had to do. I begged for talks. I sent envoys, I offered fair trade deals. They slammed the door in me face! So aye, I took a gamble.”

Another councilman, Malcolm, stepped forward. “Still, there are whispers. Folks say that the lass has softened ye.”

Kian’s lips curled into a snarl. “Abigail’s nae a weakness.”

The men shifted, unsure.

Paul folded his hands in front of him, a bit less sure of himself now. “We didnae ken the whole of it.”

Kian took a breath, quelling the anger that surged like a storm. “Then let me make it plain. We either stand together, or we fall apart. I’ll nae have me councilmen wringin’ their hands like old wives.”

Paul bowed his head. “Aye, Me Laird. Ye’ve spoken plainly.”

Kian turned to the rest. “Any other man want to question me? Speak now.”

No one answered.

They sat down slowly, their heads bowed and their mouths shut. Even Malcolm, who had dared to challenge him, did not meet his eyes again.

Leighton stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Kian’s shoulder. “Ye said what needed to be said.”

Kian nodded, his breathing ragged. The pain in his side flared again, but he ignored it. “They needed to be reminded who leads.” He turned back to the table. “Send word to the fields. We’ll prepare the land for new seed once the trade comes. Abigail paved the way. I’ll nae waste the chance.”

Paul raised his eyes to his. “And what of Clan McEwan and Clan Reid?”

Kian turned his head to the doors as they groaned open. He narrowed his eye as Abigail stepped in, flanked by her family.

His side throbbed from standing for so long, but he straightened as much as his wound allowed. He met Abigail’s eyes, steady and calm.

“Forgive the interruption,” she said, her voice clear and strong.

“I’ve brought visitors who dinnae wish to wait for the ceremony.

This is me sister, Lady McEwan, and her husband, Laird McEwan.

” She turned slightly toward the councilmen.

“Laird McEwan has something important to say to ye all, if ye will give him the floor.”

Kian’s gaze flicked to the tall man beside her, broad-shouldered, his expression stern but not unfriendly. “Ye have the floor, Laird McEwan.”

Michael stepped forward, nodding once to the councilmen, then to Kian. He looked every inch a Highland laird, from the proud tilt of his chin to the brooch on his plaid.

“I’ll nae pretend I came here with ease in me heart,” he began, his voice gravelly.

“When I first learned that Laird McKenna had taken me wife’s sister, I came ready to fight him.

Ready to bleed him dry if I must. But then I heard from Abigail herself and how it’s nae what we thought it was.

Today, I saw the state of the fields with me own eyes. ”

He paused, sweeping his gaze across the room.

The councilmen, who moments ago doubted Kian, now leaned in, listening.

“I went to the nearby village. Saw the fields. Spoke to folk. And I realized that Laird McKenna did what he did nae out of cruelty, but out of desperation. Out of loyalty.”

Kian felt the tension in the room begin to shift. He met Michael’s eyes and gave the faintest nod.

Michael nodded back. “He risked war, risked himself, risked even Abigail’s wrath…” He gave a crooked smile at that. “… to give this clan a chance. And though I came here ready for battle, I cannae fault a man who stands up for his people.”

He glanced at Abigail before turning back to the councilmen. “So I offer this—we sit and talk. Trade terms, fair and honest. And I’ll send word to Laird Reid meself. Let all three clans see each other through the winter.”

A beat passed. Then, Kian slowly stepped forward, the pain in his side flaring. He lifted his hand and extended it toward Michael.

“Ye honor me, Laird McEwan,” he said, voice hoarse but firm. “This talk is welcomed with gratitude. I believe we’ll come to an agreement that benefits us all.”

Michael took his hand and shook it firmly. The tension in the room dissipated with the gesture.

Paul rose, his long robes brushing the stone floor. “We are grateful, indeed,” he said, nodding once. “And relieved, I dare say. A wise decision, Laird McEwan.”

The murmurs that followed from the rest of the councilmen were no longer tinged with doubt. Some even smiled. Relief swept over them like the first thaw of spring.

Kian let out a breath and glanced at Abigail, whose gaze met his like a steady flame. His reckless plan had worked, after all. Not because of brute strength or cunning, but because she had stood by him. Because she had believed in him when others had not.

And now, with the trade agreement in motion, his people would survive winter.

He, too, would survive. With her.

He stepped forward, the ache in his side sharp but bearable, and extended his hand toward Abigail. She hesitated for only a moment before placing hers in it, her fingers warm and steady.

He gave her hand a squeeze, brief but full of meaning. His gaze, still dark with pain and exertion, softened as it met hers.

“Thank ye, lass,” he said, his voice rough. “Ye’ve done more for this clan than any of these gray-haired bastards ever did.”

Abigail narrowed her eyes at him and swatted at his hand. “Aye, and ye’ll be nay good if ye drop dead in the council chamber, ye stubborn oaf.”

He chuckled, the sound catching painfully in his throat. “Helena will take out her anger on me, nay doubt,” he muttered, pressing his other hand to his side. “But a laird’s duties never end; I’ll nae sit idle while winter creeps in.”

Abigail rolled her eyes and looped her arm through his. “Well then, Laird Stubborn, ye’re coming with me. To the healer’s chambers, so Helena can see to ye properly.”

They exited the council chamber slowly, Kian leaning slightly on her. His steps were heavy, but his pride was lighter than it had been in days.

The councilmen’s murmurs had shifted from doubt to respect; he had seen it in their eyes. And he owed it all to the woman at his side.

“I’ll nae sit among tinctures and poultices like some feeble bairn,” he grumbled as they rounded a corner. “Me bedchamber will do fine.”

Abigail scoffed beside him. “Och, men. Always convinced that their pillows have healing powers. Ye’ll be lucky if Helena doesnae wallop ye with one when she hears ye refused to go back to her rooms.”

They stepped into the next hall just as Isolde emerged from the shadows with a pile of linens in her arms.

Abigail gave her a firm nod. “Isolde, send Helena to the Laird’s bedchamber,” she ordered. “Tell her he refuses to go anywhere else, so she’ll have to deal with his foolishness there.”

Isolde bobbed a curtsy and hurried off without question, her slippers nearly silent on the stone floor.

Kian let out a long, uneven breath. The pain in his side was sharp, but it no longer incapacitated him. With Abigail’s arm still looped through his, he felt steadier than he had in days.

They made it to his bedchamber, the door creaking softly as she pushed it open.

Abigail eased him onto the edge of the bed, her hand never leaving his arm. Kian watched her, basking in her strength, her fire, the quiet way she steadied him without asking.

“Ye’re a stubborn woman,” he noted, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“And ye’re a fool,” she replied, lifting an eyebrow. “But if I let fools die of their own pride, there’ll be nay men left in Scotland.”

He laughed, but the motion pulled the stitches and made him wince. Abigail’s eyes narrowed in concern, and her hand went to his side as if she could take the pain away.

“Dinnae make me regret this,” she muttered.

“Never,” he said, holding her gaze. “Abigail… I never thought ye’d stand with me like ye did today. I ken what it cost ye to take yer family out there and risk their judgment.”

She shook her head, tucking a curl behind her ear. “It costs less than doing nothing. And I’ve seen yer fields, yer people. I’ve seen why ye did what ye did. They needed to see it, too. ‘Tis the only way they will forgive ye, the way I have forgiven ye.”

There was silence for a moment, filled only by the crackling of the fire and the echo of footsteps in the hall.

Kian reached for her hand again, needing the contact, the assurance. She didn’t pull away.

“I never wanted to be the villain,” he said softly. “I just wanted to feed me clan. I regret ever putting fear in yer heart. Never again will I be the cause of that. Having yer forgiveness is everything.”

“Nay, dinnae regret it,” she replied. “Thanks to this… ridiculous scheme of yers, yer people will be fed. It brought us together. I dinnae regret a moment of it.”

He gave a tired grin. “Aye, seems abductin’ ye turned out to be the most brilliant decision I’ve ever made.”

She rolled her eyes, though a smile played on her lips. “Let’s see what Helena says when she hears that. Ye might find yourself stitched up again after she’s done with ye.”

The door opened then, and Helena walked in, already muttering under her breath about hard-headed lairds and disobedient patients.

Kian watched as Abigail stepped aside to let her approach, but she remained nearby. He didn’t take his eyes off her as Helena began to work.

Whatever battles lay ahead—cold, hunger, or unrest—he knew he would face them not as a wounded man, but as a laird made whole by the fire of the woman who now stood beside him.

Let it be known that anyone who tries to take her from me will face death.