Page 35 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
A bigail woke up to a quiet stillness. She reached across the wide bed, her fingers finding only cold linen. She drifted off to sleep alone the night before.
Kian’s absence left a hole in her heart. Even though they had not been intimate, she had grown used to sleeping at his side since he was wounded, and since Peyton had been slain in her room.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then pushed herself up with a sigh. She dressed without a word, each motion slow and deliberate.
Her shift and gown felt heavier than usual, her hands colder. She did not stoke the fire or summon a maid.
A shout suddenly rose from the bailey, guards calling to open the gates. The sound of hooves thundered across the stones as riders entered under the morning mist.
Abigail moved to the window and caught the banner unfurling in the breeze—a stag and a sword.
“Clan Teyrn,” she murmured. Her breath hitched as the flag disappeared beneath the archway. “Whatever could they be sending riders for?”
She slipped out of her chambers and padded down the corridor. Her mind raced with unspoken fears, but her body moved with purpose. She reached the window overlooking the courtyard and paused.
Kian stood at the center of the square. The riders had dismounted and approached him with slow, deliberate steps. One, cloaked in white and bearing a scroll, stepped forward.
“Greetings, Laird McKenna. I bring a message from Laird Teyrn. He offers his daughter’s hand in marriage,” he announced. “In return, Clan McKenna shall receive fifty warriors and winter provisions as requested.”
Abigail pressed her hand to her chest as if that might keep her heart from tearing out of her chest. Her mouth had gone dry, her limbs numb. She clung to the windowsill, her eyes fixed on Kian’s unreadable face.
The messenger handed the scroll to him and continued, “All he asks is access to the southern trade routes through McKenna lands.”
Kian didn’t flinch. He stood as still as a stone carved in war. Then, with deliberate calm, he said, “I’ll give me answer by first light. Ye’re welcome to stay here. Rest and eat under our roof.”
The Teyrn riders nodded and were soon led inside by the guards. Still, Abigail could not move. Her fingers curled against the sill, and her throat burned. She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her.
Kian turned around, his gaze downcast. Then, he walked away with slow, heavy steps, disappearing into the keep.
Abigail remained where she was, the morning sun mocking the chill spreading through her chest.
The corridors seemed colder now, darker somehow. Just beyond the main hall, she ran into Marissa, who paused, concern crossing her face.
“Abigail? Ye look pale. Are ye feelin’ ill?”
“Nay, just a bit of a stomach ache,” Abigail replied quickly, averting her eyes. “Too much excitement of late, I suppose.”
Marissa didn’t look convinced. “Maybe ye should lie down.”
“Nay, I will be fine. I am going to the healer for a tincture,” Abigail said, forcing a small smile.
She turned and walked away before Marissa could ask more.
Of all people, she did not want to hear her sister gloat about being right about Kian. She did not want her sisters to know the offer he had just received. She could not bear their disappointment.
Reaching the healer’s chambers, she knocked softly before slipping inside.
Helena was bundling dried herbs. She turned around at once, her warm face breaking into a smile. “Ach, lass. Ye have the look of one who needs tea more than anything.”
Abigail managed a nod.
Helena pulled her in a gentle embrace before ushering her to a chair. Steam curled up as she poured the tea, the scent of mint and rosemary filling the air.
“Here ye are. This will soothe whatever ails ye.”
Abigail took the cup gratefully, though her hands trembled. “Helena… what do ye ken of Clan Teyrn?”
Helena raised an eyebrow. “They’re from the far north, colder lands than these. Laird Teyrn is rich beyond reckoning. Fishin’ rights, sea salt, ships… Some say he could feed half the Highlands with his stores alone. Being on the shoreline has its benefits.”
Abigail swallowed, her throat tight. “And his children?”
“Oh, aye. Six daughters, all said to be beautiful as the stars.” Helena chuckled softly. “Folks whisper that any laird who marries into that family would never want for food, coin, or weapons.”
Abigail set the cup down, her stomach roiling despite the warmth of the tea.
The very things Kian’s people needed—strength, food, security—were now laid before him on a silver platter. And all he had to do was marry.
She pressed a hand to her chest and nodded faintly. “Aye… I see.”
Helena gave her a look of quiet concern, but Abigail was grateful she didn’t pry.
Abigail closed her eyes, wishing for silence, for clarity. Instead, her thoughts swirled with the image of a beautiful, thin woman she’d never met, standing beside Kian in the Great Hall, wearing the McKenna crest as his bride.
Her heart clenched, but she said nothing more. She clutched the folds of her skirt tightly, her knuckles white, her heart twisted in a knot she couldn’t undo.
Of course, he must do what is best for his people .
The offer from Clan Teyrn was too good to reject: alliances, wealth beyond measure that would secure the clan’s future. Kian had a duty to his people, after all.
Abigail could never measure up to this offer.
Helena tilted her head. “Does something trouble ye, lass?”
Abigail forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Nay. I think… I’m going out for a walk. To clear me head.”
Helena didn’t press her, only nodded and wished her well.
Out in the corridor, Abigail spotted Isolde bustling past with a basket of linens.
“Isolde,” she called softly. “Would ye fetch me thick cloak from me chambers? I’m going out for a walk.”
Isolde blinked, then curtsied. “Aye, Me Lady,” she said, before turning on her heel and hurrying away.
Abigail waited alone, her arms folded, her thoughts churning like the wind outside.
Foolish girl. I have let meself believe in love, when all along, I’d only been a temporary comfort to a man bound to duty. I should never have let me heart hope.
Isolde returned and helped her fasten the woolen cloak around her shoulders. “Will ye be takin’ someone with ye?” she asked hesitantly.
“Nay. I need a moment to meself.”
Abigail touched her arm gently in thanks, then turned and slipped into the narrow side corridor.
She moved swiftly through the passageways used by the servants, her head down. The old gate creaked open under her hand, rust flaking onto her glove. She stepped out into the chilly air, drawing the hood over her hair.
The wind hit her at once, sharp and cold, but she welcomed it.
She walked fast, without knowing where she was going. She just needed to get away from the castle, from the whispers, from Kian’s face, and from her sisters, who would know something was wrong. Her boots sank into the soft earth as she walked and walked.
She did not know how long she had walked before her ankle turned sharply on a hidden stone. She cried out as her body pitched forward. She hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of her. Mud smeared across her palms and knees.
She sat up slowly, pain splintering across her ankle like fire. Gritting her teeth, she tried to stand up, but her foot gave way beneath her. A sob escaped before she could catch it.
She was alone, injured, far from the castle, which was now hidden behind the ridges.
She dragged herself forward a few paces, wincing.
“Kian.” The name tumbled past her lips before she could stop it. “Kian…”
Her voice cracked, and for a moment, she hated herself for calling out his name. Her heart ached so deeply that she could hardly breathe. Her fingers curled into the grass as tears pricked her eyes.
“Please,” she whispered. “Dinnae marry her. Dinnae leave me.”
But the wind carried her words away, and no one answered.
Her limbs trembled with exhaustion and cold. The tea had long since worn off, and she hadn’t eaten. Her cloak no longer warmed her.
She crawled beneath a gorse bush and curled into herself, trying to stay awake.
She thought of Kian’s arms around her, his voice low and rough, saying her name like it meant something. She had given him everything—her trust, her heart, her soul.
And now he would marry another.