Page 4 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)
CHAPTER FOUR
A bigail sat stiff as a board, her back ramrod straight and her arms tight, careful not to lean into her captor’s chest. Every time the horse shifted beneath them, she gritted her teeth and adjusted her weight to avoid contact.
She would not give in to the allure of comfort, not after what he’d done to her. The warmth of his breath against her ear made her stomach churn.
I cannae believe this is happenin’ to me.
Her sisters, Marissa and Freya, would be pacing the floors, wondering where she was—probably thinking she’d had an accident or was delayed by the weather. The image of their worried faces made her chest ache.
I should’ve never left alone.
She glanced around and realized with growing dread that the landscape was unfamiliar. These weren’t the well-worn paths on McEwan lands. The trees were denser here, the hills steeper, and there was no sign of farmland or villages.
How far does this brute plan to take me?
“Me clan will find ye,” she hissed suddenly. “And when they do, they’ll have yer head hanged above the gates of McEwan Castle.”
Her captor growled behind her. “I’m countin’ on it, lass. Let them come.”
She twisted to glare at him over her shoulder. “Ye’re sick,” she spat. “Truly deranged if ye think this is some grand plan instead of plain madness.”
“Oh, lass,” he murmured, a smirk in his voice, “ye’ve nay idea how mad I can be.”
Abigail let out a frustrated breath and pulled at the reins despite her bound hands. “I am nae some pawn in yer war games. I am Lady Abigail of Clan McEwan, and I demand that ye turn this horse around!”
“Demand all ye like,” the brute drawled. “Ye’re nae on McEwan lands anymore, and yer name means nothin’ out here.”
Her cheeks flushed as she stared straight ahead, furious at his smugness, furious at herself for being afraid. “Ye think this will end well for ye? That I’ll just sit quietly while ye drag me into whatever madness ye’re plannin’?”
“I expect ye’ll kick and bite and scream, aye,” he said coolly. “But in the end, ye’ll do exactly as I say.”
“I’d rather die than submit to the likes of ye!” she shouted, twisting again to face him fully.
His eye narrowed, his lips quirking up just slightly. “We’ll see about that, bunny.”
Abigail turned forward again, her whole body trembling. Not from fear this time, but rage.
Rage bubbled up so fiercely in her chest that she felt like it might burst through her ribs. She clenched her jaw so hard it hurt—anything to keep herself from screaming again.
If this beast wanted a fight, he was damn well going to get one.
How dare he steal me away like a sack of grain, like I dinnae have free will?
Every word he’d spoken echoed through her, and every smug grin he gave made her skin crawl.
She spotted it then—a thick patch of mossy grass just ahead, soft and sloped and edged with thick clover. Her eyes narrowed, her breath catching in her throat.
Now. It’s now or never.
She braced herself, twisting her body to the side, and launched herself from the horse with all her strength.
She hit the ground hard, rolling over the moss and tumbling down a small slope before landing with a grunt a ways from the road. Pain flared in her hip and shoulder, but she didn’t stop.
She scrambled to her feet, hiked up her skirts, and bolted toward the denser woods beyond. Behind her, she heard the thundering hooves pull to a halt and her captor’s voice barking sharp orders.
“Leighton! Circle around! She’s headin’ for the pines!”
Abigail didn’t look back. Fear seized her tighter than any rope, her lungs burning as branches whipped at her face.
The trees closed in on her, the light dimming beneath the thick foliage.
A low limb scratched her arm, drawing blood, but she pushed past it with a gasp, her heart pounding in her ears.
I must find cover—anything. A cave, a hole, or rocks to hide behind!
The forest blurred past her as she ran, and soon her legs grew heavy and achy with exhaustion. She stumbled over a root, caught herself, and kept running, her hair tangled and wild behind her. Panic coursed through her veins like lightning, and still she ran.
The heavy footsteps behind her grew closer.
He’s huntin’ me. Like a wolf after its prey.
She darted left, ducking beneath an inclined tree trunk and skidding down a bank covered in leaves. Mud caked her shoes, and bark scratched her palms, but she pressed on, deeper and deeper into the forest.
Please, let there be somewhere to hide… somewhere to breathe!
Her eyes scanned the trees. Then, she heard it—branches snapping behind her, the sound of someone crashing through the woods.
“Abigail!” her captor roared, the fury in his voice unmistakable. “Ye’ll nae get far, lass!”
Terror and surprise surged through her, raw and wild.
How does he ken me name?
She couldn’t let him catch her. She wouldn’t. Not after the way he looked at her, like she was already his.
Her legs ached, every step slower than the last, but she didn’t stop—until a heavy arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her off her feet. She let out a strangled scream as she was hung upside down, her feet kicking in the air.
“Put me down!” she shouted, pounding her fists against his back.
In response, he adjusted her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.
Her tangled hair hung upside down, bouncing with each step he took. The ground spun beneath her, yet she couldn’t help but be surprised.
He shouldnae be able to lift me like this. I’m thick and far heavier than some dainty lass.
But the brute carried her as if she were a mere sack of oats.
Back at the horse, he lowered her roughly into the saddle and grabbed a length of rope.
“Look what ye’re makin’ me do,” he muttered, binding her hands tightly to the horn. His tone wasn’t angry so much as irritated, like she’d inconvenienced him.
“I’m makin’ ye do nothin’!” she huffed, glaring at him. “Ye are at fault for this! Let me go! I demand it!”
He muttered under his breath as he mounted behind her once more. “Demand all ye want, bunny. Ye’ve got fire, I’ll give ye that. Never seen a woman throw herself off a gallopin’ horse before.”
“I’d rather die than be dragged to yer cursed castle like a prized pig,” she snapped, tugging uselessly at her bonds. “Ye’ll regret this, Kian Wright.”
He grunted, clearly unmoved, and nudged the horse forward.
The forest began to thin, the trees giving way to rolling hills and distant mountains.
Abigail kept her chin up, refusing to look at him, even as her heart pounded with fury and helplessness. Leighton circled around and waited for them on the narrow path.
But soon, the trees parted, and there it was.
Castle McKenna rose from the hills like something out of a fairytale, its stone walls kissed by climbing ivy and the soft glow of early evening. Tall turrets framed the skyline, and a great loch shimmered just beyond the gates.
For a moment, Abigail forgot her fury, stunned by the sheer beauty of it all.
How can such a place belong to monsters? It looks like it should belong in a fairytale, nae to a laird who steals women and calls them his bunnies.
“Open up,” Kian commanded, his voice bouncing off the thick wooden gates.
Without hesitation, the guards obeyed, pulling the massive doors open to let them through.
Abigail sat rigid in the saddle, her bound wrists still aching, her heart still racing from her failed escape. As they rode into the courtyard, she could feel every eye on her. Her cheeks burned with shame.
The horse slowed down as they reached the stables, gravel and hay crunching beneath its hooves. Kian dismounted with practiced ease, his boots landing heavily on the ground.
Before Abigail could even think of resisting, he reached up and plucked her off the saddle as though she weighed nothing. The motion left her breathless, not from fear but from the heat it stirred in her chest.
“Get yer hands off me,” she hissed, yanking her arms away the moment her feet touched the ground.
Her glare was sharp as a blade, but he only smirked in response. That infuriating look tugged at the corners of his mouth, far too confident.
“Keep fightin’, lass. I enjoy a good battle,” he growled low in her ear.
Abigail flushed despite herself, heat rising to her cheeks at the edge of his voice.
And that was when she saw him— truly saw him—for the first time.
His brown hair was tousled, wild from the ride, and his stubble shadowed a sharp jaw.
Muscles rippled beneath his tunic with every slight movement, and though the black eyepatch covered his left eye, the other gleamed with a feral intensity.
He looked like he was carved from earth and fire—dangerous, raw, and maddeningly alive.
Her chest tightened with something she didn’t want to name. There was rage, yes, but something else simmered beneath it.
How dare he look like that after what he’s done?
Her fists clenched. Behind them, Leighton led his horse into the stables, wordless and efficient. He tossed her a glance—part curious, part cautious—but said nothing as he busied himself with the reins.
The sounds of hooves, clinking tack, and shifting hay filled the air, grounding her in this strange new place. The keep loomed above them, all towering stone and ancient shadow.
Abigail swallowed hard. She was inside now; there would be no escaping this time.
She gritted her teeth as Kian led his horse into the stables. The air in there smelled of straw and sweat, and she could hear Leighton moving about behind them.
“Ye’ve nay right to treat me like this. I demand to ken why ye have set yer sights on me of all people,” she snapped.
Kian turned to her with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused by her fury.
“Keep flappin’ that tongue, lass,” he warned, stepping closer, “and I’ll put ye to work muckin’ the stables with the rest of the lads.
” His voice was low and smug, and the smirk on his lips only stoked the fire in her chest. “Might be good for ye. Humble ye a bit.”
She stepped forward until she was nearly nose to chest with him. “I’d rather shovel dung with the horses than spend another moment in yer company,” she hissed, her eyes locked onto his. “They’ve got more manners than ye ever will, Laird or nae.”
Kian let out a low growl, and then, in one sudden motion, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
Abigail gasped as he pulled her flush against him, the heat of his body seeping through her bodice.
“Careful now,” he said. “If ye dinnae shut that pretty mouth, I’ll be forced to shut it for ye—with a kiss.”
Her breath caught instantly, her cheeks flaming as her whole body froze. Her heart thudded against her ribs, hard and fast. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe, her eyes wide.
Kian tilted his head, satisfied with her sudden silence. “Aye,” he said with a crooked smirk. “I thought so.”
Still holding her close, he turned and began walking toward the courtyard.
The courtyard was wide and lined with cobblestones, and the castle’s imposing facade rose before them.
Torches flickered along the stone walls, though the sun hadn’t yet fully set. Abigail walked beside him, stunned into silence—not by fear, but by the sheer gall of him.
“Ye’ll pay for this,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the sharpness of earlier.
Kian hummed under his breath. “I look forward to it, bunny.”