Page 40 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander (The Highland’s Lawson Sisters #3)
FOUR YEARS LATER
“ Y e’re chasin’ a wild one today, Me Laird,” Abigail called out, amusement lacing her voice as she watched Kian chase their daughter, Heather.
The soft breeze rustled the tall grass and scattered the scent of wildflowers across the meadow.
Abigail sat on a stone bench near the edge of the garden, her needle moving steadily through pale blue cloth. Birds chirped in the trees overhead, and sheep grazed beyond the low fence, their soft bleats blending with the hum of the spring morning.
Heather squealed with delight, her curls bouncing as she darted between daffodils and foxgloves.
Kian caught her with ease, throwing her up into the air and spinning her around, her giggles ringing like bells.
Abigail’s heart swelled as she paused her stitching and watched them.
Heather threw her arms in the air triumphantly as Kian lowered her onto his shoulders. “Ma, I’m a giant now!” she squealed.
Kian turned slightly to glance at Abigail, his smile wide and boyish.
He held Heather steady with one hand and used the other to point to the distance. “See that rise just beyond the glen? That’s where I saved yer maither from the cold before we got married.”
Heather gasped in delight, then leaned down and whispered something into his ear.
Kian laughed and turned toward Abigail. “She says she’s goin’ to do the same when she’s a grown lady.”
Abigail stood up and crossed the small patch of grass toward them, her skirts brushing the blooms. She reached for Kian’s hand and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then to Heather’s small foot.
“Aye, well, she’ll nae do it because she will have far more sense than I ever had,” she said fondly.
Kian bent and kissed her lips, a quiet press filled with love and warmth.
They stood for a moment like that, a family wrapped in morning light and birdsong, the years unfolding gently behind them.
Heather leaned over and pressed her cheek to her father’s head. “Da, I love it here,” she murmured.
Kian’s throat worked as he met Abigail’s eyes. “So do I, lass,” he said thickly. “It’s more than I ever dared ask for.”
Abigail looked over the fields. They were green and whole, with no sign of the dry, cracked earth they had once feared. The streams flowed steadily, the soil was rich with promise, and the people no longer spoke of hunger.
Abigail took Kian’s hand again and leaned her head against his chest. “It’s a good life, Kian.”
“Aye,” he said, closing his eye. “It’s the only life I’ve ever wanted, with both of ye in it.”
“Just both of us? Nay room for anyone else?” she asked, placing her hand on her belly.
Kian furrowed his brow, then a smile spread across his lips. “Ye dinnae mean…”
“Aye, I am with child,” she confirmed.
Kian planted a tender kiss on her lips. “I have all the room in the world for a bairn… or ten.”
“Ten!” Abigail gasped. “Ye shall be satisfied with two for now.”
“Ye make me happy on this day, bunny. Truly, it is blessed news,” he said, beaming.
Abigail felt the heat of bliss spread through her. After years of being together, this man still made her heart flutter.
That night, the Great Hall bustled with warmth and revelry, music swirling through the air in celebration of the harvest.
Abigail held Heather’s small hands as they spun together on the dance floor, the little girl’s giggles rising above the hum of the pipes. Her curls bounced as she moved, and her cheeks were rosy from laughter, her eyes alight with the innocent joy of childhood.
Abigail smiled, her heart nearly bursting with love as she twirled with her daughter beneath the torchlight. Then, she scooped her up into her arms and carried her to the high table, where Kian sat with Leighton.
Kian raised a tankard, his arm slung loosely around Leighton’s shoulders.
“We’ll be sendin’ carts to the McEwans and Reids,” he said, nodding proudly. “Let them ken that the McKennas keep their word and share their fortune when it’s bountiful.”
Leighton clapped him on the back, promising to make the arrangements. “Come morning, several carts will be laden with barrels and bushels.”
“Good man,” Kian said. “Now, if ye’ll excuse me, I have more news to share.”
He tapped a spoon against his goblet and stood up, drawing the room’s attention.
“Folks, look at the bread on the table, the grain in the stores, the laughing faces around ye. Remember the years of drought and the days of hard dust and empty cups. But the skies’ been kind these years, and we’re stronger for what we’ve overcome together.
There is bounty to be had, and this harvest is the strongest yet. ”
He paused for a beat, letting his words sink in, then walked to Abigail’s side.
“And more bounty’s on its way. Me bonnie wife carries our second bairn.”
The hall erupted in cheers and stomps, toasts raised high as laughter rang out anew.
“I am the luckiest man,” he whispered in her ear.
Abigail rose on her tiptoes to kiss him, her heart fluttering. “And I am the luckiest woman.”
Helena made her way through the throng, her two-year-old son, Brawn, toddling beside her.
“Me best wishes, lass! Ye’ll be busy with two soon enough,” she said with a wink, pulling Abigail into a tight embrace.
Abigail laughed, hugging her friend back, her other hand resting gently on her belly.
As the fiddlers struck up a livelier tune, Kian scooped Heather up into his arms and lifted her high, her laughter echoing through the hall.
Abigail stood near the hearth, watching him spin their daughter in the air. The music swelled, feet thumped on the floor, and folks danced as one.
At that moment, with her people around her and love filling every corner of the hall, Abigail felt like no happiness on earth could be greater.
Later that night, she curled up beneath the thick wool quilts, her head resting on Kian’s chest. Heather lay on the cot nearby, her breaths steady and soft beneath the folds of a linen blanket. Outside, the wind whispered past the shutters, but within, all was still and quiet.
Abigail shifted and lifted her head, a playful glint in her eyes. “I counted three more grey hairs this evening, husband. The years are catchin’ up with ye.”
Kian gave a low chuckle and tightened his arm around her shoulders. “Aye, love. But I’ve earned every one, fightin’ off time, wars, and yer sharp tongue.”
She laughed softly, resting a hand over his heart. “Think ye still have the strength to chase wee bairns when I give ye another?”
He kissed the top of her head, smiling into her hair. “So long as I can hold ye like this each night, I’ll chase all the bairns ye give me.”
Abigail sighed. “Heather asked me today why she hadnae met Marissa and Freya. I told her that she was too young to remember.”
“Before winter sets in, we shall take her to see our kin,” Kian murmured. “Before ye are too heavy to travel.”
“I would like that,” she said.
He drew back to look at her face, his features softened by years of bliss. “I never thought I’d ken joy again after all that was lost. But here ye are, makin’ me life fuller than I ever dared to hope.”
Her fingers traced the edge of his eyepatch. “I still remember the first time I saw ye. All grim and brooding in yer leathers like a ruthless bandit, actin’ like the weight of the world was yers alone to carry.”
He smirked. “And now I’ve got ye to carry it with me. Saints help me, I dinnae deserve ye.”
Abigail leaned in and whispered, “I love ye more now than I did the day we wed. And I’ll love ye more come tomorrow, ‘cause it grows daily.”
Their lips met in a slow, tender kiss, the fire casting a golden hue on their skin.
Me world is made of two hearts, one a flame, the other a quiet promise of forever.
The wind swept gently across the hilltop, carrying the scent of heather and the quiet hush of evening.
Kian stood alone before the cairn, a small bundle of purple blooms tied with string and a carved wooden lamb clutched in his hand.
The loch below shimmered like glass, reflecting the fiery hues of sunset. He took a deep, steady breath and knelt before the stones that marked his parents’ resting place.
“I’ve brought ye gifts,” he murmured, his voice low with reverence.
He placed the blooms and carved lamb on the cairn, careful not to disturb the shape. He rested a hand on the topmost stone, weathered by wind and rain.
“The clan’s thrivin’ now. Nay drought in four seasons, and the fields have given us more than we ken what to do with. We’re strong, Maither, Faither. We’re whole.”
His voice cracked, but he pressed on.
“I never thought I’d see a day like this,” he admitted, his eye damp with memory. “Abigail… she’s fire and safety. She’s made our home warm again.” He chuckled faintly. “Heather’s a bold lass; she asks about every cloud in the sky and dares me to chase butterflies.”
He sat back on his heels, letting the silence settle over him.
“I’ll tell her stories of ye both. I’ll teach her where her blood comes from, what it means to be a McKenna. Clan Reid and McEwan stand at our side now. We’ve mended roofs, filled pantries, kept our word.”
The sun dipped low, bathing the hill in gold, as if blessing the land anew.
Kian rose, his heart full.
“Rest easy,” he whispered. “Yer son has made ye proud.”
As he turned, the breeze caught his cloak, and he fancied it a hand on his shoulder.
He walked down the slope slowly, every step steady on the earth that had made him.
Behind him, the cairn stood silent but steadfast, watching over the loch, the land, and the life he had built.
The End?