Page 21 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
What if she wasn’t just a pawn? What if she were something else entirely?
“Ye cannae be serious, Kian! This could lead to war with the McEwans, the Reids, and every clan allied with them. Are ye prepared for that?” Helena’s eyes burned with defiance, her arms crossed tight over her chest.
Abigail looked up from the book at that moment.
Kian’s eye darkened. “Dinnae forget who ye’re speakin’ to, Helena. Ye may be me friend, but I’m still yer Laird,” he said icily. “Speak out of turn again, and ye’ll be waulkin’ wool with the women before the sun rises.”
Helena flushed, and her hand trembled slightly with fear, but she didn’t back down.
“I’ll always speak when the fate of our people is at risk. Yer pride may be blindin’ ye, Kian, but I see clear as day what this could bring.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to Abigail, and something unreadable passed over her face.
Abigail stiffened in her seat, her fingertips digging into the page she had paused on. The air crackled with tension.
Kian’s jaw clenched, and he slowly stepped forward, his voice low in warning. “If ye question me again in front of others, I’ll have nay choice but to make an example of ye.”
Abigail’s thoughts lingered not on the argument itself but on something far more peculiar.
Kian had called Helena hisfriend. Not his wife, nor his mistress. Not even his betrothed. The irrational relief that washed over her was foolish, she knew, but it came all the same.
Despite the way he’d taken her, tied her, and dragged her into his world like a beast claiming prey, there was something magnetic about him.
Abigail hated herself for feeling it, but she couldn’t deny the pull. Kian was solid as a mountain, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and a powerful frame honed by years of labor or war. She remembered how effortlessly he’d slung her over his shoulder, as if she were weightless, and something deep inside her had stirred.
Her eyes flicked to him now, watching as he poured himself another measure of whisky by the hearth. She didn’t mean to stare, but she couldn’t help herself. That eyepatch covering his left eye was a mystery she itched to solve.
What had happened? A battle? A betrayal? Or perhaps he’d kidnapped the wrong lass once before and paid dearly for it.
Still, she wondered what he looked like beneath the leather. Was his skin scarred? Was his left eye missing entirely? There was a dark thrill in imagining what secrets lay beneath that patch, and she found herself leaning forward slightly.
He turned then, just a fraction, and caught her looking. She tore her gaze away and flushed crimson, cursing herself inwardly.
What am I doing? Oglin’ the man who has taken me from family, dragged me halfway across the Highlands, and locked me in his home like a prize?
But her heart wouldn’t listen to reason. It beat faster, louder, every time he looked at her as his argument with Helena dragged on. And worse, a part of her hoped he’d come closer.
“I’m Helena,” the woman said suddenly, folding her hands in front of her green skirt.
Abigail looked up warily as Helena moved toward her, the earlier tension with Kian replaced with something cooler.
Helena approached her with an easy stride and offered a polite smile. “I figured since we’ll likely be seein’ each other often, we may as well talk like civilized women.”
Abigail closed the book and gave a cautious nod. “Abigail Lawson,” she replied, keeping her tone neutral, though her spine was rigid with distrust.
“I ken who ye are,” Helena assured. “Word travels fast through these halls.”
“Aye, I noticed,” Abigail said, her lips twitching despite herself. She glanced down at the leather-bound volume. “‘Tis a book about Clan McKenna’s customs. Dry read, but better than bein’ spoken down to by yer Laird.”
Helena chuckled and came to sit on the nearby chair, tucking her legs beneath her with graceful ease.
“Ye havenae read the part about the midsummer fire rituals yet, have ye?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “There’s a bit in there about bathing in the loch to cleanse the soul. And some say, to tempt fate—or lovers.”
Abigail blinked, unsure whether to laugh or be scandalized.
“Well then,” she muttered, trying to hide her blush. “I suppose I have that to look forward to.”
Helena leaned in, her voice lowering. “Ye’ll find the McKennas strange, aye. But nae all of us are brutes.” Her gaze flicked to the desk, where Kian still sat brooding, nursing his drink. “Though some of us are too proud for their own good.”
