Page 26 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
The clash of steel against steel rang through the morning air, as sharp as Kian’s barked commands. Both men dug their heels into the packed dirt as they circled one another like wolves.
Kian’s shoulders rolled with power, each movement calculated, fluid, lethal.
“Again! Ye all fight like wee bairns!” he growled, feinting a swing, then shifting and landing a blow against his opponent’s thigh.
The warrior grunted but recovered quickly, raising his sword and charging forward once more.
Their blades clashed like thunder. Kian’s blood sang in his veins, his muscles coiled and alive with the thrill of a fight. He moved fast—faster than usual—driven by something wild beneath his skin.
He parried another strike and spun behind the man, catching him off guard and slamming the flat of his blade against the back of his leg.
The warrior fell to one knee, gasping.
“On yer feet!” Kian snapped, panting hard. “This isnae a dance. This is a fight for survival. Me men will be strong!”
But the real fight was the one raging inside him.
He hadn’t slept the night before. He had been haunted by images ofher—Abigail. Images of her lips parted beneath his, her hands on his chest.
That kiss… That cursed kiss had ignited a fire inside him that no cold bath in the loch could extinguish. He had meant it to rattle her. Instead, it had unraveled him.
Now, the only release was his fury, and his poor men would take the brunt of it as he trained them.
Another blow came at him, and he deflected it with a snarl, his arms moving with violent precision. His opponent struck again, but Kian ducked, then rammed his shoulder into the man’s chest, sending him sprawling.
The crowd that had gathered let out a cheer.
“Ye’re bleedin’ savage this morn, Me Laird,” the man groaned, coughing as he pushed himself to his feet.
Kian didn’t respond. He couldn’t.
He was distracted by thoughts of Abigail—her fire, her mouth, the way her body fit so perfectly against his.
The more he tried to forget her, the more she seared herself into his mind. His desire for her churned low in his belly, a building pressure he couldn’t ease, not while she looked at him with hatred and heat in equal measure.
He gritted his teeth and raised his sword again. “Again,” he growled.
The warrior hesitated. “Me Laird, we’ve done six rounds?—”
“Do it!” Kian barked.
The man lunged at him with a roar. They collided like beasts, their blades clashing, their boots scraping across the dirt.
Kian welcomed the burn in his muscles, the sting of the blade that grazed his shoulder. Pain cleared his thoughts, if only for a moment.
But the moment her name crept back into his head, his strikes grew even sharper, faster, harsher.
Hewantedher.
That truth festered like a wound beneath his armor, and no amount of fighting could drain it.
After another hour of training, Kian finally dropped his sword, his breath fogging in the morning air. The sun had risen higher above the training grounds, casting long shadows over the churned dirt.
The gathered men erupted in applause, most of them awed by the raw display of power they had just witnessed. Kian barely acknowledged them, too preoccupied with thoughts of a certain stubborn lass.
Leighton approached, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. “If I may have a word, Kian,” he said, his voice low.
Kian gave a curt nod and rolled back his shoulders before following him toward the edge of the yard, away from prying ears. His body was humming still, every nerve awake and sharp.
