Page 31 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
She glanced up once, only to find Kian still watching her, his head tilted slightly like he could read every thought in her mind.
She looked away quickly and sipped her water, her cheeks warm.
How could I be thinkin’ of that kiss again? Worse, how could I have liked it?
Abigail stirred her porridge absentmindedly and lifted the warm spoon to her lips. But then her mind drifted again, back to the heat of Kian’s mouth, the rough press of his hands, the feel of his breath against her cheek.
Her breathing deepened, and she lowered her gaze at once. What madness had pushed her to enjoy a kiss with a brute who had taken her from her home like a thief in the night?
She scolded herself inwardly, willing herself to remember the facts.
He is me captor, nae a suitor.
And yet, as he sat across from her, silent and composed, she couldn’t help but feel his presence like a second heartbeat. She clenched her hands in her lap and focused instead on the soft voices to her left.
“Peyton, how goes yer work with the children?” Helena asked kindly, her smile warm as she sipped her tea. “Still teachin’ them their verses, are ye?”
“Aye,” Peyton replied softly, her voice like a gentle breeze through chapel windows. “I’ve been meetin’ with the minister each mornin’. We’ve started teachin’ the younger ones. It’s slow,but they’re eager. There’s a boy named Fergus—barely six—but he’s already memorized three verses.”
Helena’s eyes lit up. “That’s a gift, Peyton. Ye have a holy light about ye. The children are lucky to receive such care from someone so patient.”
Peyton bowed her head modestly. “I only hope I can guide them to the truth. There’s little else I can offer the clan, but if I can give the young ones somethin’ to hold onto—faith, a bit of knowledge—then perhaps they’ll grow strong in both mind and soul.”
“Ye’re an angel,” Helena said with a fond shake of her head. “Truly. If we had more people like ye, the Highlands would be a better place.”
Abigail watched the exchange in quiet awe, her breakfast forgotten.
There was something about Peyton’s calm, her sense of purpose, that struck deep. She wasn’t loud or bold like Marissa, or sharp and commanding like Freya. But there was strength in her gentleness, a steadiness that Abigail found herself admiring more than she had expected.
She shifted in her seat, glancing once again at the woman whose golden hair caught the morning light like a halo. Perhaps there were different ways to be strong. And maybe—just maybe—there was still something good to be done, even in the middle of this madness.
She turned to see Isolde enter the Great Hall with careful steps, her eyes downcast, a fresh jug of water cradled against her apron. She moved toward the table with the quiet grace of someone trying not to be noticed.
Abigail noticed that as Isolde neared Kian’s side, her hands trembled slightly, spilling a bit of water onto the floor as she filled his cup. Kian said not a word, simply raised an eyebrow, and the maid all but fled to the other side of the table.
When she reached Peyton, the change in her demeanor was striking. She smiled sweetly as she poured the water, her shoulders relaxing just a touch.
“Thank ye kindly, Isolde,” Peyton said gently.
The maid flushed with pride, nodding quickly before retreating toward the wall.
It was as if Peyton were a saint come to life and Kian a devil best not crossed.
Abigail watched the entire exchange with narrowed eyes, the contrast settling heavily in her chest. The servants flinched near Kian like he might snap at any moment, but with Peyton, they nearly bowed in reverence. It said more than words ever could—Kian inspired fear even among his own, while Peyton earned quiet devotion.
Abigail sipped her water and ignored the voice that whispered how even the servants deem Kian a beast… even if her heart didn’t quite believe it.
Her gaze wandered again, drawn to the man sitting at the head of the table like a storm held tight in flesh and bone. Kian hadn’t said a word to her all morning, hadn’t even given her so much as a nod.
But when she caught his eye flickering to her, her heart jumped—only for him to turn to Leighton, his expression as hard as stone.
The dismissal stung sharper than she had expected.
“So, the young lads are improving?” Kian asked gruffly, tearing a piece of bread in half.
“Aye, they are,” Leighton replied. “Dougal’s footwork is still a mess, but he’s showin’ heart. And Grant took down two men twice his size yesterday. I think he’s got the makings of a fine warrior, given time.”
Kian grunted, nodding slightly. “Good. I’ll be out in the field meself soon. They had better be ready.”
