Page 39 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
They paused beside a stone bench. Abigail sat down, wrapping the shawl tighter around her shoulders.
“What’s life like here?” she asked softly. “I mean, truly.”
Helena sat beside her. “Well, for those who serve, it’s honest work. The kitchens are busy sunup to sundown, and the maids keep the place from becoming a mountain of dust. The men train every morning in the yard. The blacksmith works till his arms nearly fall off. But there’s also music in the Great Hall during feast, laughter around the fire in winter, and stories told so often ye’d think they were gospel.”
Abigail smiled faintly. “Sounds almost like home.”
Helena tilted her head. “Then perhaps ye’ll find a home here, Abigail. Even if it’s only for a while.”
“I dinnae ken if I can,” Abigail whispered. “Everything here feels foreign.”
“Foreign things can still be beautiful,” Helena said gently. “And sometimes the strangest paths take us where we’re meant to be.”
Abigail looked down at her hands. Her fingers were cold, but her heart was slowly warming in ways she hadn’t expected.
Still, as the wind blew through the hedges, she wondered just how dangerous a path this would turn out to be.
Helena turned to her with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Come now, I want to show ye a certain flower that grows in the meadows by the stables.”
Abigail’s eyebrows rose, and she hesitated. “Ye mean, outside the castle walls?”
“Aye,” Helena said, already starting toward the gate. “And if the Laird gets cross about it, he can take it up with me. It was me idea, after all.”
Abigail glanced at the towering stone walls, her heart lurching with nerves. “He’ll be furious.”
Helena waved a hand dismissively. “Och, let the man stew. Sometimes, it is worth the risk.”
With that, Abigail drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders and followed. Her boots crunched over the gravel as they stepped through the archway that led to the stables.
The cold air outside the walls bit at her cheeks, but the open sky and smell of earth gave her a strange sense of freedom.
When they stepped onto the worn path behind the stables, she slowed down. The meadow was beautiful, though dry.
“Ye come here often?” she asked.
“Always.” Helena grinned. “It reminds me that there’s still beauty in the world when I see the vast sky.”
And for the first time since her arrival, Abigail felt like she could breathe because she didn’t feel like a prisoner.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“Yer stance is weak, Rory,” Kian called out. “Keep yer knees bent, or ye’ll be on the ground in seconds.”
He stood watching two younger warriors circle one another with raised wooden swords.
Leighton approached from the far side, his arms folded over his chest. “That lad’s got fire, but he’s green as spring grass,” he muttered.
Kian grunted in agreement, his eye trained on the two clashing blades. “Aye, fire’s only useful if ye ken how to wield it.”
With a flick of his wrist, he motioned for the boys to stop. He stepped forward, took one of their swords, and faced Rory directly.
“Come on then,” he said, widening his stance. “Show me what ye’ve got, lad.”
Rory hesitated for half a breath before lunging, and Kian met his strike with ease.
The clash of wood rang out sharp, and within three moves, he had Rory on the ground.
“Again,” he ordered, offering a hand to the boy and pulling him up. “Ye’ll never win if ye hesitate.”
