Page 49 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“Tie him,” he barked, pulling the thief to his knees.
Leighton threw down a length of rope and helped secure the man’s wrists behind his back.
Kian grabbed the bandit by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet.
“Ye’re unlucky, lad,” he hissed in his ear. “If ye’d stolen from any other village, ye might’ve slithered off. But here? On me lands? Ye’ll pay for every crumb ye tried to take.”
The women, still shaken, nodded their thanks.
Kian nodded in return. “Nay one steals from us.”
His blood pumped through his veins from the chase and the fight.
“Tie him to yer horse,” he ordered.
Leighton tied the thief to the saddle, ignoring his feeble protests.
They rode back to the castle with the thief slumped, roped tight and groaning, his face already bruising as he limped along behind them.
Kian’s eye remained on the horizon, his mind racing. His people were starving, the crops had failed, and now thieves were roaming free?
This was his land, his responsibility, and he’d be damned before letting it all fall apart.
When they reached the castle gates, the guards looked up in surprise.
Kian didn’t slow down.
“Open the bloody gates,” he commanded.
The gates swung wide immediately.
He dismounted and dragged the bandit away from the horse, gripping the rope and leading him like a dog toward the dungeons. The thief stumbled, muttering a prayer under his breath.
Once they stepped inside, the temperature dropped. The dungeons sat beneath the keep, cold and damp, the walls slick with moisture and history. The torches flickered as they descended, casting long shadows on the stones.
Kian shoved open the iron gate at the bottom. “This is where cowards like ye belong,” he growled.
He pushed the man into a dank cell, the door clanging shut behind him.
Leighton came to stand beside him, his arms folded. “Ye handled that well, Kian.”
“He’s lucky I didnae kill him,” Kian bit out. “But maybe the rats will get to him first.”
They turned and ascended the stairs, leaving the thief shivering in the dark.
Kian didn’t speak again until they reached the main hall. His shoulders were tight with rage, but more than that, with pressure. His people were suffering. And if the world thought to test him now, it would find him more than ready.
He was a McKenna, and he’d protect what was his. At any cost.
He stormed through the corridor, his boots thudding heavily against the stone floor. His fists remained clenched at his sides, the thrill of the fight coursing through him.
He didn’t know if it was the drought, the thief, or the sight of his people scraping by, but something inside him had snapped. He was tired of watching helplessly as his lands withered and his clan suffered.
Leighton followed behind, silent for once, knowing better than to prod when Kian was in this state.
They reached his study, and Kian threw the door open with a grunt, crossing straight to the window. He stared out at the brown hills in the distance, the dull heather, the cloudless sky.
“Rain,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s all it takes. A sky that willnae weep for its own.”
