Page 65 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Abigail’s boots tapped softly on the stone floor as she paced her chamber, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Her heart thudded with every turn, the heated events from two nights ago still lingering like a heat she could neither chase away nor embrace fully.
Kian’s touch and his proposal echoed in her mind, like the ringing of a distant bell she couldn’t ignore.
Why would a man like him—fierce, confident, and desirable—choose me? I am nae thin or beautiful like other women.
She paused at the window, watching the morning mist drift above the hills in the distance.
“Oh,” she whispered, leaning her head against the cool pane, “the prettier lasses with simpler pasts and nay sisters waitin’ to skin the man who kidnapped them—that should be his choice.”
Her lips curved faintly, though no real humor touched her eyes. Still, her heart fluttered when she thought of the way his voice had softened.
“Be mine, Abigail. Officially.”
Shaking her head, she turned and grabbed her shawl from the back of the chair. She needed answers, or at least someone who might help her untangle this mess of longing and doubt.
Only one person came to mind—Helena.
The healer had been kind, observant, and oddly steady through the chaos.
Her feet led her down the corridor, her thoughts so fixated on Kian’s voice and how he brought her to bliss that she never noticed the figure until she collided with it.
“Oh!” She stumbled backward, catching herself against the wall.
Peyton let out a laugh. “Well, we must stop meetin’ like this, darling. Or else folks will start whisperin’.”
Abigail flushed. “Forgive me, I wasnae lookin’ where I was going. Me thoughts were elsewhere.”
“They must’ve been deep ones, then,” Peyton said with a sly smile. “I find a walk always helps clear the fog.”
“I dinnae think I’m up to walkin’ just now,” Abigail murmured.
“Och, are ye sure? I can join ye if ye like?” Peyton offered with a smile that did not reach her eyes.
“Nay, thank ye, but—” Abigail started.
“And the air is fresh this morn—lots of sunshine to be had,” Peyton continued. “I could use the company.”
“I am sorry, but I am on me way to speak with Helena. Another time,” Abigail said.
“Of course. Try nae to knock over any more cousins,” Peyton said with a wink, gliding off in a swish of lavender skirts.
Abigail let out a breath and fixed her shawl. The encounter left her feeling even more off-kilter.
Why did Peyton have to look like the kind of woman Kian should marry?
Elegant, poised, not a hint of doubt in her movements.
She continued walking until she reached the narrow stairwell that led to the healer’s chambers. The scent of herbs hit her before she stepped inside—lavender, mint, and something sharper, almost bitter.
Helena stood at the worktable, her sleeves rolled up, her hands grinding something with a small mortar and pestle.
Abigail knocked lightly on the open door. “Helena?”
Helena looked up and smiled. “Oh, come in, Abigail. I’m makin’ an ointment for a patient’s shoulder. His shoulder hurts less after he used the last dose I gave him, and I want to continue the treatment,” she said. “Do ye need some ointment yerself? Are ye well?”
“I am well, but… I didnae come for medicine.”
