Page 93 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Back in the healer’s chambers, Kian found Abigail near the fire, turning a page in a book. She looked up the moment he entered, rising quickly.
“Where did ye go?” she asked, worry flashing in her eyes. “Ye shouldnae be up for so long.”
“I had to see her,” he replied, lowering himself carefully onto the bed. “I needed to understand.”
She came to his side, her fingers brushing his arm gently.
“And did ye?” she asked. “Understand her.”
Kian shook his head. “Nay. But I ken she’ll never feel shame for what she did.” He looked at her, his gaze softening. “But I feel shame enough for us both.”
She crouched beside him, pressing her cheek to his hand. “Then let it go. Let her rot with her hate. Ye have so much left to live for.”
Kian blinked hard, swallowing thickly.
“I hope yer sister sees that too,” he murmured. “I saw the way Freya looks at ye. I hope someday she deems me worthy of ye.”
Abigail smiled, tears welling up in her eyes.
“She already does,” she whispered. “She wouldnae have watched over ye if she didnae believe in yer heart.”
Kian closed his eye and leaned back against the pillows, her hand warm in his.
He didn’t know what the days ahead would hold. But in that quiet room, with the fire crackling and Abigail’s hand in his, he knew one thing.
I had nearly lost her, and I willnae take her love for granted again. I will build something stronger from the broken pieces. A life, a home, and a love that vengeance could never touch.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“She said I was the reason he was weak,” Abigail murmured, her voice low, almost drowned by the breeze. “That I was the reason he’d die. And it haunts me, Amara. Nay matter how I try to shake it off.”
The garden paths were damp with morning dew, the stones glistening beneath her slippers as she walked alongside Amara. Her hands were clasped before her, her gaze fixed ahead, her mind adrift despite the peace and quiet in the garden.
Amara made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. “It sounds to me as though Peyton said a great many things, most of them cruel. Ye cannae let a bitter lass’s words get to ye.”
Abigail frowned. “But what if she’s right? What if lovin’ me makes him vulnerable?”
“Then I say, good for him,” Amara answered, her tone steady. “If love disarms him, it also gives him a reason to fight harder.”
They paused near a bench shaded by a willow tree, and she gestured for her to sit.
“A man’s nae weaker for carin’. He’s stronger for what he’s willing to protect.”
Abigail sank down onto the bench, the skirt of her gown brushing the edge of the stone.
“I never thought I’d love anyone like I love him,” she admitted softly. “But now, I keep wonderin’ if me love will cost him dearly.”
Amara sat beside her, not crowding her but close enough to offer comfort. “Abigail, ye arenae a burden. Ye’re a blessing.”
Abigail looked down at her hands, twisting a fold of fabric between her fingers. “It’s just… hard nae to question it all, after everything. The poison, the betrayal, nearly losing him. How can I nae wonder if this love is dangerous for him and he’s better off without me?”
Amara gave her a small smile, her voice warm with quiet strength. “Love always carries risk. But it’s also the only thing that makes survivin’ worth the pain.”
The gate creaked behind them, and they turned to see Freya walking toward them, her skirts brushing against the grass. She carried a basket of herbs, but her sharp gaze landed on Abigail.
“I heard what ye said,” she announced plainly. “And I’ll nae have it fester inside ye like rot.”
Abigail blinked, startled, as her sister sat down on the other side of the bench.
