Page 96 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“Ye’ve changed, Abby. I can see it plain as day. Ye’ve grown into someone strong, someone who can lead, nae just follow.”
Abigail’s cheeks flushed at the praise, and she looked down at the reins in her hands. “Thank ye, Freya. That means more than ye ken… I never thought I’d be makin’ decisions like these.”
“Aye, but ye have,” Freya said proudly. “Ye stood before us, nae as a frightened lass beggin’ to come home but as a woman demandin’ we see the truth. I am proud of ye.”
Abigail smiled, her heart swelling at the words. “I wanted ye to see it for yerself. This land… It’s strugglin’, aye, but the people never once pitied themselves. They keep goin’, day after day.”
Freya gave a thoughtful nod, her gaze drifting out across the fields.
“Do ye really want this to be yer home, Abby? If ye marry Kian, this land, these people, will be yers to serve and protect.”
Abigail inhaled deeply. “I do. It’s nae what I expected when I first arrived, but… it’s grown on me. The villages, the meadows, the loch. There’s beauty here, even in hardship.”
Freya glanced over at her. “And the castle? Nae feelin’ like a prison anymore?”
A soft chuckle escaped Abigail’s lips. “Nae at all. It feels like… a place where I’ve found purpose. Aye, it’s nae easy, but I feel needed here.”
Freya’s smile widened. “Then mayhaps this was where ye were always meant to be. Strange, how life has a way of takin’ us the long way around, eh?”
“Aye,” Abigail whispered, looking toward the castle rising in the distance. “But I’m glad it did.”
The wind lifted the hem of Freya’s cloak as she leaned closer. “Ye will be Lady McKenna. Is that a title ye truly want?”
Abigail’s throat tightened at the question. “I do. It came slowly, through the anger and misunderstandings, but now… I cannae imagine me life without Kian in it. I’m ready to assume that title.”
Freya nodded, her eyes misting slightly. “Then I’ll stand by ye. And I’ll write to Marissa, tell her what I saw with me own eyes. Clan McEwan willnae turn its back on this place, nor will Clan Reid, because our sister is the future Lady McKenna.”
Tears pricked Abigail’s eyes as she reached across and squeezed her sister’s hand. “Thank ye, Freya. For seein’ it. For believin’ in me.”
Freya gave her hand a gentle squeeze back. “Always, wee dove. Always.”
The castle gates came into view, the wind carrying the faint scent of heather and hearthfire.
Abigail inhaled the sweet, clean air. For once, she didn’t dread riding through the gates. For once, the path ahead felt like the start of something right.
It feels like home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Ye should rest,” Leighton muttered. “Ye’re still healing, and the wound hasnae closed.”
Kian gritted his teeth as he leaned on Leighton’s arm, his feet dragging slightly along the corridor. Pain lanced through his side where the stitches held tight, but he pressed forward, his jaw clenched. The torchlight danced across the walls, casting long shadows over his hardened face.
“We dinnae have time,” he growled. “They’re already whisperin’. I’ll nae give ‘em more reason to doubt me.”
They reached the heavy oak doors of the council chamber, and Leighton pushed them open.
The air inside stilled. Seven councilmen stood at the long table, their conversation hushing as Kian entered. His presence struck like a blade across glass.
Paul, the oldest among them, stepped forward with a respectful bow of his head. “Me Laird. ‘Tis good to see ye up again.”
Kian did not return the bow. He stood tall despite the pain, his gaze sweeping across the gathered men. “I hear there’s been talk.”
“Only concerns,” Paul said, keeping his tone light. “Ye were wounded, by a woman. It’s nay small thing for a laird to fall so easily. Some wonder if yer judgment has been clouded.”
Kian’s eyes narrowed. “Are ye questionin’ me strength, Paul?”
“Nae directly,” Paul replied. “But the men are uneasy. Clan McEwan and Clan Reid havenae sent any aid, though ye risked much to bring them to the table. The crops dinnae grow, and the stores are low. The folks are askin’ what’s the next plan.”
