Page 102 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“Ye dinnae want to do this, Peyton. Yer quarrel’s with me, nae her.” Kian stepped to the side, eyes locked onto hers, calculating the distance.
His dirk glinted faintly in his hand, and though the wound in his side still throbbed, the pain was muffled by the fury in his chest.
Peyton shifted slightly, her blade pressing tighter against Abigail’s throat. “Stay where ye are, or I’ll gut her.” Her voice trembled with barely restrained rage, her eyes gleaming with madness. “Hand me the eyepatch, Kian. I want it.”
Kian’s brow creased, but he nodded once. “Aye, I’ll give it to ye. Just… let her go.”
He stepped forward slowly, the weight of the moment stretching time thin, blood pounding in his ears.
“Let her go?” She laughed cruelly, twisting the sword slightly. “Nay. But if ye hand over yer eyepatch, I might make it quick for her.”
Her lip curled as she took in his torn shirt, the blood seeping into the fabric.
Without another word, Kian reached up. The leather of the strap tugged at his hair as he pulled it off. The eye beneath was shut, a jagged scar sealing it forever.
He held his head high, but inside, he braced himself for Abigail’s reaction. When he dared a glance, her eyes were full of sorrow, not fear, and she gave a small nod—a silent vow.
She looked to the right.
Kian turned his dirk in his hand, blade down, the weapon now an extension of his fury. “Here’s the patch ye wanted so badly,” he growled.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled the eyepatch straight at Peyton’s face.
She jerked instinctively, her hand rising to catch it. In that fleeting second, her grip on Abigail faltered, her sword angled away. Abigail twisted and dashed to the right.
Kian’s arm moved before thought could form. The dirk flew from his hand like lightning. The blade struck true, burying itself deep in Peyton’s chest. She stumbled backward, her mouth falling open on a choked breath. One hand grasped at the handle in vain.
Her knees gave out beneath her, and she collapsed onto the floor with a dull thud. A rasping cough tore from her throat, and blood flew past her lips. Her eyes, once so sharp and filled with hatred, glazed over.
Kian stood still, his chest heaving, unable to look away. Abigail rushed to his side, her hands reaching for him. He felt her touchand let out a shaky breath, his rage ebbing like a tide, leaving only sorrow and exhaustion in its wake.
Peyton lay silent. Vengeance had consumed her, and in the end, it had destroyed her.
“Guards! Come now! Guards!” Kian bellowed.
His arm tightened around Abigail. He pressed a kiss to her hair, his heart still pounding like a war drum.
“Are ye hurt, lass?” he asked, brushing her face with shaking fingers.
She shook her head against his chest. “Nay, I’m nae hurt. Just… shakin’.”
“I feared I’d lose ye,” he whispered hoarsely. “Feared I’d be too late.”
He held her tighter, as if he could shield her from everything with just his arms.
“Guards! Get in here!” he bellowed again.
The sound of footsteps answered, and in the next breath, Leighton burst through the door with two guards. He halted, his gaze falling to Peyton’s crumpled body.
“Oh God,” he gasped, his eyes wide. “Are ye both all right?”
“Aye,” Abigail said quickly. “But Peyton said the guard in the dungeons helped her escape. She said he’s waitin’ just outside the wall with horses and supplies.”
Kian’s expression darkened. His jaw clenched as his fury returned in full force.
He turned his glare on Leighton. “Go now! Bring that treasonous bastard to me!”
Leighton didn’t hesitate. He spun on his heel, barking commands to the guards as they ran.
