Page 105 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Freya, catching the mood, stepped forward quickly. “I’ll see to the rest, Abigail,” she offered. “Ye two go talk.”
Abigail nodded, already bracing herself for whatever storm her sister would unleash on her. She gave a nod to Kian and led Marissa into the castle.
She closed the heavy door behind them and turned the lock.
The chamber was dim and quiet, save for the crackling fire in the corner. Marissa went to the window, her arms folded tight across her chest, her jaw clenched.
Abigail didn’t waste time.
“Out with it,” she said, her voice low. “I can see it on yer face, so say what ye came here to say.”
Marissa whirled around, her eyes flashing. “Have ye lost yer wits, Abigail? Ye want to marryhim? Laird McKenna? Folks call him a murderer for a reason.”
Abigail’s spine stiffened, but she didn’t interrupt.
“He’s nay saint, lass,” Marissa continued. “He killed his own uncle! There’s blood on that man’s hands, and I’ll nae pretend otherwise just because ye’ve gone soft over him.”
Abigail’s voice was steady. “Ye dinnae ken him, Marissa. Nae truly. If ye took the time—if any of ye did—ye’d see what I see.”
Marissa scoffed and stepped closer, her tone still sharp. “Arthur will do business with the McKennas, aye. Trade, share resources, whatever’s needed for survival. But dinnae ask me to bless a marriage with a tyrant. I’ll nae smile and nod while ye walk yerself into ruin.”
Abigail crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Ye have a lot of nerve, Sister, telling me what I can and cannae do. I remember well whenyestood where I am, facing marriage to a man ye didnae ken. Did we nae all think it odd? And look at ye now.”
Marissa’s expression tightened. “That was different, and ye ken it.”
“How so?” Abigail demanded.
“Because it simply was.”
Abigail’s heart rate quickened, angry at her sister’s lack of understanding. She huffed as she turned away from her, her cheeks flushed and fists clenched at her sides.
“I’ll marry Kian Wright, with or without yer blessing, Marissa. Ye’ve nay right to stop me.”
She stormed out of the room, the door closing behind her with a sharp thud. Her boots struck the stone floor with force as she made her way down the corridor, her blood boiling.
The air in the hallway felt cooler, but it did little to temper the heat in her chest. She walked with no real direction, just needing space, until the sound of voices made her pause.
She ducked into a shadowed alcove, still fuming, and listened to the deep timbre of Kian’s voice as he spoke with Arthur.
Curiosity kept her rooted to the spot as her temper simmered beneath the surface.
“I heard that ye sent letters to many lairds, asking for trade partnerships,” Arthur said, his voice calm but clipped. “Yet ye didnae send a letter to Castle Reid until after ye took Abigail.”
Kian replied after a beat, “I didnae think ye’d respond, Arthur. Most of them havenae. I’d nae waste a seal on a door already bolted shut.”
Abigail’s stomach twisted at those words.
“We came nae to give our blessing to this union. Me wife is cautious ‘cause ye spilled the blood of yer uncle, and now yer cousin as well. We’ll speak of trade but naught else.”
Abigail then heard footsteps retreating down the corridor.
She stepped out of the shadows to find Kian watching him leave. “Kian,” she said tentatively.
He turned to her, his good eye churning. “Yer family hates me, Abigail. As they have every right to.”
“They dinnae hate ye,” she said quickly. “They just need time, that’s all. Give them time, Kian.”
His jaw clenched, and he took a step back. “Time willnae change what they believe. I’m still the man who spilled blood to protect what’s his, and they’ll never see past it.” His voice was rough, wounded.
