Page 18 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Kian let out a short, bitter grunt and shook his head. “Councilmen? They’re only good for divvyin’ up what’s already there, nae for makin’ important decisions. Every idea they’ve had so far is about fillin’ their coffers, nae about easin’ the pain of our folks.”
Leighton sighed, nodding slowly. “Aye, it seems they’re more interested in their own pockets than the folks’ welfare.”
Kian’s gaze hardened. “We cannae rely on men like that. It’s on me to fix this. Let’s go back; there’s much to be done before the morrow.”
They pulled on their clothes. The cold had numbed Kian’s limbs, but the weight of responsibility burned hotter than ever.
Leighton mounted his horse first, urging it forward. Kian followed, gripping the reins of his horse tightly, his mind already racing with plans and possibilities.
The horses’ hooves thudded steadily against the soft earth as they rode back toward Castle McKenna, the looming silhouette of home growing nearer with every passing second.
Though silent, the two men shared a fierce determination—the kind forged in hardship and hardened by life in the Highlands.
Back in the castle, Kian strode into Abigail’s bedchamber.
He found Abigail curled up beneath the covers, her brown hair a tangled halo around her pale face.
Her eyes fluttered open at the noise, heavy and wary. But as soon as they met his, the flutter of a thousand wings erupted in his chest.
He cleared his throat, forcing himself to push down the sudden heat that rose at the sight of her.
“Get up,” he barked.
Abigail blinked slowly, pulling the covers tighter around her. “What are ye doing in here? Ye cannae just barge in and order me around,” she said, her voice thick with sleep.
“I said, get up, lass. Dinnae make me force ye,” Kian growled. He stepped closer, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
Reluctantly, Abigail slipped from beneath the covers, her thin chemise clinging to her skin as she stood up.
Kian’s eyes roamed over her, from the swell of her ample breasts to the curve of her hips and the shape of her thighs. Each inch of her ample figure drew his gaze like a magnet.
He swallowed hard, fighting the raw desire rising inside him. The warmth in his chest deepened, a fierce hunger that made his heart thud against his ribs.
“Put this on and come with me,” he ordered, tossing a simple but finely made dress to her from the wardrobe.
He forced himself to look away, his mind churning with forbidden thoughts.
Abigail’s eyes narrowed as she moved to dress quickly. She pulled the dress over her chemise and put on her boots.
Kian stood there, pushing down the fire roaring inside him, and led the way out of the room and into the cold stone corridor.
As they walked, his thoughts drifted back to her curves, to how her skin might feel beneath his hands. His fingers itched to explore the softness he had glimpsed for a brief moment. Yet he knew this was no time for distractions.
His duties weighed heavily on him, but the image of Abigail haunted every corner of his mind.
Abigail kept her eyes fixed on the cold floor, her jaw tight with defiance. The tension between them crackled, silent but fierce, like a storm waiting to break.
Kian led her through the winding corridors toward his study. Once there, he pushed open the oak door and ushered her inside.
“Sit,” he commanded, pointing to a sturdy wooden chair.
Abigail obeyed begrudgingly, lowering herself into the hard seat with a mixture of defiance and curiosity.
Kian strode over to a heavy shelf lined with worn tomes and pulled down a thick volume, before handing it to her.
“Read this,” he said gruffly.
He turned toward his desk, where piles of papers and reports awaited his attention.
