Page 29 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“They’re listenin’, aye,” Leighton said, his voice low. “But they’re starvin’ too.”
Kian took a long drink, then set his cup down with a sigh. “I saw it today. The land’s cursed. Crops are thin as the hair on a priest’s chin, and children are so thin that their ribs are showing.”
“Ye made the right call, Kian,” Leighton noted, chewing thoughtfully. “Nae collectin’ the taxes will keep them afloat for another month at least.”
Kian leaned back in his chair, his broad shoulders stiff beneath his cloak. “Still, that’s nae enough. This alliance with the other clans… It’s desperate, aye, but it’s the only move we have left.”
Leighton eyed him over the rim of his cup. “Ye feel justified now? Stealin’ a lass from her folk?”
Kian’s jaw tensed, his eye flashing. “I’ll do worse if it means our people survive. She’s a means to an end, Leighton. I never claimed to be a hero.”
“Nay, that ye didnae,” Leighton said with a grim chuckle. “But even villains must eat, and I’d rather eat at yer table than starve behind another’s walls.”
Kian smirked faintly, the firelight catching the edge of his eyepatch. “That’s why ye’re still breathing.”
Around them, quiet murmurs rang through the tavern. A fiddler plucked at strings in the corner, but the mood remained cautious.
Kian glanced around the room, noting each face, each bowed head.
“Aye,” he muttered. “Let them fear me. Better feared than forgotten.”
They finished the last of the bread and cheese, the wine gone dry in their cups. Rising from the table, they nodded curtly to the tavern keeper, their heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor.
Outside, the cold evening air bit sharply, but neither man shivered as they mounted their horses, the beasts snorting softly. The village lay quiet behind them, the shadows stretching long in the fading light.
As they rode side by side, Leighton asked, “Ye’re confident the clans will heed our call? Or will this force only stir more violence?”
Kian fixed his gaze on the horizon, the castle walls looming like silent sentinels. “They’ll answer. They must. If Clan McEwan and Reid drag their feet much longer, we’ll find ourselves bleedin’ from every side.”
“A dance with war could be a cruel fate,” Leighton said grimly. “But if ye dinnae hold firm, the clan will fall to ruin.”
Kian clenched his jaw.
He knew Leighton was right, but the weight of his duties pressed heavily upon his broad shoulders. He couldn’t afford to be weak, no matter how much the thought of blood and battle turned his stomach. The trade agreements were the only hope left to keep their people fed and safe.
The path wound steadily upward, the cold night air thick with the scent of damp earth. Kian thought again of Abigail, of the fire she’d ignited in his blood—a distracting flame amid hard decisions. But there was no time for weakness.
“If the Reids and McEwans take too long to answer, I’ll be forced to show them the cost of defiance,” he murmured, his voice low and hard.
Leighton gave a brief nod. “Then may God give ye strength. The clan’s fate rests on yer shoulders.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Enough of this. I can hardly breathe,” Abigail wheezed as she adjusted the stiff laces of her stays.
She stood in her bedchamber. Dressing was no easy task when the gown was not made for her figure. The endless layers that bound a woman like armor were a struggle, but more so when she had an ample bosom to stuff into the bodice.
She had started with a linen shift, soft against her skin, followed by the tight stays that dug slightly into her ribs. Over that, she pulled on a woolen petticoat, then a deep blue gown with fitted sleeves and a bodice that tightly hugged her chest.
“This will have to do,” she said.
The fabric bore McKenna colors, though she felt no pride in wearing it. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she looked at her reflection in the mirror above the washbasin, feeling inadequate.She did not see herself as pretty as her sisters, and squeezing into a dress that was not hers only amplified that feeling.
Her thoughts strayed to Kian. She hadn’t stopped thinking of him, his dark eye, his brooding stare, and the way his voice rumbled like distant thunder.
She scolded herself inwardly.
It’s mad to think of a man who’d taken me like a prized filly.
