Page 44 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“Well, I did,” he said, his voice low. “Ye’re under me care till I say otherwise.”
“I’m nae some sick animal ye need to fuss over,” she bit out. “I’m a woman. One ye dragged here, in case ye forgot.”
Kian took another step closer, and her breath caught in her throat.
“Aye,” he said darkly, “I remember.”
She shoved past him then, her skirts swishing as she stalked toward the castle. Her heart was pounding all over again—not from fear, not from anger, but from something more dangerous. More consuming.
She squealed in protest as his strong arms suddenly swept her off her feet. Before she could catch her breath, he tossed her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing more than a bundle of hay.
“Kian! Put me down this instant!” she cried, her face flushing as her skirts bunched awkwardly around her thighs.
He didn’t answer, just grunted and adjusted his grip on her, his large hand curling around the back of her thighs.
She pounded her fists against his back, but it was like striking stone. “Ye brute! This is undignified!” she protested, mortified.
Her heart hammered not just from embarrassment, but from the way her body tingled where his hand touched her.
“Settle down,” Kian muttered. “Ye’ve caused enough stir for one day, lass.”
Abigail gasped. “Me? Ye’re the one carryin’ me like a sack of grain in front of the whole bloody castle!”
“Because ye dinnae ken how to stay out of trouble,” he said simply.
As they walked into the keep and through the main corridor, several servants paused to gape at them. One dropped a tray of cups. Another whispered behind her hand, her eyes wide with shock.
Abigail groaned and covered her face with both hands, wishing she could melt into the stone walls.
“This is humiliating,” she muttered.
“Good,” Kian said. “Maybe next time ye’ll listen when ye’re told to stay inside.”
Abigail peeked through her fingers, catching the amused grin of a guard they passed by. She squeezed her eyes shut again and pounded her fist once against Kian’s back.
“I hope ye fall down the stairs.”
“I hope ye remember who just saved yer life,” he replied, unfazed.
He finally stopped at the door to her chambers, pushed it open with one strong kick, and stepped inside.
Isolde, who was tending to the fire, jumped up, her eyes going wide, before scurrying out of the room without a word.
Abigail didn’t blame her—Kian had that effect on people.
He bent and unceremoniously set her down on her feet. Abigail stumbled, trying to regain her balance, her cheeks burning as she avoided his gaze.
“Ye cannae just throw me around like a rag doll!” she huffed, brushing her hands down her skirts.
Kian folded his arms across his chest, watching her with that infuriating, unreadable expression. “Aye, I can. And I did.”
Abigail opened her mouth to argue again, but the words caught in her throat. She was too breathless, too flustered, too aware of how close he was. How warm her skin still felt where he’d touched her.
She took a step back and swallowed hard. “I… I didnae need ye to carry me.”
Kian tilted his head slightly. “Ye didnae complain so much once I had ye in me arms.”
Abigail’s eyes narrowed on him. “I was too mortified to speak, ye arrogant oaf.”
