Page 52 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“Nae at all.” Peyton placed a hand on her arm. “Truly, Abigail, ye’ve done nothin’ wrong. There’s nothin’ wrong in bein’ curious.”
Abigail swallowed hard and looked down at her hands. “I just… I suppose I’ve made a mess of things.”
Peyton’s voice softened. “Did he hurt ye?”
Abigail’s heart lurched. “Nay,” she whispered.
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
The castle seemed to breathe around them, cold stone and flickering torches and unseen footsteps in distant corridors.
“Would ye care for a walk?” Peyton offered, her expression as serene as ever, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
Abigail blinked, her thoughts straying for a breath before she nodded. “Aye, a walk would be lovely.”
Inside, a plan was already taking shape. She had been searching for an opportunity—anything to slip out of the castle and make her way home.
Peyton might not let her go—it would be against her cousin’s orders, after all—but if she got distracted long enough, perhaps Abigail could get a head start.
She hated herself for plotting. There was a warmth in Peyton that called to her, something honest and kind. But Abigail had already decided to escape at all costs.
She followed Peyton down the winding corridor, the sound of their boots crunching against stone the only noise between them.
Peyton smiled, leading her through a small side passage Abigail hadn’t noticed before. It wound sharply and dipped slightly, cool air drifting from the arched exit ahead.
“This passage leads out to the woods,” Peyton explained. “Laird McKenna uses it during huntin’ parties, but I find it quieter than the front courtyard.”
Abigail gave a cautious smile. “It’s strange, I hadnae seen this path before.”
“There are many things in this castle ye have yet to see, I imagine,” Peyton replied with a knowing glance. “But ye’ve nae exactly been allowed to wander.”
“Aye, that’s true enough,” Abigail relented, watching the sunlight grow brighter as they neared the exit.
The two women stepped through the narrow gate of the outer wall and into the meadow beyond. Just beyond stood a copse of trees.
“It’s beautiful,” Abigail murmured.
“It is,” Peyton agreed, leading her to the trees. “I like to come here when I need to clear me head. Or pray.”
Abigail glanced sideways. “Ye pray often?”
Peyton nodded, her steps slow and thoughtful. “Each day, if I can. I help the minister in the village when I’m able. We tend the sick and teach the children how to write and read scripture, even memorize some verses. It’s honest work.”
“That sounds… peaceful,” Abigail noted after a pause.
“It is,” Peyton agreed, smiling softly. “Faith doesnae fix everything, but it can hold ye steady when the world’s draggin’ ye every which way.”
Abigail hesitated, then asked, “Do ye ever question it?”
Peyton stopped, considering. “Sometimes. But faith isnae about certainty. It’s about holdin’ on, even when things dinnae make sense.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sound the crunch of grass beneath their feet.
Abigail’s mind was spinning. Peyton seemed so gentle, so sure of herself. But deep down, Abigail held tight to caution. A maid she knew had once trusted a man who seemed gentle. He had turned cruel in the blink of an eye, and the maid had never truly been the same since.
Peyton must have sensed the shift in her mood.
“I ken it’s strange,” she said quietly. “Me bein’ so kind to ye, when ye dinnae really ken me.”
