Page 82 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
He looked away, the tension in his shoulders still visible.
“But I willnae,” Michael spoke up. “Me son is right to be angry. We thought ye were dead, Abigail. We didnae ken what to think. McKenna should pay for what he’s done.”
Freya, who had stood silently with her arms crossed, finally stepped forward.
“I need to speak with Abigail. Alone.” Her voice cut through the air like a blade, even and commanding.
Michael’s eyebrows drew down. “Freya, ye cannae?—”
“I willnae hear another word, Michael,” she snapped, without so much as turning her head. “This is between me and me sister.”
Michael sighed heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. “Fine,” he muttered. “Cody, Amara, let’s give them some space.”
He herded the younger couple out of the room, casting one last glance over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.
Abigail turned to her sister, her chest tightening. The warmth of the fire suddenly felt stifling.
She fidgeted as Freya’s eyes narrowed on her, sharp and searching, as if trying to read the truth straight from her soul.
“Well?” she prompted, arching an eyebrow. “Tell me.”
“I ken how it sounds,” Abigail began, trying to keep her voice steady. “But it was never black and white. Kian took me, aye… but he never harmed me. He’s nae the man everyone thinks he is.”
Freya’s brow creased in disbelief. “He abducted ye, Abigail. I dinnae care how gentle he might’ve been after. That’s nae love; that’s madness.”
“I thought the same, at first,” Abigail whispered. “But then I saw the truth of it. The famine, the struggling villages. He did it to protect his people, Freya. And through it all, he was kind to me. He cared.”
Freya stepped closer, holding her sister’s eyes. “And ye care for him?”
Abigail swallowed hard and nodded. “I do. I dinnae ken when it happened, but I do. I care more than I should. And now, he might die.”
A hint of something flickered across Freya’s expression. Understanding, perhaps, or reluctant acceptance.
“Ye’ve changed,” she said, almost to herself. “The sister I kenned would never defend a man who hurt her.”
“He didnae hurt me,” Abigail insisted. “Nae once. He protected me. He even fought against Peyton and the bandits, bleedin’ from a wound she gave him, and still he fought for me.” Her voice cracked as her throat tightened with emotion.
Freya let out a slow breath and turned toward the window. “Ye’ve gone and fallen in love with him?”
It wasn’t a question, but a quiet truth spoken into the air.
Abigail didn’t deny it. “Aye. And it scares me.”
Her sister nodded slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Love often does. But I’ll say this—if he lives, and if he truly meant to do right by ye, then I’ll try to understand. I’ll nae forgive him easily… but I’ll try.”
Tears welled up in Abigail’s eyes, and she stepped forward, clutching Freya’s hand. “Thank ye. That’s all I ask.”
Freya squeezed her hand once, then let go. “But if he breaks yer heart, I’ll set fire to his bloody castle,” she continued, only half-joking. “And ye ken I mean it.”
Abigail laughed through her tears. “I wouldnae expect any less.”
The tension between them finally eased, and for a moment, it felt like they were sisters again, not strangers shaped by distance and hardship.
“And Marissa?” Abigail asked.
“She’s sick with worry. She blames herself for choosing that driver,” Freya answered.
“I must speak with her. I never meant to cause anyone so much worry,” Abigail said.
