Page 107 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Abigail managed a nod.
Helena pulled her in a gentle embrace before ushering her to a chair. Steam curled up as she poured the tea, the scent of mint and rosemary filling the air.
“Here ye are. This will soothe whatever ails ye.”
Abigail took the cup gratefully, though her hands trembled. “Helena… what do ye ken of Clan Teyrn?”
Helena raised an eyebrow. “They’re from the far north, colder lands than these. Laird Teyrn is rich beyond reckoning. Fishin’ rights, sea salt, ships… Some say he could feed half the Highlands with his stores alone. Being on the shoreline has its benefits.”
Abigail swallowed, her throat tight. “And his children?”
“Oh, aye. Six daughters, all said to be beautiful as the stars.” Helena chuckled softly. “Folks whisper that any laird who marries into that family would never want for food, coin, or weapons.”
Abigail set the cup down, her stomach roiling despite the warmth of the tea.
The very things Kian’s people needed—strength, food, security—were now laid before him on a silver platter. And all he had to do was marry.
She pressed a hand to her chest and nodded faintly. “Aye… I see.”
Helena gave her a look of quiet concern, but Abigail was grateful she didn’t pry.
Abigail closed her eyes, wishing for silence, for clarity. Instead, her thoughts swirled with the image of a beautiful, thin woman she’d never met, standing beside Kian in the Great Hall, wearing the McKenna crest as his bride.
Her heart clenched, but she said nothing more. She clutched the folds of her skirt tightly, her knuckles white, her heart twisted in a knot she couldn’t undo.
Of course, he must do what is best for his people.
The offer from Clan Teyrn was too good to reject: alliances, wealth beyond measure that would secure the clan’s future. Kian had a duty to his people, after all.
Abigail could never measure up to this offer.
Helena tilted her head. “Does something trouble ye, lass?”
Abigail forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Nay. I think… I’m going out for a walk. To clear me head.”
Helena didn’t press her, only nodded and wished her well.
Out in the corridor, Abigail spotted Isolde bustling past with a basket of linens.
“Isolde,” she called softly. “Would ye fetch me thick cloak from me chambers? I’m going out for a walk.”
Isolde blinked, then curtsied. “Aye, Me Lady,” she said, before turning on her heel and hurrying away.
Abigail waited alone, her arms folded, her thoughts churning like the wind outside.
Foolish girl. I have let meself believe in love, when all along, I’d only been a temporary comfort to a man bound to duty. I should never have let me heart hope.
Isolde returned and helped her fasten the woolen cloak around her shoulders. “Will ye be takin’ someone with ye?” she asked hesitantly.
“Nay. I need a moment to meself.”
Abigail touched her arm gently in thanks, then turned and slipped into the narrow side corridor.
She moved swiftly through the passageways used by the servants, her head down. The old gate creaked open under her hand, rust flaking onto her glove. She stepped out into the chilly air, drawing the hood over her hair.
The wind hit her at once, sharp and cold, but she welcomed it.
She walked fast, without knowing where she was going. She just needed to get away from the castle, from the whispers, from Kian’s face, and from her sisters, who would know something was wrong. Her boots sank into the soft earth as she walked and walked.
