Page 106 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
She reached for him, but he pulled away.
“Do ye nae see what this does, having to beg for acceptance?” he snapped.
Her breath caught in her throat. “Kian, I…”
But he’d already turned on his heel and walked away, his cloak trailing behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Abigail woke up to a quiet stillness. She reached across the wide bed, her fingers finding only cold linen. She drifted off to sleep alone the night before.
Kian’s absence left a hole in her heart. Even though they had not been intimate, she had grown used to sleeping at his side since he was wounded, and since Peyton had been slain in her room.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, then pushed herself up with a sigh. She dressed without a word, each motion slow and deliberate.
Her shift and gown felt heavier than usual, her hands colder. She did not stoke the fire or summon a maid.
A shout suddenly rose from the bailey, guards calling to open the gates. The sound of hooves thundered across the stones as riders entered under the morning mist.
Abigail moved to the window and caught the banner unfurling in the breeze—a stag and a sword.
“Clan Teyrn,” she murmured. Her breath hitched as the flag disappeared beneath the archway. “Whatever could they be sending riders for?”
She slipped out of her chambers and padded down the corridor. Her mind raced with unspoken fears, but her body moved with purpose. She reached the window overlooking the courtyard and paused.
Kian stood at the center of the square. The riders had dismounted and approached him with slow, deliberate steps. One, cloaked in white and bearing a scroll, stepped forward.
“Greetings, Laird McKenna. I bring a message from Laird Teyrn. He offers his daughter’s hand in marriage,” he announced. “In return, Clan McKenna shall receive fifty warriors and winter provisions as requested.”
Abigail pressed her hand to her chest as if that might keep her heart from tearing out of her chest. Her mouth had gone dry, her limbs numb. She clung to the windowsill, her eyes fixed on Kian’s unreadable face.
The messenger handed the scroll to him and continued, “All he asks is access to the southern trade routes through McKenna lands.”
Kian didn’t flinch. He stood as still as a stone carved in war. Then, with deliberate calm, he said, “I’ll give me answer by first light. Ye’re welcome to stay here. Rest and eat under our roof.”
The Teyrn riders nodded and were soon led inside by the guards. Still, Abigail could not move. Her fingers curled against the sill, and her throat burned. She felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her.
Kian turned around, his gaze downcast. Then, he walked away with slow, heavy steps, disappearing into the keep.
Abigail remained where she was, the morning sun mocking the chill spreading through her chest.
The corridors seemed colder now, darker somehow. Just beyond the main hall, she ran into Marissa, who paused, concern crossing her face.
“Abigail? Ye look pale. Are ye feelin’ ill?”
“Nay, just a bit of a stomach ache,” Abigail replied quickly, averting her eyes. “Too much excitement of late, I suppose.”
Marissa didn’t look convinced. “Maybe ye should lie down.”
“Nay, I will be fine. I am going to the healer for a tincture,” Abigail said, forcing a small smile.
She turned and walked away before Marissa could ask more.
Of all people, she did not want to hear her sister gloat about being right about Kian. She did not want her sisters to know the offer he had just received. She could not bear their disappointment.
Reaching the healer’s chambers, she knocked softly before slipping inside.
Helena was bundling dried herbs. She turned around at once, her warm face breaking into a smile. “Ach, lass. Ye have the look of one who needs tea more than anything.”
