Page 13 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
But deep down, he knew the truth was already tangled with something far messier. Something he didn’t want to admit—not to Paul, not to anyone. And certainly not to himself.
He meant to take her and use her as leverage, but now, having seen her fire, he wasn’t sure that was all he wanted her for.
However, it was his concern and no one else’s what he did with the lass. He had not come this far to be questioned like a child. It dredged up memories of how his uncle treated him, and that put him in a black mood.
He stormed out of the study and into the corridor, then stomped toward the servants’ quarters. His mind raced with plans, but beneath it all, that cursed woman’s face flickered like a flame—defiant, frightened, beautiful.
The way she had jumped from his horse, not caring for her safety… She was wild, and that made his blood sing in a way that he had not experienced in a long while.
He scowled and shoved the thought away. Emotions were a luxury he couldn’t afford.
Spotting a young maid carrying linens, he snapped, “Isolde!”
The girl jumped, nearly dropping the bundle, but then quickly turned around and curtsied. “Aye, Me Laird?”
“Go to the red room. Draw a bath—hot enough to steam the flesh off bones. Fill the tub, bring fresh clothes, and see it done before I return.” His tone brooked no argument, sharp and cold.
Isolde blinked but nodded quickly. “Aye, right away, Me Laird.”
“And listen well.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “There is a guest in that room. She isnae to leave it unless I say so. Take this.”
He pulled a heavy iron key from his belt and placed it firmly in her hand.
Isolde clutched it tightly, her eyes wide.
“When the bath is ready and the clothes laid out, lock the door. Then, bring the key straight back tome, nay one else. Understood?”
“Yes, of course, Me Laird. Right away.”
“One more thing,” Kian added, half turning. “Find James, the guard and tell him his Laird orders him to post guards at the door. The guest is spirited and clever. She’ll bolt if she sees a chance.”
Isolde nodded and curtsied low again. “I’ll see to it, Me Laird.”
Satisfied, Kian turned away and headed to the kitchens. The scent of roasted onions and warm bread enveloped him as he entered the busy room, flames crackling in the hearths and pots almost overflowing with thick stew. The cooks paused at his arrival, bowing quickly, flour and grease smudged on their aprons.
“We have a guest,” Kian announced without preamble. “Prepare the best ye’ve got. Stew, warm bread, cheeses.”
“Aye, Me Laird,” Lara said, already turning toward the larder. “We’ll see it done.”
“And make it look fine,” Kian added, his voice like steel. “The kind of meal fit for a queen—even if she’s here in chains.”
CHAPTER SIX
Abigail stood still for a long moment after the lock clicked behind her. The room was nothing like she’d expected. No chains, no moss-covered walls or foul-smelling straw for a bed. Instead, soft crimson red drapes hung from the windows, the walls were paneled in polished wood, and a large, canopied bed stood in the center, its blankets made of fine wool.
She walked around the room, cautious. Her eyes widened as she saw the hand-carved armoire, the silver mirror, and the embroidered pillows arranged neatly on the chair by the hearth. It was luxurious—far too fine for a captive.
Surely this was some sort of trick. A way to confuse her, disarm her.
Moving toward the window, she pulled back the curtains and peered down. Her stomach sank.
The window overlooked a sheer drop down the cliffside wall of the castle. There’d be no climbing out that way, not unless she grew wings.
“I need to get out of here,” she whispered, her fingers brushing the cold glass.
She turned and went to the door, grabbing the handle and giving it a hard twist. Nothing. She tried again, then braced her shoulder against it. Still nothing.
“Of course, ye locked me in,” she muttered bitterly. “Ye monstrous brute.”
