Page 32 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
The two men continued on, trading notes on sword work and spear drills as though she weren’t even there. Abigail clenched her jaw as she sliced into her sausage, the scrape of the knife loud in her ears.
I cannae understand how a man could kiss me like he meant it—make me feel things I hadnae known existed—and then ignore me as though I were the maid fillin’ his cup.
She sat rigidly, her back straight, trying not to look over at him again. But the longer he spoke to Leighton, the tighter the knot in her chest grew.
What did that kiss mean to him? Had it been nothin’ more than a moment of lust? A tease? Some cruel game he played for his own amusement?
She reached for her cup of water, her fingers curling tightly around it.
Helena gave her a gentle look from across the table, perhaps noticing the tension in her shoulders.
“Ye all right, Abigail?” she asked quietly.
“Aye,” Abigail said too quickly. “Just fine.”
But she wasn’t. Not at all.
Kian never once glanced at her again. He leaned toward Leighton, nodding at something the man said, and her cheeks burned.
It wasn’t just frustration—it was offense. It was insult. It was being made to feel small in front of everyone.
When the last bit of cheese and oatcakes were eaten and the table was cleared, Kian rose to his feet. The chair scraped across the stone floor, and he stood there for a moment, finishing off his drink. Then, without a word, he turned to his man-at-arms.
“Come,” he said simply. “We have work to do.”
Abigail watched as both men walked away, their boots clicking on the floor as they exited the Great Hall.
Not a glance. Not a word. Not even the courtesy of an acknowledgment.
Her chest ached with something she could hardly name.
Helena leaned closer and whispered, “Ignore him. He always behaves foolishly after receivin’ the morning reports.”
But Abigail wasn’t comforted.
She sat in silence, watching the seat he had just vacated like it might quell the storm in her chest.
How dare he touch me like that—kiss me like I belonged to him—and then walk away without so much as a word? Does hethink me feelings are a game? Is he toyin’ with me just because he can?
Abigail swallowed hard and forced herself to rise from her seat. She smoothed down her skirts, refusing to let anyone see the hurt brewing beneath the surface.
She was not some fragile flower. She would not break over a man like him.
Even if part of her heart had leapt like a fool when he kissed her.
She walked out of the Great Hall with her head held high, determined not to let anyone see her frustration.
Peyton offered her a soft smile as she passed, but Abigail could barely return it. Her thoughts were too busy chasing the man who’d turned her world upside down with a single kiss—and left her burning in the silence that followed it.
Back in her chamber, she sat by the window, looking out over the green hills that rolled endlessly into the horizon. A breeze filtered in through the open shutters, brushing her cheek like a lover’s hand. She hated how her mind kept circling back to him—his touch, his voice, the feel of his lips against hers.
She hated more how much she’d liked it.
“Curse ye, Kian Wright,” she muttered to herself. “Kissin’ me like that and walkin’ away as if it meant naught. What kind of beast plays with fire and then walks off into the cold?”
She crossed her arms, her heart still racing. She would not let him do this to her. If he thought he could kiss her and forget her, he was sorely mistaken.
She would not be ignored. Not by him. Not by anyone.
