Page 3 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
She looked up at the sky, where the sun hung at its highest.
Marissa arched a curious eyebrow. “What sort of charity is it, then? Ye dinnae speak often of these matters.” Her voicesoftened, sisterly curiosity shining through the formalities of noble life.
“It’s for young widows, teachin’ them skills to stand on their own two feet,” Abigail explained, her tone steady and sincere. “Ye ken how harsh the world can be toward a woman without a family to lean on. It’s nae much, but it’s somethin’.”
She clasped Marissa’s hand firmly, her eyes shining with quiet determination, then stepped toward the waiting carriage.
“Goodbye, dear sister,” she said.
“Send me love to the others,” Marissa called.
Abigail settled into the carriage with a soft sigh, the heavy wooden door closing behind her with a solid thud.
As soon as the wheels began to turn and the familiar sight of Castle Reid faded from view, her smile vanished like mist in the morning sun. Her fingers clenched the folds of her gown tightly, and her eyes dropped to the floor, clouded with thoughts she dared not voice. The carriage rocked gently, but inside her heart, a storm raged.
She thought of her sisters—their laughter, their bright eyes, the way suitors had always flocked to them with genuine affection and respect. Marissa, the Lady of Clan Reid, was so graceful and fair, and had a husband who loved her.
Abigail scoffed inwardly as she considered her own appearance—plain brown hair, soft brown eyes, average height, and a figure fuller than she wished it to be.
Why was I nae blessed with such beauty?
The thought made her chest tighten. The men who approached her were different—hungry for titles and power, only eager for marriage alliances and how they might benefit them. No one looked at her for the woman she was, only for what she could offer.
The thought pressed heavily on her chest, like a stone she could not cast aside.
Her fingers traced the edge of the embroidered cushion, trying to ease her inner turmoil. “Will I ever find real love?” she wondered, her voice barely above a whisper.
She longed for the warmth of a true companion, someone who would cherish her for her heart and spirit. Yet doubt settled deep, and she feared she was destined to be merely a means to power, never a love partner.
Time passed in a blur as the carriage rattled on steadily, the rhythmic clatter of wheels over dirt blending with the hum of her thoughts. She sat in silence, her fingers resting loosely in her lap, her gaze unfocused as memories and worries churned behind her eyes.
The warmth of her sister’s farewell had faded, replaced with the ache of longing she kept well-hidden. Love still felt like a distant thing, a dream other women were allowed to chase, but never her.
At last, she turned her head toward the window, blinking as she took in the golden sweep of afternoon light across the moors. Rolling hills stretched wide beneath a sky streaked with silver clouds, and heather bloomed in patches across the land. The air was crisp, the kind that kissed the skin with wind and whispered secrets through the gorse.
“Oh,” she murmured, a small smile curving her lips, “the time’s gone by quickly… I didnae even realize we’re halfway home.”
Her smile faded as she felt the carriage shift, turning down a road that did not feel right beneath the wheels. The rhythm changed, and the path became rougher, less familiar.
Abigail leaned out of the window, her brow furrowed. “Wait… this isnae the way to Castle McEwan,” she said, her voice tight.
The trees here stood closer together, the road narrowing with each jolt of the wheels.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she shouted, “Carter! Carter! Why have we turned this way?”
Her voice cracked with urgency, but the wind drowned her words.
The driver gave no sign of hearing her, focused only on the reins, his back stiff. Her thoughts scattered—perhaps a bridge had collapsed, or heavy rain made the main road too dangerous to cross. Maybe there was a fallen tree or a washed-out path.
She tried to steady her breathing, pressing a hand to her chest. “He should have told me,” she whispered, her voice thin.
Then came a sudden shout from the front, sharp and startled. The horses shrieked, their hooves striking the ground in frantic beats. The carriage lurched violently, throwing Abigail against the wall as it came to a jarring halt. Pain bloomed across her shoulder, but it was nothing compared to the cold grip of fear on her chest.
She scrambled up as best she could in the cramped carriage, her breathing shallow and fast.
“What’s happened?” she called, her voice trembling as she leaned toward the shuttered window. “Carter! Answer me!”
But there was only silence—no voice, no movement—only the restless whinnying of the horses.
