Page 4 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Her heart thundered in her chest, loud enough that she thought it might break through her ribs. She reached beneath the folds of her gown with shaking hands, pulling out the small dirk she kept strapped to her thigh.
The metal was cold and reassuring in her grip, though her palm was clammy. She’d heard tales of bandits on the back roads—men who preyed on lone travelers like wolves in the dark.
Then came the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate—crunching on gravel just outside the carriage door.
Abigail froze, her breath catching, every hair on her arms rising. She clenched the dirk tighter, forcing her mind to quiet. The door rattled, then flew open with a bang.
With a gasp, she lunged forward and slashed blindly, her blade catching the intruder across the arm. He cursed low under his breath but grabbed her wrist with lightning speed and twisted, disarming her with practiced ease.
“Get away from me!” she screamed, trying to pull back, fury and terror colliding in her chest.
But the man only chuckled, as though her fear amused him.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly handsome, despite the dark eyepatch covering his left eye. His smirk curled like a knife’s edge, cruel and far too confident.
“Found ye, little bunny,” he drawled, his voice deep and rough with a Highland lilt.
And just like that, Abigail knew—she was not in the hands of a bandit, but someone far more dangerous.
Her back hit the far wall of the carriage as she glared at him, her chest heaving. “I dinnae ken who ye are, but ye’ll regret layin’ a hand on me,” she spat, fury rising to meet the fear in her belly.
Her wrist throbbed where he’d twisted it, but she refused to show weakness—not to him. Not to this arrogant brute with the smirk of the devil himself.
Unbothered by her words, the man climbed into the carriage, ducking slightly to fit through the narrow door.
“Oh, I think I will never regret this,” he said, wiping the blood from his arm with his cloak. “And ye, lass, are a long way from safety.”
“Why would a man like ye come for me?” she asked, her voice low but steady. “I travel with nay jewelry or baubles. This carriage isnae one of opulence. Ye will find that I have nothin’ to give ye.”
“Because, lass,” he said in a gravelly voice, “yer hand is about to change the Highlands… and I intend to make sure it changes it in me favor.”
“What? That doesnae make any sense. I am nay one,” she huffed.
“Aye, ye are someone to me. I dinnae need yer baubles, lass. I needye,” he insisted.
Abigail’s breath caught, her fingers curling into fists as her pulse thundered in her ears. “Ye’ve nay right,” she hissed, lifting her chin defiantly. “I’ll never marry a man who thinks he can steal a bride like cattle.”
The man leaned in close, his face inches from hers. “I dinnae care for a wedding, lass. Either way, ye’re comin’ with me.”
CHAPTER THREE
Kian grabbed her firmly by the arm. She twisted against his grip, fierce and unrelenting, her teeth bared like a wildcat.
“Unhand me, ye brute!” she snarled, digging her heels into the floor of the carriage.
He yanked her out with ease, lifting her down onto the dirt road as she struggled.
Her skirts tangled around her ankles, and she barely caught herself before she fell. As soon as she found her footing, her eyes darted to the driver—and froze.
The man was standing just off the road, his head bowed as he emptied a small pouch of coin into his palm, handed to him by another rider.
Kian watched the shift in her expression with keen interest.
Her face fell at the betrayal of her carter.
“Ye scum of the earth!” she spat at the driver, her voice sharp enough to flay flesh. “Me sisters will make ye pay for this!”
Her fury was so vivid, so hot, that Kian felt a strange pull in his chest. There was fire in her, and she wore it like a crown.
