Page 6 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
The trail narrowed as they entered a stretch of forest, the trees thick and bare, the branches clawing at the darkening sky. Roots jutted from the earth, and the horses had to pick their steps carefully.
The woman struggled again, her bound hands gripping the pommel as she tried to throw herself to the side. Kian only tightened his hold with ease.
“Ye’re a spirited thing,” he murmured in her ear, “but ye’ll nae get away from me. Nae like this.”
She let out a grunt of frustration, but the fight in her was beginning to fade, her movements more frantic than forceful.
Kian steadied her again, his jaw set as the forest deepened. Whatever storm this lass brought with her, he was ready to face it.
“Stop yer wigglin’—it is of nay use,” he groaned low and deep.
“I’ll stop strugglin’,” she shot back, “if ye tell me yer name. And dinnae lie. I deserve to ken the name of the man who’s stolen me off the road like some wild beast.”
She didn’t look at him, but she held her chin high.
Kian turned his head toward Leighton, who was a few paces ahead. “Do ye hear that, Leighton? The lass is makin’ demands of me.” His voice was low and mocking, but a hint of something sharper lingered underneath.
“If ye’re too scared to tell me who ye are,” she said coolly, “then just say so. I would expect that from a man who hides behind a false name.”
Her words pricked his chest like a thorn. His smirk vanished. “Kian Wright—yer new Laird. For now.”
His jaw tensed, and he stared straight ahead, the reins clenched tight in his hands.
The woman’s breath hitched. “The Mad Laird of Clan McKenna?” she whispered, all color draining from her cheeks. “What will ye do to me?”
And just like that, her defiance evaporated. Her hands trembled slightly in her lap, and she lowered her head in fear.
Kian leaned into her ear and spoke so low that she nearly didn’t hear him. “Nothin’ ye willnae enjoy, bunny.”
He felt the shiver run through her, and it stirred a dark satisfaction deep in his gut.
“Aye,” he murmured, leaning back with a smirk, “we understand each other now.”
His smirk lingered as fear oozed off her like a sweet perfume.
Yes, he liked that. He was a man of games—of control, of power—and this woman pleased him more than most. She had shrunk the moment his name fell from his lips, as if it alone could cut her down.
His reputation had done the work for him. The Highlands whispered of what he’d done to his uncle, and no one had dared to challenge it. Blood had crowned him Laird, and blood kept him feared. And now, he held the result of that fear in his arms.
Still, there was something else about his captive that pulled at him like a thread.
He’d kidnapped women before for the sake of deals and demands, but never one like her. This wasn’t about power alone—it was about something deeper, something that made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years.
He had grown into a man who relished cruelty and control, and everything in him ached to claim this lass, to make herobeyhim. She hated him now, sure enough, but the game had only just begun.
And Kian Wright never lost.
CHAPTER FOUR
Abigail sat stiff as a board, her back ramrod straight and her arms tight, careful not to lean into her captor’s chest. Every time the horse shifted beneath them, she gritted her teeth and adjusted her weight to avoid contact.
She would not give in to the allure of comfort, not after what he’d done to her. The warmth of his breath against her ear made her stomach churn.
I cannae believe this is happenin’ to me.
Her sisters, Marissa and Freya, would be pacing the floors, wondering where she was—probably thinking she’d had an accident or was delayed by the weather. The image of their worried faces made her chest ache.
I should’ve never left alone.
