Page 9 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
“Keep fightin’, lass. I enjoy a good battle,” he growled low in her ear.
Abigail flushed despite herself, heat rising to her cheeks at the edge of his voice.
And that was when she saw him—trulysaw him—for the first time. His brown hair was tousled, wild from the ride, and his stubble shadowed a sharp jaw. Muscles rippled beneath his tunic with every slight movement, and though the black eyepatch covered his left eye, the other gleamed with a feral intensity.
He looked like he was carved from earth and fire—dangerous, raw, and maddeningly alive.
Her chest tightened with something she didn’t want to name. There was rage, yes, but something else simmered beneath it.
How dare he look like that after what he’s done?
Her fists clenched. Behind them, Leighton led his horse into the stables, wordless and efficient. He tossed her a glance—part curious, part cautious—but said nothing as he busied himself with the reins.
The sounds of hooves, clinking tack, and shifting hay filled the air, grounding her in this strange new place. The keep loomed above them, all towering stone and ancient shadow.
Abigail swallowed hard. She was inside now; there would be no escaping this time.
She gritted her teeth as Kian led his horse into the stables. The air in there smelled of straw and sweat, and she could hear Leighton moving about behind them.
“Ye’ve nay right to treat me like this. I demand to ken why ye have set yer sights on me of all people,” she snapped.
Kian turned to her with a raised eyebrow, clearly amused by her fury. “Keep flappin’ that tongue, lass,” he warned, stepping closer, “and I’ll put ye to work muckin’ the stables with the rest of the lads.” His voice was low and smug, and the smirk on his lips only stoked the fire in her chest. “Might be good for ye. Humble ye a bit.”
She stepped forward until she was nearly nose to chest with him. “I’d rather shovel dung with the horses than spend another moment inyercompany,” she hissed, her eyes locked onto his. “They’ve got more manners than ye ever will, Laird or nae.”
Kian let out a low growl, and then, in one sudden motion, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
Abigail gasped as he pulled her flush against him, the heat of his body seeping through her bodice.
“Careful now,” he said. “If ye dinnae shut that pretty mouth, I’ll be forced to shut it for ye—with a kiss.”
Her breath caught instantly, her cheeks flaming as her whole body froze. Her heart thudded against her ribs, hard and fast. She didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe, her eyes wide.
Kian tilted his head, satisfied with her sudden silence. “Aye,” he said with a crooked smirk. “I thought so.”
Still holding her close, he turned and began walking toward the courtyard.
The courtyard was wide and lined with cobblestones, and the castle’s imposing façade rose before them.
Torches flickered along the stone walls, though the sun hadn’t yet fully set. Abigail walked beside him, stunned into silence—not by fear, but by the sheer gall of him.
“Ye’ll pay for this,” she muttered, though her voice lacked the sharpness of earlier.
Kian hummed under his breath. “I look forward to it, bunny.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Kian strode into the courtyard with Abigail at his side, his hand firm around her elbow. The grounds buzzed with hushed voices as every servant, guard, and stablehand watched him lead a bound woman to the keep. He could hear their whispers.
“Who is she?”
“Why are her hands tied?”
And yet he didn’t flinch. He was Laird McKenna, and no one dared to question him out loud.
Still, as he gripped her arm, heat shot through him, sharp and unwelcome. It was the same feeling he’d had when he’d tossed her over his shoulder, the press of her curves against him far too pleasing. Her body wasn’t slight or delicate—it was full, soft, and warm in a way that made his mind wander where it shouldn’t.
He cursed inwardly.
