Page 89 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Abigail exhaled, part relief, part pain. “That’s all I ask, I suppose.”
Cody folded his arms, still scowling. “He hurts ye, even once, and I’ll bury him six feet under.”
“I’d expect nothin’ less,” Abigail said.
Her heart ached from the tension, but at least the truth was out.
She turned to Amara, her eyes pleading. “And ye? Will ye stand with me?”
Amara nodded slowly. “Aye. I’ll stand with ye. I ken the heart makes us do things we wouldnae otherwise. I ken ye love him, and I believe ye when ye say he loves ye. He lies on a bed, fightin’ for his life, ‘cause he risked it to save ye. That is love.”
Abigail hugged her. “Thank ye, Amara,” she whispered.
After she left the room, she headed into her bedchamber and shut the door behind her with a soft click.
It looked just as she had left it—her shawl was draped over the chair, and the blanket on her bed was slightly rumpled.
She had not changed since the ordeal with Peyton, not wanting to leave Kian’s side. Now, she peeled off her muddy clothes, one layer at a time, her fingers aching from fatigue and cold.
Her chemise clung to her skin, and she winced at the scratches across her arms and sides. She filled the basin with fresh water from the pitcher and splashed it onto her face and arms. The cold shocked her awake, and for a moment, she simply stood there, breathing.
Her hair was a wild, tangled mess. She detangled it with her fingers and braided it loosely down her back. Her hands were steady now, but her thoughts raced.
What will happen tomorrow? Of the days after?
She slipped on a fresh gown, woolen and warmer than the one she’d shed.
A knock startled her out of her thoughts, light but firm. She padded over to the door and opened it to find Helena standing there, bearing a tray of food.
“I brought ye somethin’,” Helena said gently, her tone motherly. “I ken ye’ve nae had a proper meal in days. Will ye eat with me?”
Abigail hesitated, her gaze flicking down the hallway. “But Kian… who’s watchin’ him?” she asked, her heart thudding in her chest.
Helena smiled softly. “Freya. Yer sister’s with him now.”
“Freya?”
“Aye, she said she’d watch over her sister’s love herself.” Her eyes twinkled.
Abigail’s shoulders sagged with relief at the thought that her sister had accepted Kian enough to look after him.
“Then I will eat with ye,” she replied, stepping aside to let Helena in.
Helena set the tray down on the small table by the fire and uncovered the dishes with a proud smile. “Nothin’ fancy, but it’ll warm ye up.”
There was a steaming bowl of thick lamb stew, filled with turnips, barley, and carrots. A small bannock sat beside it, golden and crisp on the edges, along with a wedge of sharp cheese and a mug of spiced cider.
Abigail’s stomach growled loudly, surprising them both. She gave a sheepish laugh. “I suppose I’m hungrier than I thought.”
“Eat, lass,” Helena urged, settling into the chair opposite. “Ye look like a ghost.”
Abigail took a spoonful of stew and closed her eyes as the heat spread through her chest. The broth was rich and peppered, the lamb so tender it melted on her tongue.
She hadn’t realized how long it had been since her last meal; every bite felt like it was waking something inside her. She tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into the stew, savoring the simple, hearty fare.
Helena watched her with quiet satisfaction, sipping on her cider. “Ye were brave out there,” she said softly. “Nae only for what ye did for Kian, but also for choosin’ to come back to the castle and get him help after what he’d done to ye.”
Abigail swallowed, her throat tight. “I couldnae leave him, nae after everything we’ve been through. I love him, Helena, even though it goes against reason.”
