Page 10 of A Bride for the Icy Highlander
Focus, ye great fool. She’s nae here for yer pleasure.
“Hurry,” he barked, suddenly agitated. “Ye walk like yer feet are made of stone.”
She glared up at him as they neared the front doors. “Go ahead then,” she sneered, her voice thick with contempt. “Throw me in yer dungeons, ye brute. I’d rather rot there than stay by yer side.”
“I may be a brute,” Kian growled, “but I willnae throw a lady like ye in me dungeons.”
She tried to wrench her arm free, fury in her eyes. “And what exactly does that mean?”
They stepped into the cool interior of the keep, the stone walls swallowing their words.
She gasped, skidding to a halt. “I willnae reside in yer chambers, if that’s what ye’re thinking! I am a proper lady, nae some harlot to be used by the likes of ye!”
Kian let out a low groan and rubbed a hand down his face. “I cannae lie and say that the thought hasnae crossed me mind,” he muttered. “But that’s nae me plan, lass. Ye’ve got me all wrong.”
He watched as she blinked at him, stunned by his admission, then she scowled harder. “Ye think ye can confuse me with half-truths and smirks.”
Ignoring her, he guided her up the stone steps and down a wide hall lit by iron sconces. He stopped at a tall wooden door and pushed it open to reveal a set of beautifully appointed chambers—a large bed, a hearth, and rich woven rugs on the floor, with a proper sitting room.
“These rooms are yers,” he said simply.
She looked around, shocked. “I see why they are so comfortable. These rooms are next to yers, I wager?”
“Aye,” he said, with a smug tilt to his mouth. “Close enough to ken what ye’re doing, bunny. But far enough to give ye privacy, for now.”
He shut the chamber door firmly, the echo echoing through the stone hall behind them. Then, he guided Abigail forward, his grip steady but not painful, and eased her into the cushioned chair by the hearth.
“Sit,” he ordered, his voice rough with command.
She narrowed her eyes at him but obeyed, the firelight dancing across her flushed cheeks.
She glanced around the room, her expression shifting from defiance to confusion.
“Why such comfortable rooms and nae the dungeons?” she muttered, her eyebrows drawing together.
The rugs were rich, the bed large, and the scent of fresh herbs clung to the warm air. Nothing like what she had braced herself for.
Kian folded his arms. “Ye’ll be treated as a guest here.”
Abigail scoffed and leaned back stiffly in the chair. “I am yercaptive, nae yer guest. Ye can wrap a chain in silk, but it’ll always be a chain.”
Kian bent at the waist until his face hovered just above hers. Her breath hitched, and he noticed the small quiver in her lips, the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
It was obvious that she wanted to be brave, but she was rattled. Her fear thrilled him. Heenjoyedit.
Slowly, he reached down and unsheathed his dirk, the steel catching the firelight as it slid free.
Abigail gasped, her entire body tensing, her eyes widening in fear. Her chest rose and fell with quick, heavy breaths.
Kian watched her reaction with a quiet intensity.
“What is that for?” she asked.
Something about her fear stirred him—not cruelty, but control.
He grabbed her hands and held them steady as he brought the blade between them.
“Wait, stop…” she hissed.
