Page 113 of A Highland Bride Disciplined

Scarlett smirked and sat down next to him. “If bread and cheese can fell the mighty Laird Crawford, then perhaps I’ve been usin’ the wrong weapons all along.”

He tore a piece of bread, dipped it in honey, and handed it to her. “Eat first, jest later.”

She accepted, brushing his fingers as she took it. “Bossy.”

“Hungry,” he corrected, tearing his own piece.

They ate in quiet for a moment before she broke it. “Ye look better when ye’re nae scowlin’ at ledgers or barkin’ orders at yer men.”

He raised a brow. “And ye look better when ye’re nae frettin’ by yerself in the shadows.”

“I’ve nae ever been by meself these past few days, husband.”

“Save for Morag and Effie?”

“Aye, and Elise and Cookie… and Tam.”

“Good,” he said quickly, shoving another piece of bread into his mouth. “It’s yer keep — well… yers and Morag’s, of course.”

Her lips pressed together, but then curved. “That’s kind of ye to say, in yer brutish way.”

“Aye. I’m kent for me kindness, lass, across the Highlands,” he deadpanned waving dramatically with his turkey leg before gnashing at it ravenously.

Scarlett laughed then, a true laugh, and the sound the tension that surrounded them.

He studied her a long moment, her face warmed by firelight, and her shoulders eased.

“Ye’re tired,” he said.

“So are ye.”

They held each other’s gaze. She reached across, tearing a corner of bread and pressing it into his hand. “Then we’ll be tired together. At least tonight.”

Kian let the silence linger, softer this time, and nodded. “Together.”

Scarlett sat back, her belly pleasantly warm for the first time in days, and let her eyes roam over her husband. He had sauce on the corner of his mouth. She snorted. “Ye look ferocious enough to scare an army, but there’s turkey grease runnin’ down yer chin.”

Kian wiped at it with the back of his hand and only smeared it further. “Satisfied now?”

“Nay. Ye missed it entirely. Saints preserve us, how do ye manage to dress yerself?”

He leaned forward, daring her. “Come wipe it for me, then.”

She narrowed her eyes, but her hand betrayed her, reaching with the corner of her sleeve to brush his jaw. His beard prickled her knuckles, and when she pulled away, his eyes lingered on her like she’d given him more than a scrap of linen.

“Better?” he asked, his voice was low and made her core tighten fiercely.

“Much,” she managed to say, though she felt her cheeks start to warm, so she busied herself cutting the cheese into little wedges. “I’ve half a mind to send Morag after ye in the mornin’. She’d keep ye spotless, though she might drown ye in starch.”

“She’d try,” Kian muttered. “But I’d win.”

Scarlett chuckled, shaking her head. “Ye’d nae win against Morag. Tam doesnae even try, and he’s half a warlord when he’s in his cups.”

That earned the faintest grin from him, quick as lightning, gone before she could grab hold of it. But she saw it. And her heart thumped at the proof that she could still drag a smile out of him.

They ate slower after that. A sip of honeyed tea, a bite of oat bread. She teased him for tearing hunks like a barbarian, and he teased her for fussing over crumbs on her gown before the meal was over. Their laughter softened the edges of the night, and for once, the war outside their walls seemed far away.

When the food was gone, Scarlett folded her hands in her lap and turned to him, serious again. “Kian… I need ye to listen. Truly listen. Just this once.”