Page 16 of A Highland Bride Disciplined

She didn’t slow until they reached the healer’s door. She barely knocked before pushing it open.

Inside, the room was quiet save for the soft cooing of old Brighde, the healer, who stood beside the low table by the hearth.

And on that table… was a baby.

A small bundle wrapped in soft, worn wool. Her cheeks were rosy, her lashes long and golden against her skin. She looked about six months old, maybe a bit less, and she was sucking softly on her fist like she’d made peace with the chaos around her.

Scarlett couldn’t speak.

Effie crept to her side, peeking over her shoulder. “Och. She’s…perfect.”

Morag, surprisingly gentle, stepped up beside them. “By the looks of it someone’s looked after her. Recently even. Just nae anymore.”

Scarlett couldn’t stop staring.

The room felt unnaturally still, like even the stone walls were holding their breath. The healer’s chamber, once familiar and orderly, now felt foreign. The scent of dried rosemary and crushed lavender hung thick in the air, usually comforting, but today it clung to her throat.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting a soft amber glow over the wooden beams above. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with neatly labeled jars of comfrey, poppyseed, and powdered charcoal. A pot of barley tea simmered quietly nearby, forgotten in the corner.

The baby didn’t cry. She just… stared.

Those wide blue-grey eyes blinked up at the rafters, peaceful as a morning tide. Her tiny fingers curled and uncurled beside her cheek. Her lips still wrapped around her thumb.

Scarlett’s knees felt oddly weak.

She didn’t move closer. She wasn’t sure shecould.

This was no led ledger to balance. No crumbling wall to mend. This was life, untouched and vulnerable, dropped like a stone in her hands.

She wasn’t prepared for this.

Not emotionally. Not practically. Not even remotely.

Effie made a soft sound beside her. “D’ye think she kent, whoever left her? That this place would be safe?”

Scarlett didn’t answer. But the question lodged in her chest like a thorn.

Safe? Was that what she was now? A place someone could entrust with their child?

The weight of it pressed against her lungs.

She forced herself to take a slow step closer. Then another.

The baby turned her head slightly, as if sensing her.

Scarlett’s heart twisted. She didn’t know this child. Didn’t know her story. But something about the calm in her expression struck something deep.

Then her eyes fell on the edge of the swaddle, where something stiff was tucked into the folds.

A bit of parchment, barely visible.

Scarlett drew a sharp breath. “The note?” she managed.

“Aye,” Brighde said flatly, and pulled the folded scrap of parchment. “I havenae read it. It’s address to yerself and the laird.”

Scarlett took it with careful fingers. The handwriting was neat but rushed.

This is Elise. Please care for her as if she were your own. We cannae keep her. We only ask that the Laird and Lady Crawford show her kindness. She is good. She is loved. She deserves a life better than the one we can give her.