Page 41 of A Highland Bride Disciplined

But she didn’t move.

Her fingers picked idly at the edge of the napkin, twisting the cloth into soft little knots.

He didn’t speak. Not at first.

Then, his low voice vibrated her to the core. “Would ye like me to come over there and feed ye meself?”

Her head snapped up.

He looked deadly serious.

A flush bloomed instantly up her neck. “Absolutely nae!”

His mouth curled just slightly. “Because I will. I’m perfectly capable. In fact, I’d be happy to show ye what a carin’ husband I can be.”

She narrowed her eyes. “If ye so much as reach for a spoon, I’ll brain ye with it.”

“Then eat, woman.”

She glared at him. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, picked up the spoon and dipped it into the broth.

The first sip was divine.

She hated that she groaned aloud. Hated even more the way his brow lifted in amusement at the sound.

Saints above, save me — it’s so good...

The broth was salty and thick, laced with pepper. She tore off a piece of oatcake and dipped it, savoring the way it softened and broke apart in her mouth. The cheese was sharp and perfect, and the egg tasted like heaven, warm and simple and rich.

Kian said nothing as she ate. Just watched her, that same unreadable look on his face.

She didn’t stop until the bowl was empty and the oatcake reduced to crumbs. Her stomach no longer roared in protest. It purred like a contented cat.

She wiped her mouth with the napkin, then looked up at him.

“Well?” she said, trying not to sound like she cared.

He rose to his feet. “Good.”

She blinked. “Good?”

He nodded once. “Come to the study.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Her first instinct was to argue. Reflexive. But then she looked at him again. Not angry. Not stern. Just solid. Like stone warmed in the sun. Still unreadable, still maddening, but anchored.

She stood slowly. “Fine,” she said, the word was clipped clean.

He turned, unfazed, and started toward the hall.

Scarlett followed, her fingers brushing the back of the chair as she passed it. For once, her limbs didn’t feel like sacks of flour.

The fire had died low in the hearth by the time they reached the study.

Kian moved with quiet purpose, his boots thudding softly against the floorboards as he crossed to the sideboard. Without asking, he uncorked the bottle of whiskey and poured two generous fingers into a pair of heavy glasses. The scent of smoke and peat wafted into the air.