Page 65 of A Highland Bride Disciplined

Her chin lifted, but there was no disguising the tightening in her voice. “And what exactly does that mean?”

“That I’ll ken more when Duncan gets here,” he said.

“That she’ll be taken away, ye mean,” Scarlett countered, each word clipped like it hurt to say.

Kian opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Daenae pretend it’s nae the point of all this. Sending yer men out, sniffin’ around every hamlet from here to the coast.” Her throat moved with a hard swallow. “Ye’re tryin’ to send her away.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it carried more than anger. It carried fear.

Kian didn’t like the way it hit him. It was too sharp, too close to something he didn’t want to name. “I’m tryin’ to find answers,” he said, steady but low. “I told ye I wanted them, and I would find them. Daenae pretend that any of this is new information.”

Scarlett’s hands curled into fists, as though that steadiness cost her more than shouting would. “Answers lead to someone knockin’ at the door to claim her. And then what?”

Before he could answer, she shook her head once, sharply, and left the study without another word.

He watched her go, the door closing a little harder than necessary behind her. His chest twisted uncomfortably, but he forced himself to push it aside and looked at Tam. “What’s wrong with Duncan?”

Tam’s mouth twitched, like he was holding back a laugh. “He’s in Oban. Drunk as a cart horse and locked up for insultin’ a laird.”

Kian shut his eyes briefly. “Christ above. How much is owed for his release?”

“Sixty pounds.”

“Sixty! Has the man never been insulted before? What was said?”

Tam’s grin finally broke loose, and he fished out a bit of parchment. “Apparently Duncan told him his wig looked like it’d been chewed by a goat and spat out. And when the laird’s wife gasped —” Tam actually had to pause to keep from laughing outright — “Duncan bows all courtly-like and says,‘And the goat hisself has arrived.’”

Kian blinked. “He meantherself, surely?”

Tam shook his head, lips twitching. “Nay, he never corrected it. Just kept right on. Squints at her and says,‘Oh, gracious — ye’re nae his wife then? Ach, me mistake. Thought ye were a well-kept whore.’”

Kian’s bark of laughter came fast and hard before he could stop it, low enough to keep it between them but sharp enough to sting the air. “Christ almighty… it’s a wonder he’s still breathin’.”

“Aye,” Tam agreed cheerfully. “And he only is because he’s one o’yermen, else the Oban gallows would be swingin’ with his name on it.”

Kian snorted. “Oh aye, or the laird might have had one less bullet in his rifle.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Kian shook his head, the ghost of a smile lingering despite himself. “I’ll write to the laird, pay what’s needed. He’ll be back in time for the festival, God willing.”

Tam sobered. “And the lassie’s family?”

Kian’s mouth tightened. “We’ll look into it all again. After the festival. Once Duncan’s back and we have more information.”

Tam gave a short nod, and Kian waved him away. The room was suddenly too quiet, the faint smell of Scarlett’s perfume still lingering like a memory he couldn’t shake.

12

Scarlett adjusted her cloak at the shoulders, tugging the wool snug as she crossed the keep’s inner courtyard. Her mare was already saddled and pawing at the dirt, breath clouding in the cool morning air.

She passed Mrs. Morag near the well, the housekeeper’s formidable bulk blocking most of the path.

“I’ll be ridin’ into the village to check on the festival preparations,” Scarlett said, lifting her chin in greeting. “Be back before the dinner hour.”

Morag was squinting at the laundry line, muttering something about the wind. Whether she’d actually heard Scarlett was debatable. The keys at her hip clanked once as she turned away, and Scarlett shook her head. “Right,” she murmured to herself and made her way back to the mare.

She swung into the saddle, the leather creaking under her weight, and nudged the mare toward the open gates. The crisp air bit pleasantly at her cheeks as she rode out, the keep shrinking behind her.