Page 90 of A Highland Bride Disciplined

“This isnae jest,” Kian snapped.

“And I’m nae jestin’,” Tam said, calm as a priest. “Ye’ve built this clan on yer back, aye. But dinnae think ye’ll shoulder this alone. Scarlett’s proved she’s as much Crawford as any of us. Ye ken it. The men ken it. Even Morag ken it.”

Kian shook his head, pacing to the edge of the yard. His boots crunched over frost-bitten grass. He braced his palms on the fence rail, staring out at the rolling hills beyond. “But I should be in control. She makes me hesitate. Makes me… softer.”

Tam chuckled. “Hesitation’s nae weakness, Kian. It’s care. And care’s what keeps a blade from cuttin’ too deep.”

Kian turned, scowl set deep. “Since when are ye the philosopher?”

“Since watchin’ ye stumble about like a lad with his first kiss,” Tam shot back, grin crooked. “Face it, m’laird. Ye’re nae fightin’ Scarlett. Ye’re fightin’ yerself. The part that still thinksfeelin’makes ye weak.”

Kian’s fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms. He wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Tam he was wrong. But the words stuck.

He remembered Scarlett’s head bowed over the letter, tears blotting the ink. The way her hands had trembled when she reached for him, and the way his own chest had ached to take the pain from her.

Softness. Hesitation. Weakness.

Or something else entirely.

Tam stepped closer, dropping his blade into the dirt once more. His voice softened. “Ye’ll nae lose yerself by lettin’ her in, Kian. Ye’ll just find out who ye are wi’ her beside ye. And maybe that’s what scares ye most.”

Kian stared at him, the words settling heavy in his chest.

Tam grinned suddenly, breaking the moment. “Besides, better her than Morag. Can ye imagine spendin’ yer nights tangled wi’ that dragon?”

One of the guards snorted laughter, earning a glower from Kian. But even he couldn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching.

He bent, picked up his sword, and sheathed it. The fight had bled some of the restlessness from his veins, though not the unease. That would linger. Still, Tam’s words hung like a torch in the dark.

When Scarlett returned to the nursery, Effie and Morag were both bent over the tub. Elise’s shrieks bounced off the walls as the women tried, and failed, to keep her content in the water. Effie was flustered, Morag was stern, and Elise was red as a boiled beet, tiny fists flailing as though waging war.

“Stop wringin’ the cloth like ye’re milkin’ a cow!” Morag barked, snatching the flannel from Effie’s hands. “The bairn’s nae a sheep to be scrubbed raw.”

“I wasnae scrubbing! I was dabbin’—och, hush, wee one, hush,” Effie pleaded, her face redder than Elise’s.

Scarlett leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, but her heart was elsewhere. Their voices reached her ears like sounds from underwater. Elise’s cries pierced, but even those felt distant.

Morag caught her standing there and narrowed her eyes. “Well, daenae just hover, m’lady. Come and soothe her, else she’ll screech the roof off.”

Scarlett stepped forward, but it was like moving through fog. She lifted Elise from the water, bundled her in the towel Morag thrust at her, and pressed her to her chest. The baby’s cries softened but didn’t fade, her tiny body heaving against Scarlett’s.

Effie smiled nervously. “See? She likes ye best. Always does.”

Scarlett tried to answer, but her throat closed. She rocked Elise gently, her mind far from the nursery. Nieve’s voice seemed to echo in the chamber, words from the letter replaying, though she wished she could forget. Elise’s tiny weight in her arms was both balm and blade.

Morag’s sharp eyes softened for the briefest moment. “Ye’ve the look of a lass buried under ghosts, Lady Crawford. Best ye shake it off.”

Scarlett gave a faint nod but said nothing.

Effie tried next, her usual cheer dimmed. “She’s here, m’lady. She’s wi’ us. That’s what matters.”

Scarlett swallowed hard, staring down at Elise’s damp curls plastered to her forehead. They were trying but nothing pierced the hollow ache inside.

Because the truth was, she didn’t need them to tell her Elise loved her. She needed someone to tell her she was enough that she wouldn’t fail this child like Nieve had feared she might.

But no one said it. And until they did, she could not quite believe it herself.

Scarlett had not moved for some time. Elise’s breathing steadied against her chest, tiny fists curling in her damp towel, but Scarlett’s thoughts were still storm-tossed. She rocked absently, staring into the fire until it blurred.