Page 1 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

“ Y e’ll nae ruin this, Scarlett. D’ye hear me?”

Astrid’s voice cut sharp through the tented air, her lips barely parting as she smiled tightly at a passing guest. Her fingers clutched Scarlett’s wrist, her grip deceptively gentle.

Scarlett blinked at her mother, more tired than angry. “Ruin what , exactly? The sham ye and Da arranged behind me back?” Her words came out quiet, but dry as dust.

Astrid’s smile didn’t falter, though her nostrils flared. “The alliance, lass. Yer duty. The alliance between MacLennan and Crawford depends on ye keepin’ yer head down and yer mouth shut .”

Scarlett scoffed and pulled her arm free. “I’ve done me duty. I wore the dress, I spoke the vows, I held his bloody hand at the altar, though he’d barely look at me. What more d’ye want, Maither? A painted smile and a grateful curtsy?”

Astrid’s teeth clacked softly as she tsked. “He’s a Laird, Scarlett. Ye’re nae a barmaid flirtin’ in the tavern. Behave yerself. There’s power in restraint.”

Restraint? Scarlett swallowed the bitter laugh threatening her throat.

“He’s nae even spoken a full sentence to me. Nae a letter before today, nae a glance durin’ the ceremony. What restraint would ye have me show, exactly? Shall I sit by the hearth like a good lass, knittin’ socks for a stranger who’d rather be in anywhere else?”

Her mother’s lips twitched, ready to retort, but then she froze.

Astrid’s spine stiffened. Her eyes widened just a hair as she reached out, smoothing Scarlett’s already flawless sleeve.

“He’s comin’,” she murmured, barely a breath.

Scarlett turned before she could think better of it.

The air left her lungs.

There he was.

Laird Kian Murray, her brand-new husband.

Tall as sin and twice as unforgiving. His dark hair was wind-tossed but neatly tied at his nape, his deep green tartan casting a shadow over the powerful lines of his shoulders.

He strode through the crowd with the ease of a man used to command.

Some people moved to greet him, but one look sent them scuttling back. He was making straight for her.

Scarlett’s pulse kicked up. She drew her chin up, summoning the chill she’d perfected during ceilidhs and family functions, but it barely held. He hadn’t even said a word, and already her body was betraying her.

She didn’t clearly remember the ceremony because she’d been too dazed and panicked. But one thing stood out like firelight in the dark.

His eyes.

He’d looked at her like he meant to study every inch, then burn her from memory. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just intensely.

Now those same eyes pinned her again. Light brown, unreadable, and far too intelligent.

She took a step back before she caught herself.

“Nae too late to run,” came a voice from behind her.

Effie. Of course.

Scarlett glanced at her maid, who was pretending to tidy the hem of her gown while watching the Laird approach with open fascination.

“If I bolt, will ye follow with me trunks?” Scarlett muttered.

Effie grinned. “I’ll pack yer nightgown and all.”

“Enough,” Astrid hissed, smoothing her skirts.

The crowd around them began to hush. Even the musicians faltered, their tune stumbling into an awkward end. Scarlett felt the weight of every gaze shift toward her.

She braced herself as Kian stopped before her.

“Lady Crawford,” he said, low and formal.

Her full title. Not Scarlett. Not even a polite compliment.

A man of warmth and passion, then.

“Laird Crawford,” she returned, lifting her chin. “Or shall I call ye husband now?”

His brow arched, and something flickered behind his eyes. It might’ve been amusement.

Or judgment.

“We’ll leave shortly,” he said, and turned toward the waiting horses.

Just like that.

Scarlett stared after him, stunned. “Shortly? We’ve barely eaten.”

“He’s eager to show ye yer new home,” Astrid offered hastily.

Scarlett rounded on her mother. “He’s eager to claim me and have an heir, ye mean?”

Astrid reached again for her wrist, but Scarlett sidestepped the touch.

She looked around the wedding grounds, at the flower-draped arch that meant nothing now, the MacLennan and Crawford colors twisted together like they were trying to suffocate her. She hadn’t wanted this life. But she’d agreed for the safety of the clan, and mostly for her sisters.

And yet the man who was supposed to lead her into it hadn’t even had the decency to look at her.

Her fingers clenched at her sides.

“Well,” she said under her breath, turning her eyes once more to the retreating figure of her husband. “If he thinks I’ll make this easy for him, he’s in for a rude wakening.”

She lifted her skirts and followed him, shoulders back, heart pounding, fury a thin wire running through her veins.

Kian Murray’s footsteps were measured and heavy. Each one thudded like a war drum against the stone path. He stopped in front of her without a word, casting a long shadow over her satin skirts.

“Ready?” He stated simply more so than asked.

That was it. No greeting. No compliment.

Not even a nod to her appearance, though Effie had spent two hours curling her unruly hair and tucking in the wilder strands.

Her crown of strawberry-blonde was pinned high, her green eyes outlined in kohl, and the dress she wore was hand-stitched from MacLennan silk that glimmered like morning dew.

And still, he looked at her like a reluctant farmer surveying a poorly bred mule.

Scarlett stiffened, then forced herself to smile. “Time, is it? Could we nae stay a day or two longer? Ye’ve nae even met me sisters properly.”

Her voice was softer than she’d meant it to be, and it startled her just how small she came off. She had intended to be amiable… not pitiful. Damn.

For all his silence, this was her husband now. Her life. She ought to try, at least. If he’d only see how likable and charming she was, and would be as a partner, perhaps they could begin on steady ground.

“I daenae need to meet yer sisters, Scarlett,” he said, brown eyes flat. “We’re wed. The formalities are done.”

Her heart lurched. A formality?

She swallowed it down, lifting her chin, painting steel over the soft ache.

“Well,” she said, bitterness returning to her tongue, “that’s a pity. Ye’d he liked them better than me.”

Effie made a scandalized noise behind her. Scarlett wished she had the gall to do the same.

Kian glanced toward the waiting horses, where his man-at-arms adjusted the saddle cinch with a grim frown. “We ride.”

Scarlett’s pulse skipped. “I just thought ye might like to spend a night wi’ yer wife, under her faither’s roof. Show her some kindness before draggin’ her away to a place she’s never kent.”

He turned his gaze back to her, and again she felt that strange twist in her belly. His stare was unreadable, but not empty. No, something moved behind his eyes. He was thinking. Judging. Weighing.

And somehow, she knew she wouldn’t like the verdict.

“Nay,” he said with finality. “We ride for Crawford Keep.”

Scarlett clenched her jaw and bowed. “As ye wish, husband.”

The word tasted like ash.

But then he offered his arm.

She hesitated just a moment too long, and then set her hand lightly on his sleeve. It was hard beneath her fingers, all lean muscle and rigid tension. He didn’t look at her as they moved through the thinning crowd. No waves. No goodbyes.

Effie scurried behind with her bag, whispering something under her breath that Scarlett couldn’t quite catch.

Tam Gallagher, Kian’s man-at-arms, stood by the horses. He wore a patch over one eye and a scowl that looked permanent. His thick arms were crossed, and a sword hung heavy at his hip.

“Yer lady wife,” Kian said flatly.

Tam gave a grunt of acknowledgment, though his one good eye gave her a once-over that wasn’t unkind. “M’lady.”

Scarlett nodded stiffly.

They mounted and rode in silence.

The MacLennan banners vanished behind them within minutes, swallowed by the curve of the hills. Scarlett’s heart ached with every hoofbeat. She hadn’t expected to be happy , no. But she hadn’t imagined feeling so utterly disposable.

The further they rode, the more her discomfort grew. Her new husband said nothing, offered no reassurances, asked no questions. The man was a slab of stone, carved into the shape of a Laird. Handsome, yes, unreasonably so, but colder than the Highland lochs in winter.

His jaw flexed as he rode, the muscle tight near his ear. She hated that her eyes lingered there. Hated that she noticed how his coat clung to his shoulders, or how the wind tousled his dark hair just so. He looked like a storm barely held at bay.

And I am expected to live with him?

Scarlett exhaled hard through her nose.

Another hour passed before her patience snapped.

“So. Ye’ve nothin’ to say, then?” she asked, loud enough to carry over the hooves.

He looked over at her, one brow lifting.

“Yer poor bride,” she went on, unable to help herself, “torn from her home and kin wi’ nae so much as a question whether she’d prefer to eat before bein’ hauled across the hills. Is it always so brisk, or d’ye just nae care what yer shiny new trophy thinks?”

Kian tugged the reins to slow his horse just a touch. The grin that pulled at his lips was slow, wicked.

“Trophy?” he repeated, turning fully to face her.

Scarlett’s cheeks flushed. She hadn’t meant to say that part aloud.

“Aye,” she muttered, chin high. “I meant me . But I’d wager the title suits, nay? Pretty enough to hang on yer arm but nae worth a real conversation.”

His eyes swept over her too slowly and the grin widened just enough to make her stomach twist.

“Yer me wife,” he said at last. “Nay one speaks ill of her. Nae even herself.”

That wasn’t what she expected.

And damn him, he knew it. She saw the flicker of satisfaction before he turned forward again.

Her voice, when it came, was softer. “Then why the rush, if ye care so much? Could ye nae let me stay wi’ me kin a little longer?”

He didn’t answer for a while.