Page 13 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

K ian stood on the battlements just after dawn, the chill wind biting through his tunic.

Below, the courtyard bustled with early movement of boots on stone, carts rolling in from the village, the clang of pails, and the sharp whistle of the cook’s apprentice.

None of it cut through the noise in his head.

That kiss.

Bloody hell.

It had been foolish. Reckless, even. He’d meant to assert himself.

To take control of a spiraling conversation.

He’d meant to silence her. And instead, he’d let her into his chest, his mouth, his thoughts.

She lingered there like a fine wine. She tasted just as sharp and addictive, and he would certainly fill his cup to the brim if the situation kept going the way it had been.

Kian clenched the edge of the stone wall.

He never lost control. He just didn’t.

Except, apparently, around her.

“She’s like a curse,” he hissed under his breath.

Behind him, the heavy tread of boots announced Tam’s approach. Kian didn’t turn, just said, “Did ye speak wit’ the steward about the nursemaid candidates?”

“Aye. Three have been summoned for interview. Two from the village, and one from Glenlorne.” Tam joined him at the parapet, squinting toward the mist-laced hills. “The Glenlorne lass comes well-recommended.”

“Good,” Kian said. “Make sure the staff vets them thoroughly. I’ll want yer thoughts as well before Lady Scarlett sees them.”

Tam gave a curt nod. “And the other thing?”

Kian exhaled. “Aye. That too.”

Tam didn’t need more than that. He waited.

“I want ye to speak with the servants. Quiet-like,” Kian said. “Ask if anyone’s heard whisper of a woman in trouble. A birth in secret. Someone missin’ from the village for a few days, mayhap.”

“Ye think the maither might be local?” Tam asked.

“I think someone out there kens more than they’re sayin’.” Kian rubbed his jaw. “And if the note was true, and she truly feared for her life, then whoever forced her hand might still be nearby.”

Tam’s expression hardened. “I’ll speak with the kitchens and stable hands today.”

“Discreetly.”

“I’m always discreet,” Tam said, though his scarred brow arched in challenge.

Kian allowed a short grunt. “The bairn’s too quiet. Too well-mannered for an abandoned child. She’s been loved. She’s been taught to trust. This was nae just a cast-off. Someone left the bairn here kennin’ we’d take her in.”

Tam studied his laird. “That bother ye?”

Kian didn’t answer. Not directly.

Instead, he turned from the parapet. “Where’s Scarlett now?”

Tam hesitated.

“What is it?”

“She’s just below, I believe,” Tam said carefully. “By the stillroom garden.”

Kian narrowed his eyes. “Alone?”

“Effie’s somewhere nearby. Morag too.”

“Good. I’ll speak with her.”

“And tell her what?” Tam asked. “About the nursemaids?”

Kian nodded. “She’ll want to ken.”

Tam hummed. “But will she want to hear it from ye ?”

Kian ignored him and strode toward the stairs. Probably nae two days ago, but mayhap now, aye.

He spotted her from across the garden path, sunlight flaring against the edges of her copper braids.

She was bent slightly at the waist, fussing with something near a low hedge.

Her skirts flared softly in the breeze, and though she looked serene, the moment she stood upright and turned, she spotted him and froze.

Tam, trudging a half-step behind Kian, grunted. “D’ye want me to do the talkin’? Or are ye goin’ to start off by scowlin’ again?”

Kian gave him a look. “I’ll manage.”

They approached, and Scarlett’s expression tightened. Not in fury, exactly, but not fondness, either. Suspicion maybe. Does she remember or is she tryin’ to forget?

He cleared his throat. “Lady Scarlett.”

At the base of her neck, a brilliant shade of pink crept just along the hem of her bodice.

“ Laird ,” she said coolly, straightening.

He ignored the jab and nodded toward Tam. “Tam found a few candidates for the nursemaid post. He’ll present them to ye later today.”

Scarlett blinked. Her brow knit together fiercely. “How are ye just goin’ to say that and act like —”

She didn’t finish the sentence, but the question hung there. …and act like nothin’ happened?

Kian smirked. Oh, aye, she’s rememberin’. Good.

She flushed instantly.

Before either could speak again, Morag’s unmistakable stride pounded into the clearing.

“Tam Gallagher!” she bellowed, marching forward with a broom in hand like it was the Highland sword of legend. “Everytime I’m findin’ ye lurkin’ in the perimeter, there’s somethin’ amiss that’s yer charge!”

“What are ye on about, then?” Tam said, though his firm voice faltered ever so slightly.

“I mean there’s three stablehands brawlin’ wit’ two o’ yer new guards up in the courtyard for the entire world to see. Ye’ve got two arms and two perfectly good legs. Go!”

Tam straightened like a church boy caught stealin’ communion wine. “I was under orders —”

“I’m hard-pressed to hear anythin’ else from yer mouth, Tam Gallagher,” Morag snapped. “So, shut it! And I outrank yer daft orders when the keep is about to burn down. Move!”

Tam turned to Kian, pleading. “Tell her I’m on official clan business.”

Kian raised a brow. “Ye heard the general.”

“Traitor,” Tam muttered, then turned and stomped off after the housekeeper, who was already muttering about broken noses, wasted stew, and men with more brawn than brains about ten paces ahead of him.

Kian and Scarlett stood in stunned silence for a moment, the sound of jangling keys and grumbling fading into the distance.

“She’s a force,” Scarlett murmured, adjusting her sleeve with a faint smile.

“She’s the only force that our Tam fears.”

That got her attention. Scarlett turned sharply toward him, green eyes bright. “ Fears? Tam? As in… actually afraid?”

Kian nodded. “Has been since we were lads. She caught him throwin’ rocks at chickens once. Made him clean every coop in the county with a toothbrush.”

Scarlett’s head fell back as a laugh burst from her lips, loud and bright and sudden. “A toothbrush!”

“Aye. Claimed she needed the bristles to judge his commitment.”

Kian watched the sound ripple through her. Her head tilted back, throat exposed, the line of her jaw elegant and pink from the sun. Her laughter was wild and real and warm, and God help him, it stirred something inside him so fierce he felt himself take an unconscious step closer.

“Ye’re serious,” she said, blinking away tears of mirth. “That great hulkin’ man is undone by Mrs. Morag Drummond and poultry-related crimes?”

“I’m amazed she let him back in the keep, truth be told.”

She giggled again, biting her lip now as if trying to hold it in, and Kian found himself smiling. Not just the curl of his mouth, but a pull deep in his chest. Pride. Pleasure. Need.

“Why are ye lookin’ at me like that?” she asked suddenly, her mirth dimming into guarded curiosity.

Kian shifted. “I like the sound of yer laugh.”

Her brows lifted, as if he’d just recited poetry in Latin.

“I daenae do it often enough, then,” she said softly.

“Nay,” Kian replied. “Ye daenae.”

Scarlett’s laughter faded into a bright smirk, her eyes dancing as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

Kian felt the sound of it echo in his chest long after it stopped.

She was flushed from the sun, and for one breathless moment, he thought he might kiss her again, right there in the garden with half the staff probably watching through the hedges.

Instead, she turned slightly, gathering the folds of her skirt as if readying to walk away.

“I’ll review the nursemaid candidates,” she said lightly. “Just send them along.”

Kian stepped forward, folding his arms. “Scarlett.”

She turned her head but not her body, one brow lifting.

He frowned. “That’s it?”

“What else is there?” she asked, tone mild but guarded.

“Ye were just —” He gestured vaguely, at her face, her laugh, the way her eyes had looked at him moments ago like they might soften entirely if he so much as leaned in. “And now we’re back to ledgers and logistics?”

Scarlett’s smile flattened. “ Ye started it. And I’ve a child to mind, Laird. Ye made it clear just then that we daenae all get to dwell on kisses.”

His jaw ticked. “Is that what this is about?”

She turned to face him now, arms folded to match his. “Are ye tellin’ me it’s nae? Because ye’ve done a fine job pretendin’ it never happened. Avoidin’ me all day, and gettin’ right to it the moment ye saw me. What am I to think otherwise?”

Kian blinked. “What would ye like me to do? Etch it in the stone over the hearth?”

Scarlett flushed. “I’m askin’ why ye’ve decided to be all business. As if nothin’ changed. As if…” she broke off, biting the inside of her cheek.

“As if what?” he asked, low.

“As if it dinnae mean anythin’ to ye,” she snapped.

Kian stepped in. “And if I said it did?”

She laughed, but it wasn’t the nice one from before. “Ye’d still be grumblin’ about nursemaids and tellin’ me to eat me meals like a livestock manager.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine. Ye want less business? Here.” He spread his arms. “Ye’re runnin’ this keep well. Too well. Might’ve shamed me a little.”

Scarlett stared at him. “Did… did ye just compliment me?”

“Aye.”

She blinked. “Are ye feelin’ ill?”

He sighed. “Would ye stop —”

“Because that sounded like praise, but it came out like ye were admitin’ to havin’ a rash.”

Kian’s hands dropped to his hips. “Ye’re impossible.”

“ I’m impossible?” she laughed, stepping toward him now, hands slicing the air. “ Ye’re the one kissin’ me one night, last night in fact, and then actin’ like a stonemason the next!”

“I daenae kiss like a stonemason.”

“That’s nae what I said —”

“Well, I daenae, and ye ken it well!”

She threw up her hands. “Sweet saints, ye’re maddening!”

He scowled. “And ye’re exhausting!”

“Oh, go suck a thistle!”

“Gladly! At least a thistle wouldnae argue wit’ me for breathin’!”

They glared at each other in the quiet aftermath, breath coming fast, hearts pounding, the air between them stretched taut.

And yet, underneath it all, he was still looking at her mouth. Still thinking about that damned kiss. Still wanting more.

Her lips parted, then.

And just like that, she looked away again.

“God help me,” he muttered. “We cannae even have a civil conversation without turnin’ it into a swordfight.”

“Mayhap we’re just better at fightin’ than talkin’,” she offered dryly.

“Mayhap.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “That’s a sad marriage, then.”

Kian looked at her for a long moment, something flickering behind his eyes.

“We’ve had worse starts,” he said quietly.

That stopped her.

She looked at him then, and damn him if she kept looking at him that way…

“And yet ye still act like nothin’s changed,” she said, her voice softer now, but no less cutting. “Ye come tell me what to do, and offer praise like it’s bein’ measured out in thimbles.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I daenae ken what ye want from me.”

Scarlett stepped in. “I want honesty. Aye? I want some sort of sign that ye care. Even a little.”

Kian’s throat worked. “I do.”

“Then act like it.”

“What about the last few days has given ye any indication that I daenae care about ye?”

“Well ye’ve a strange way of showin’ it anyway.”

They were toe-to-toe again, staring, glaring, daring the other to flinch.

Kian’s eyes dropped once more to her lips. Damnit, I have to stop doing that.

Before he could say something regrettable, or far too honest, he took a step back and said instead, “Effie will be watching the bairn tonight.”

Scarlett blinked. “What?”

He straightened. “Yer maid. I’ve arranged for her to take Elise for a few hours.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because ye’ll be joinin’ me for dinner.”

Her hands went to her hips. “Will I?”

“Aye.”

“And what if I refuse?”

He gave her a look that should’ve been insufferable but somehow still made her heart lurch. “Then I’ll just come to yer room and haul ye there meself.”

She arched a brow. “Romantic.”

“Scarlett,” he said firmly. “Eat with me.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but something stopped her. And the chaos of emotions that crossed her brow made his groin tighten. He wished that she would just turn her brain off for once, and let him —

“Fine,” she said plainly

Kian waited only a moment before he nodded, satisfied. “Good.”

“Wear somethin’ less like yer attendin’ a funeral,” she added, turning on her heel.

“And ye can try nae to throw cutlery at me.”

“Nay promises.”

She walked off with a swirl of skirts and righteous fury, and Kian stood there in the path, watching her go.

He should’ve felt triumphant. Victorious.

Instead, all he could think was, This dinner’s goin’ to kill me .