Page 16 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

S carlett folded her arms, studying the nursemaid candidate before her. “Tell me, Màiri, what would ye do if the bairn woke in the night wi’ a fever?”

Màiri didn’t flinch. Her dark eyes were steady, voice calm but certain.

“First, I’d strip away the heavy blankets.

A bairn needs warmth, aye, but nae to smother.

I’d cool her brow wi’ a damp cloth, and if her skin burned still, I’d steep a willow bark tea for ye or the healer to dose her gentle.

I’d hold her close, but upright, so her chest could ease its burden.

And I’d hum quiet-like. Bairns ken the rhythm of a heartbeat better than any tonic. ”

Scarlett blinked. “Ye’ve tended fevers before?”

Màiri inclined her head. “I raised my three brothers when our mam passed. Two near died o’ the winter ague, but I nursed them through. A bairn needs more than herbs, m’lady. She needs steady hands and a soul that willnae falter.”

Scarlett forced a smile, her fingers tightening in her skirts. Too perfect. Almost rehearsed. Yet when Màiri spoke of heartbeats, there’d been no artifice. For the first time since Elise had been left at the keep, Scarlett felt a thought stir — This woman might actually be perfect.

The slight woman sat in the high-backed chair by the nursery hearth, hands folded neatly in her lap, posture perfect as if she were being painted for a portrait.

Scarlett tilted her head. “Ye’re young. Barely past five-and-twenty, are ye nae? Do ye feel seasoned enough to tend another’s bairn?”

Màiri’s mouth quirked, not insulted but thoughtful. “Aye, I’m young enough to have the strength for long nights, and old enough to ken what’s needed.

Scarlett’s brow furrowed. “And if it comes to feeding Elise yerself? Ye’d be comfortable? Elise has naught but seven months.”

Màiri nodded solemnly. “I’ve milk enough since me own babe passed about a month back. God took him quick, but left me the means to help another. I’d count it mercy if I could give that to this bairn, m’lady.”

The room seemed to still at her words. Scarlett forced her face neutral, but inside her chest ached. Too perfect, this lass. Every answer steady, every wound worn like proof of her skill.

Was Elise’s fate truly to fall into such practiced hands?

Not that it helped her make the decision, but Effie was smitten.

“Och, she ken’s how to swaddle, change, feed, an’ she kens the songs from her own gran, too! D’ye hear the way she talks about bairns? Like wee blessings instead o’ trouble.”

And Mrs. Morag as well. While she wore a skeptical expression, she plainly had to admit, “I’ve nae seen better handling o’ a newborn since I was in nappie duty meself.” Which, coming from Morag, was high praise indeed.

When the interview ended, Effie practically bounced. “We’ll ne’er get a better one!”

Scarlett gave her a quick smile, the kind one might use to soothe a child, and excused herself. She could feel Morag’s eyes on her as she left, as if the housekeeper was trying to measure what, exactly, she’d just seen pass across Scarlett’s face.

She needed air.

The cold, autumn air that slipped through the arrow slits wasn’t enough. She needed gulps of it. Pints of it. Cold and biting.

Her slippers connected with the gravel in the front courtyard and she let herself breathe in the breeze heavily. Her chest laboring to keep up as Scarlett inhaled deeply. Should have gone back to Elise. She should have told Effie to draft an offer of employment. It was the right thing to do.

The woman was perfect.

Every answer she gave was perfect.

Not polished or coy, but steady, born of experience Scarlett couldn’t hope to match. Raising brothers from the cradle. Nursing a cousin through fever. Milk enough left from her own lost babe to give Elise a chance.

Scarlett’s throat tightened.

She should’ve felt relief. God above, that’s what she’d prayed for. Someone strong. Someone competent. Someone who would keep Elise fed and safe when Scarlett’s own hands shook with fatigue. But instead, the relief curdled.

Because if Màiri was so perfect, then what good was Scarlett?

A stand-in. A lady playing at mother. A woman clinging to a child that might never have been hers to keep.

Her arms ached with the memory of the weight of Elise pressed against her chest. She’d been so certain the babe’s laugh, the gurgle against her shoulder, meant she was enough. And yet, Màiri had spoken with the quiet authority of a woman who’d already lived a dozen mother’s trials.

Scarlett turned to face the keep, blinking against the sharp chill that nipped at her eyes.

Elise needs more than love, she needs skill. And if another woman can give her that… where does that leave me?

But she knew that if she dismissed this candidate, after the glowing reviews of Effie and Morag, and Tam as well, then she’d need a reason.

Hoping to find a sound reason on the way, she took in one last inhale and exhaled sharply before her feet carried her back inside toward the study.

She found Kian at his desk, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a ledger open before him. His quill scratched with steady precision, pausing only when she stepped into the room.

He looked up, the brown of his eyes flicking over her quickly, “Well?”

Scarlett crossed the room, her skirt brushing lightly against the corner of the desk before she perched on the edge of a chair opposite him. “I dinnae take to her, but Effie and Morag are actin’ like giddy schoolgirls. I just… cannae see it,” she lied.

One of his brows lifted, slow as a drawbridge. “Would this one be… Màiri Ferguson?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

Scarlett straightened, smoothed her skirts, and tried to summon the cool authority that had carried her through the last months. “Màiri Ferguson… she’s fine. Polite. Well-spoken. But I dinnae like her tone. Too quick with her answers. Too rehearsed. I cannae trust her.”

Kian’s brow furrowed. “Too rehearsed? Scarlett, the lass has buried a child and raised her kin. That’s nae rehearsal, that’s hard-earned experience. Which is more than ye or I can boast when it comes to a bairn.”

Her spine stiffened. “I ken what I heard. And I say I’ll nae have her.”

Kian stood, slow, deliberate, crossing the room until his shadow cut across her. “Bullshit,” he said evenly. “That’s nae yer reason. Out with it.”

Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. She turned away, nails biting into her palm. “I… I daenae trust her, Kian.”

His voice dropped, low and certain. “Ye’re lying. Stop. Lying. Scarlett. She’s perfectly qualified —”

Scarlett spun on him, the words breaking loose like floodwater. “Because I’m afraid, damn ye! Afraid she’ll do better than me. Afraid Elise will look for her comfort instead o’ mine. That I’m playin’ at bein’ a mother when I havenae the first clue how to be one!”

Her breath came ragged, tears stinging hot. “What if I cannae keep her safe? What if she grows and sees me for what I am? A fraud! What if I ruin her?”

Silence stretched, heavy and raw. Kian’s gaze didn’t waver, and the intensity in it made her knees tremble.

At last, he set his quill down and folded his hands in front of him. “Ye’ve kept her alive, loved, and laughing these past weeks, Scarlett. That isnae fraud. That is mothering. And ye’ll continue to care for her, until we find her parents, but I’ll nae have ye do it alone.”

Scarlett’s voice got caught in her throat, shocked by Kian’s response, and he continued. “Ye should sleep on it, lass. If ye are still sure in the mornin’, after everything that’s been said,” he waved his hands around him. “Then we will keep looking.”

“That’s it?” she asked before she could stop herself.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then nodded once. “What else would ye have me say?”

“I thought ye’d… disagree or override me decision.”

“I can disagree and still hear ye, but nay decision such as this should be made without sleepin’ on it,” he said simply. “Especially if the one makin’ the decision is so torn.”

She didn’t like the warm flicker that stirred in her chest at those words. Or rather, she liked it far too much, which was worse.

Kian was already turning back to his ledger, though she saw the faint line between his brows that said he wasn’t truly thinking about the numbers anymore. “We’ve other names. Tam will see to the rest.”

Scarlett rose from her chair, smoothing her skirt. That should have been the end of it. But she lingered.

Something about the way he’d challenged her but still made her feel powerful left her off-balance. She didn’t want to say thank you because it would feel too much like ceding ground. And yet she didn’t want to leave the room.

Which was why she heard herself say, “Ye’ve told me much about what ye want for the bairn. But nae much about ye.”

His gaze flicked up again, quick and searching. “About me?”

“Aye. The man who can take a clan from ruin to… this.” She gestured lightly to the sturdy, warm room around them. “The one who thinks ahead three steps, and still somehow has time to lecture me on me supposed duties.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but his eyes didn’t soften. “What do ye want to ken?”

She tilted her head, feeling the faintest curve of a smile form before she could stop it. “Something real .”

For the first time in the conversation, Kian leaned back in his chair fully, his weight settling as if he were bracing himself.

“That,” he said slowly, “might take more than one evening.”

Scarlett arched a brow at him, deliberately settling back in the chair opposite his desk instead of leaving. “More than one evening? That sounds suspiciously like a stall.”

Kian’s mouth curved, just barely. “Maybe. Or maybe I just ken when a question deserves a proper answer.”

“And here I thought ye gave proper answers to everything,” she teased, letting her gaze sweep the neat desk, the precise lines of the ledgers, the perfectly stacked correspondence.

“I give useful answers,” he corrected, “whether they’re proper or nae depends on the listener.”