Page 28 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

T he hours stretched long. Scarlett sat in her chamber, arms wrapped around Elise as though someone might try and pry the bairn from her if she so much as blinked.

“I ken ye like when Kian talks to ye. Ye like the sound of his voice, do ye nae?”

The bairn looked up at her and blinked.

“Aye, I reckon that I like the sound of his voice sometimes too… when he’s nae irkin’ me somethin’ fierce.”

Elise’s mouth curled into what might have been a grin… or perhaps trapped wind?

“I ken ye like it when he insults me behind me back, aye? Probably tells ye that me feet are too oafish or I smell bad, aye?”

Elise let out a cheerful coo. Nae wind… just joy — such a sweet wee lass.

Scarlett started to bounce the lassie on her knee, lifting her up above her and then back down playfully.

“Mmhmm… I kent just as much. Well, it’ll serve ye well to ken that he smells far worse than me. At least I bathe regularly.”

The wee little lass squealed with glee and babbled almost violently, which caused Scarlett to laugh along with her.

Just then, the corner of the note flickered in the corner of her vision, and her eyes traveled over it again, recalling it’s contents.

Scarlett—

I promised to find out more about Elise. I’ve gone to do that. I will be back in two days’ time.

K

Elise curled up into the warmth of Scarlett’s neck, babbling softly until sleep finally gripped the bairn.

She rocked her slowly, and her tiny fingers curled around a strand of Scarlett’s hair.

Two days’ time was two days ago… her pulse raced.

She knew that no matter what news he found, she would not let go of Elise.

Ever.

The door opened. Her body tensed instantly, clutching Elise tighter.

Kian filled the frame, the storm of travel still in his cloak and the smell of wind and peat clinging to him. His eyes found hers at once, unreadable but steady, and she knew before he spoke that he carried tidings. The kind that hollowed the air.

“Tam,” he said quietly.

The one-eyed warrior slipped in behind him, boots soft against the rushes. Kian gestured with a sharp tilt of his chin. “Take the bairn.”

Scarlett stiffened. “Nay.” Her arms locked. “She stays wit’ me.”

Kian’s gaze was hard, but not cruel. “A moment. That’s all.”

She hesitated, every instinct flaring, but something in his tone made her relent. Carefully, reluctantly, she placed Elise in Tam’s arms. The babe squirmed, startled at first, and then fixed a tiny hand into Tam’s beard.

“Och,” Tam murmured, voice dropping into that honeyed growl he reserved for bairns and frightened lasses. “There’s a grip worthy of a warrior. Elise the Fierce, they’ll call ye one day.”

Scarlett’s lips twitched despite herself. The sight of Tam — scarred, grizzled, beard half-yanked by a seven-month-old — was enough to pull a chuckle from her throat. But when her eyes lifted back to Kian, the seriousness carved into his expression struck the breath from her lungs.

The amusement died. Anxiety returned tenfold.

“Go on,” Kian said to Tam, his voice like iron.

Tam gave her a look, sympathy glinting in his good eye, then pressed a kiss to Elise’s tiny fist before peeling it free of his beard. “Come, little fierce one. Yer ma and da need words.”

Scarlett wanted to shout after him that Elise wasn’t his to carry, that Elise wasn’t anyone’s but hers, but the words froze in her throat. Because Kian was already moving, his large hand closing gently but firmly around her wrist.

“Come wit’ me.”

She allowed herself to be led, though her pulse rattled in her ears. Down the corridor, away from the nursery, away from the faint cooing Tam made as he carried Elise. Each step tightened the knot inside her chest.

Kian didn’t speak until he’d shut the door of his chamber behind them. The room smelled of smoke and leather, a man’s room, sparse but solid. She’d only been in here once before, and not for long. Now the air seemed charged, heavy with the unspoken.

He released her wrist, only to pace once across the length of the hearth before turning to face her.

Scarlett’s arms crossed tighter, her nails biting into her sleeves. “Out wit’ it, then. What did ye find?”

Kian exhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw. “It wasnae simple. Duncan’s word led us to a small village along the coast. Folk there remembered a young woman, fair, frightened, keepin’ to herself. She’d rented a room at the inn.”

Scarlett’s brows pinched. Her voice dropped. “A room? Alone?”

“Aye. Alone.” He hesitated, then added, “She had a babe wi’ her when she arrived. The innkeeper swore it. A wee bairn wit’ a cry strong enough to rattle rafters.”

Scarlett’s breath hitched, arms loosening. “Elise.”

Kian gave the faintest nod. “Aye. It seems she left her at our door the same night she might have disappeared… though that’s quite a ways to travel considerin’...”

Scarlett clutched the back of the nearest chair, knuckles white. “Then where is she now? Did ye find her? Did she leave word?”

He stepped closer, careful, like one might approach a skittish mare. “We searched. Questioned villagers and tradesmen. The innkeeper said she’d been… troubled. Skittish. Wouldnae eat. Spoke little. Spent hours starin’ out toward the cliffs.”

Scarlett’s green eyes flashed, desperate. “That doesnae mean —”

“Nay, it doesnae,” he cut in gently, though his voice carried the weight of stone. “But the same night she vanished, folk heard screams near the water. Come mornin’, her shawl was found snagged on the rocks.”

Scarlett shook her head violently. “Ye cannae ken that was her. It could’ve been anyone —”

Kian reached into his cloak and pulled free a folded scrap of parchment. Its edges softened from travel. He didn’t hand it over yet only held it, as though the words written on it burned his palm. “Scarlett, listen to me. I found this in the room she left behind.”

Scarlett’s eyes darted to the letter and then back up at him. Her throat worked around a swallow. “So she… she’s…”

He let out a breath, heavy and final. “Aye. The villagers believe she threw herself over. And all we’ve left is this.”

Scarlett’s knees nearly buckled, and she caught herself on the chair again. The chamber blurred for a moment, the airtight in her chest. “Nay. Oh, God.”

Kian closed the last of the distance, his voice low and steady though his own jaw was tight. “I wanted ye to ken the whole of it. Piece by piece. So ye’d see we dinnae stop searchin’. We dinnae give up until there was naught left to chase. As I promised I would.”

Scarlett stared at him, heart pounding, eyes locked on that folded scrap between his fingers. Her arms ached from the absence of Elise in them. She didn’t know what to think.

“What… what’s in the letter?” she whispered.

Kian’s gaze softened, “We’ll read it together.”

Scarlett stared at the parchment in Kian’s hand, her breath snagging in her throat. The world felt narrowed, reduced to that folded scrap. Her palms itched to take it, yet she feared what words waited inside.

Kian didn’t push it on her—he only offered it, steady, his expression unreadable save for the faint crease at his brow.

“Read it,” he said quietly. “Best ye hear it from her own hand.”

Scarlett’s fingers trembled as she reached for it. The parchment was softer than she expected, worn thin at the folds, as though opened and closed many times before being left behind. She smoothed it on the table, her vision blurring.

Her lips parted, and she forced her voice to steady as she began.

“Laird Crawford —” Scarlett’s eyes flicked to Kian’s before she kept reading on.

“If ye’ve found this letter, then I was right to trust ye would.

The bairn I left at your keep is my Elise. I have neither the strength nor means to protect her from my cruel fate.

You and your wife once pulled me from the edge of certain death. Both fierce and unyielding. You saved me then. I should have stayed, but shame is a hard chain to carry.

So, I leave my daughter, the best part of me, in your care. I pray you hold her as if she were your own blood. Love her as I couldn’t.

When she’s grown enough to understand, tell her that she was loved beyond measure. And though I was weak, my heart was hers from her very first breath.

Nieve O’Brien”

The last syllable broke. Scarlett’s voice cracked and fell to silence. Her eyes clung to the signature, as though reading it again might change the shape of the letters, might prove it wasn’t her hand.

Nieve ?

“The frightened maid from that roadside months ago?” she guessed aloud.

Nieve was the young woman that Scarlett had thrown herself from the carriage to shield. She remembered the bruises on her wrist, the terror in her eyes, the way she vanished into the dark.

And now — this.

Scarlett’s throat closed, a sob lodging like a stone. “It was her ,” she whispered, disbelief drenching her. “The lass we tried to save. All this time, it was her .”

Kian didn’t move at first. His face was drawn tight, unreadable as granite. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Aye. That’s what it seems.”

Scarlett pressed a hand to her mouth, the parchment trembling in her other hand. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths she couldn’t tame. “We should’ve done more. We should’ve followed her. We could’ve —”

“Scarlett.”

His voice cut across her spiraling thoughts, firm, unyielding. She looked up, startled by the edge in his tone. His eyes were fixed on her, sharp and steady, holding her in place like a tether.

“We couldnae have kent,” he said, voice low. “She made her choices. Ye did what ye could then. Ye saved her from those men, and ye gave her a chance to breathe free for a time. That’s more than most would’ve done.”

“But it wasnae enough,” Scarlett choked, the words raw. “If we’d only —”

“She left Elise here for us,” Kian pressed, stepping closer. “Nae at random. She left her with purpose. Because she trusted ye. Trusted us. She wrote it plain. This was her wish.”

Scarlett’s knees weakened, and she sank onto the nearest chair, the letter limp in her hand. She traced the ink with soft fingers.