Page 3 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

K ian found Tam leaning against the well post near the stables, chewing a stem of dry grass like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Ye’re leavin’ at dawn, then?” Tam asked without preamble, straightening when Kian approached.

“Aye,” Kian replied. “Ye’ll ride with me. We’ll stop at Dunrigg, check on the bonded stores, then press through to Edinburgh.”

Tam nodded, spitting the stalk to the ground. “I’ll see the horses fed and ready. What about yer new bride?”

“She’ll be fine,” Kian muttered, already walking. Tam fell in beside him. “Morag’s seen to her chambers. I’ll leave instructions before I go.”

Doubt she’ll listen to me, but Morag… mayhap…

They crossed the lower courtyard and stepped onto the gravel walk that circled the training yard. A dozen men moved in coordinated drills, swords flashing in the low light, boots thudding in rhythm. Kian watched a young guard stumble on a turn and clenched his jaw.

“Ye think she’ll stay put?” Tam asked after a beat, scratching his beard. “She’s nae like others. Got that wildness in her.”

“Scarlett Dunlop is Laird MacLennan’s first born daughter,” Kian said curtly. “She’s got pride enough. She’ll manage.”

The guards rotated through a new formation, but one man was a beat slow. Kian’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Reform that line! Do it again!”

Tam gave him a sidelong glance but didn’t comment.

Kian folded his arms and his eyes narrowed on the field, but his mind wasn’t on the footwork.

It was on her.

The way she stood, trembling but unyielding, between danger and a stranger. The curve of her jaw when she tilted her chin in defiance. The fire in her voice when she snapped back at him.

Ye’ll need to earn her.

He scowled.

“Is it just me,” Tam said casually, “or are ye more sour than usual?”

Kian ignored him.

Another stumble. Another barked command.

The guards were sweating now, confused by his sharpness.

Still, his thoughts drifted.

That damn look in her eyes.

That mouth.

He spun on his heel. “Double their drills,” he snapped. “And check their steel. I’ll nae leave this keep vulnerable while I’m gone.”

Tam raised a brow but nodded. “As ye say, Laird.”

Kian stormed off toward the keep, muttering under his breath. “Day one, and already she was under his skin. Damn her.”Needed to ensure Tam was provisioned for the road. Needed to make sure Morag knew what to do with Scarlett while he was gone.

He crossed the hall and found the head housekeeper in the north wing, already directing a pair of maids toward the chambers with arms full of linens and kindling.

“She’ll take the solar room,” Kian said.

Morag glanced at him from beneath her bushy brows. “Yer mother’s old chamber?”

“Aye. It’s warm and secure. She’ll need quiet while I’m gone. Where is she now?”

“I havenae moved her into any room. We had discussed the South wing, but we never settled.”

“Nay, she will go in the solar room.”

Morag didn’t comment, but he caught the brief pause before she nodded. “We’ll have it ready before supper.”

No doubt Morag was hesitant to prepare his late-mother’s old room, but it was only right for the lady of the keep to have the adjoined room to the laird’s chambers.

He took the stairs two at a time. The weight of Scarlett’s voice and the heat of her defiance still burning through him as he threw open the study door hard enough to rattle the hinges and stepped inside, slamming it behind him.

Tam was already there, sprawled near the hearth with his boots up, sharpening a blade with that lazy patience of his.

He glanced up, squinting. “That bad?”

“God’s teeth!” Kian growled. He paced toward the desk and then the hearth and then the window. “She’s mad! Leapt from the carriage. Threw herself on that woman she dinnae ken. Stubborn as a damn mule.”

This wasn’t meant to be complicated.

He hadn’t asked for a passionate wife. He hadn’t even wanted a wife.

He married her because she was the MacLennan laird’s eldest daughter. That’s it. The alliance brought grain, livestock, and enough Highland kinship to keep his rebuilt clan from falling under again.

And she was beautiful. More than he’d expected. Her portrait hadn’t done her justice.

But beauty didn’t excuse recklessness. Or disobedience. Or that sinful look she gave him when he dared suggest she might need to listen .

Tam simply whistled.

Foolish. Reckless.

Kian let out a slow breath and turned back to the desk, where a stack of ledgers waited.

“Sharp, aye?”

“Sharp as stell,” he muttered. “And pointed squarely at me.”

“Better than one of those cow-eyed brides who stares at ye with nay thought in her head.”

Kian gave him a flat look. “I’ve rebuilt this clan from ashes, Tam. Every coin, barrel, man accounted for. Control is what brough us here, and she —”

“Is a thunderstorm, aye,” Tam nodded. “Maybe that’s what unsettles ye, though. She doesnae bow. And ye’re nae used to being gainsaid.”

He glared. “I’ll nae be gainsaid in me own keep.”

“And yet,” Tam said dryly, “the lass has ye pacing like a cage beast.”

Rebuilding Crawford after his father drank it near to ruin had taken everything from him. He spent every hour, every drop of patience, every scrap of pride on rebuilding his clan. He left nothing to chance.

He sat, then, rolling up his sleeves, and shotting Tam a look. “Enough. There’s work to be done.”

The shipments needed to be tracked, four-hundred barrels of aged Crawford whiskey heading to Stirling by week's end. Contracts that needed final seals before his trip to Edinburgh. Instructions for the steward on harvest yields, inventory for the pantry, and a matter with the roof on the east wing that still hadn’t been seen to since the thaw.

Tam only laughed, strolled toward the door with a blade in one hand and a whetstone in the other that he tosses nonchalantly.

Kian signed three letters, sealed two, and made notes on another six. He sharpened a quill. Then another. It was easier than thinking of her. Her voice. The way she’d turned to him with flushed cheeks after the fight, demanding answers like she had a right to them.

And yet she had thrown his orders to the wind without blinking.

He stood abruptly, knocking his chair back. He needed to give the steward instructions for tomorrow’s rotation.

He spent the next several hours reviewing the weapons inventory in the armory and checking on the storeroom keys. A list in his head.

It was long past midnight by the time Kian returned to his chambers. The food on his supper tray was cold.

The keep had fallen quiet. Wind howled faintly through the tower slits, and torchlight cast restless shadows on the stone walls. He shut the door behind him and exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair.

His body was tired. His mind was not.

Across the hall, through a connecting antechamber, lay the room he’d had prepared for Scarlett.

He’d planned to go to her. Had told himself it was his right, his duty, even. They were married. It was expected.

And yet he stood there like a man frozen, hand on the door but mind elsewhere.

He had every intention of claiming her.

But now he wasn’t so sure.

She was beautiful, aye. Far more than any painting could capture. But it wasn’t just her face or her form. It was the way she looked at him and challenged him. Unafraid. Even trembling, she stood her ground. Most men wouldn’t.

Kian dragged a hand through his dark hair and exhaled. He was in control. He made the decisions.

And he’d decided. He turned and crossed the hall, pushing open the door to the antechamber, then knocking once at the inner door that led to his wife’s new chambers.

A muffled voice called from within. “It’s open.”

He opened the door.

Scarlett sat in a chair by the fire, a book forgotten in her lap. Her hair had been let down, tumbling in loose strawberry-gold waves to her shoulders. The fire caught the green of her eyes and the soft sheen of her skin.

She looked up at him without rising. “Come to claim yer bride, then?”

His brow twitched. “Checkin’ to see if the accommodations meet yer standards.”

She gave a low, unimpressed laugh and stood, closing the book. “Aye, well. The bed’s soft, the fire warm, and Morag’s already made it plain that I’m to stay put like a well-fed cat. What more could I ask?”

He stepped further in, letting the door fall shut behind him. “Ye’re nae exactly making this easy.”

Scarlett arched a brow. “Easy for who? Ye or me?”

Kian tilted his head, watching her. “For either of us. For anyone.”

They stood a moment in silence, firelight flickering between them.

“Why did ye marry me?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked. “Ye ken why.”

“Do I?” she challenged. “Was it me charm? Me winning smile? Or was it the promise of sheep and barley and three hundred men with MacLennan blood?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Her expression softened just a touch. “I’m nay fool, Kian. I ken it was duty. Politics. A bargain struck between men.”

“Ye were willing,” he said evenly.

“I was obedient,” she corrected.

His brow knit together. “Ye were many things, lass. Charming and far more beautiful than any painting, but obedient? Come now, daenae make me laugh.”

She stepped forward, arms crossed loosely, her chin lifted. “But ye never told me what ye expect , husband. Before the wedding, after, it’s been nothin’ but orders and silence. So, I’m askin’ now, plainly. What do ye want from me?”

Kian studied her, the firelight dancing across her features. There was strength in her. Not the loud kind. The kind that stood its ground, even when the wind tried to strip it bare.

“I expect what any husband would,” he said finally. “Respect. Obedience. Heirs.”

Scarlett’s mouth thinned. “That so?”

“Aye.”

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then exhaled slowly. “Well, I’ve nothin’ but questions about the first two.. which ye nay doubt will dodge. But the third…” She turned, walking toward the bed. “We may as well get that out of the way.”

Kian’s pulse raced.

She stopped at the edge of the mattress, facing away from him, and reached behind herself. Slowly, carefully, she began to undo the laces of her gown.

“Scarlett…” he said, uncertain.

She ignored him.

Her fingers trembled, but the fire of determination in her eyes didn’t falter. The gown loosened and slipped from her shoulders, pooling at her feet in a whisper of silk. She stood in her chemise, firelight painting her in honey and shadow.

Kian couldn’t move.

Is she brave… Or foolish?

He didn’t know. All he knew was the tight coil of heat in his chest, the pounding of his pulse as he stepped toward her.

She didn’t shrink, but he could see the slight tremble in her limbs.

And she didn’t look at him either, but the blush that crept up her delicate skin told him all he needed to know.

She was scared.

Of me? Of this?

He stopped just behind her. “Look at me.”

She hesitated.

“Scarlett,” he said more softly. “Look at me.”

She sighed, turned around, and lifted her eyes to meet his.

And there it was. That defiance. It was burning bright behind the blush rising in her cheeks.

God above, he wanted her.

But not like this.

Not while her hands trembled and her gaze dared him to take what she wouldn’t freely give. What she clearly didn’t want to give.

He reached up, brushing a fingertip along her jaw. Then he touched her lips, tracing the bottom one, tugging it gently. She gasped.

He leaned in, close enough that their breaths mingled. His voice was low, rough with restraint.

“There’s a good lass. An ounce of obedience, for once.”

Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “Duty. Kian. Daenae confuse them. Ye’ll end up hurtin’ yerself.”

At that he smiled wide. The pressure in his trousers grew nearly unbearable. His hand lifted her chin slightly, just enough to tilt her throat toward him. He leaned in until his breath grazed the tender curve of her neck.

“How’s this for confusing, dearest wife,” he said. “I’ll nae claim ye. Nae until ye tell me ye want me to.”

Then he pressed a single kiss to the soft skin beneath her ear, and he turned, leaving her half-dressed and alone in the flickering silence of her chamber.

The door clicked shut behind him, and he stood still for a moment in the dark antechamber, eyes closed, fists clenched at his sides. His breathing was ragged and uneven, like he’d just finished sparring a dozen men.

He hadn’t touched her. Not properly. Not in the way he wanted. And god help him, he wanted .

Her image lingered like a brand in his mind. Her flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest, that storm in her eyes trying to hide the tremble in her hands. That thin chemise doing little to conceal the curves now burned into his memory.

And that mouth. That defiant mouth that had cursed him one moment and drawn him closer the next.

He could have taken her. She wouldn’t have stopped him. She might have even thought it was her duty. But that wasn’t enough.

Not for him. Taking what wasn’t freely given. That wasn’t duty. That was barbaric.

And that realization unsettled him more than anything else had in years.

Kian Murray had spent a lifetime in control. Of his keep. Of his men. Of himself. But something about his new wife scraped at the edges of that control like wind wearing down stone.

He yanked open the shutters and leaned out into the cold air. He thought the cool night might douse the heat under his skin.

It didn’t.

Foolish.

Brave.

I daenae ken which…

And worse was he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Would she hate me come morning? Would she respect that I’d walked away, or would she feel hurt? Would she understand?

He let out a low growl and scrubbed a hand down his face.

He wasn’t here for softness or love. He was here for legacy. For security. For duty.

Kian turned from the window, eyeing the empty bed with reluctance. He knew that sleep would not come easy. Not with the image of Scarlett standing in the firelight, looking at him like he was both the enemy and the answer.

He lay back on the mattress, arms folded behind his head.

“She’ll be the ruin of me,” he muttered aloud.

Aye, leaving for Edinburgh will be good. Time enough to free her from me mind and focus on what truly matters… closing this deal.