Page 33 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

H orns sounded from the watch, low and cheerful, and the first wagon rolled under the arch just as the mist burned off the hills.

Kian stood with Tam at the foot of the steps, hands clasped behind his back, face composed.

Inside, the keep buzzed with dogs, boys, Morag’s bark ricocheting off stone, and the kitchen sending up the smell of roasting meat and oat bannocks.

Campbell Thomson swung down from his saddle like a man dropping off a cliff and landing on his feet. “Crawford,” he boomed, clapping Kian’s shoulder hard enough to shift bone. “If yer hunt’s half as fine as yer weather, I’ll forgive ye for that horse ye talked me out of last spring.”

“Ye were about to buy a lame cob from a liar,” Kian said. “I saved yer coin.”

“Aye, and now ye can save me dignity by puttin’ me nearest the deer.”

Behind Campbell, Mabel descended carefully, hand to the swell beneath her cloak.

She moved with that wary grace of a woman who’d learned her limits and decided to ignore them anyway.

Two small lads flanked her like bodyguards.

Ollie, with eyes bright as mischief, and Connor tucked quiet at her side.

“Mind yer step,” Campbell fretted, hands hovering helplessly. “There’s a crack there —”

“I’m with child, nae blind, man,” Mabel said sweetly, rolling her eyes.

Ollie spotted Kian first. “Uncle Campbell says ye keep wolves,” he announced, chin up.

Kian cocked a brow. “Do I?”

“Aye,” Ollie said. “He says ye stare like one.”

Connor peered around his brother and whispered, “Hullo.”

Kian’s mouth twitched. “Hullo yersel’.” He nodded to Mabel. “Lady Muir. Ye look well.”

“Blasphemy,” Mabel said, laughing. “I look like I swallowed a pumpkin. Where’s Scarlett?”

“Right —” Kian started, and then she was there, coming through the doorway with the bairn in her arms, light catching in her hair. Elise made a soft sound, a contented gurgle, and Mabel’s whole face changed.

“Och,” she breathed. “Give her here, if ye trust me nae to bolt.”

“Ye’d nae get far,” Scarlett teased, handing Elise over. “Nae with Campbell and his army o’ worriers.”

Campbell puffed up. “I am nay worrier. I am vigilant.”

Ollie planted himself between Mabel and the world, arms spread wide, a pint-sized shield. “No one touch me mam.”

Connor copied him, just slower.

“Good men,” Kian said, solemn. “Keep her safe.” He glanced at Campbell. “Trainin’s taken.”

“On account o’ the lad who put a frog in her slipper,” Campbell muttered. “Never again.”

Before Kian could reply, the second horn sounded. The MacLennans arrived like a traveling story. Hamish, large as legend, Astrid like a painted saint with sharp opinions, and Skylar already half out of the carriage before it stopped.

“Daughter,” Hamish rumbled, arms open.

Scarlett slid to him carefully around the baby now nestled against Mabel’s shoulder. “Da.”

Astrid’s gaze snagged on Elise as a magpie finds silver. “Well,” she said, voice gone soft despite herself. “And who is this wee angel?” She kissed Scarlett’s cheek, then studied the child again with a calculating affection. “Pretty as butter. But, Scarlett, d’ye mean to?—”

“She’s called Elise,” Scarlett said, quiet, pride threaded through. “And aye, Maither, we do mean to.”

Skylar, all unruly braid and boots, leaned close to the bairn and cooed, then poked Scarlett’s side. “Tell me everything. Start with the scandal. There’s always a scandal.”

Hamish clasped Kian’s forearm. “Laird.” He gave a weighty, approving nod. “Keep looks strong.”

“It’s holdin’,” Kian said. “We’ll keep it so.”

Astrid finally turned fully to him, smile polished. “Laird Crawford. We’re grateful for yer hospitality.” Her eyes slid back to Scarlett with a mother’s merciless aim. “And perhaps soon we’ll be grateful for a grandbairn or two o’ yer own as well.”

Kian felt heat climb his spine. A dozen answers leapt to his tongue, most of them unfit for a Sunday. He opened his mouth.

Scarlett’s hand brushed his sleeve, just a whisper of touch, and she stepped forward with the kind of poise that always made him feel both proud and dangerously undone.

“Maither,” she said pleasantly, “if ye’d like another bairn underfoot, I’ll speak wi’ the Almighty about His calendar — see if He’d like yer counsel. ”

Skylar snorted. Campbell coughed a laugh into his fist. Astrid’s brows flew up, then settled with a thin smile that said touche?… for now.

Kian shut his mouth. Doesnae need me at all, he thought, not certain if the realization irritated or charmed him. Both, likely.

They moved to the long board beneath the gallery.

The midday meal ran hearty and loud. It was venison pasties, collops in gravy, bannocks and butter, carrots glazed till they shone.

Morag hovered like a warship keeping order, keys singing.

Kian took the head, Scarlett to his right, Mabel and the boys close so Campbell could count their breaths between bites.

The hall hummed. Kian watched more than he spoke, filing faces, weighing moods.

Elise passed from arm to arm with indifferent serenity, accepting adoration as her due.

When she fussed, Scarlett had her back in a heartbeat, her cheek to the bairn’s soft crown, a sway he knew now by feel.

He didn’t realize he’d gone quiet, simply watching, until Tam nudged his boot under the table.

“Eat,” Tam muttered. “Yer starin’ like the wolf the lad promised.”

“Mind yer own business,” Kian said without heat, and reached for a bannock.

Across the board, Skylar had Scarlett cornered between platters. Kian caught snatches.

Mabel, wiser and very pregnant, simply watched Scarlett with a small, knowing smile that said I ken what it is to be pulled toward a man.

When Scarlett described the late-night dealings with the crying bairn, the almost-kiss in the nursery turned into something chaste by the shape of her mouth, Mabel’s eyes warmed further.

“And ye?” Mabel asked gently. “How’s yer heart?”

Scarlett busied herself with Elise’s ribbon. “Occupational,” she said. “Beats. Mostly in rhythm.”

“Mm,” Mabel hummed, not fooled.

At Kian’s left, Hamish leaned in. “So, ye’re hostin’ half the Highlands for a hunt,” he said, good humor under the gravel.

“Only the useful half,” Kian returned. “And only long enough to eat my meat and tell me their secrets.”

Hamish’s teeth flashed. “Ye sound like a laird.”

“Aye,” Kian said, and let it sit.

Ollie and Connor, having eaten their body weight in bread, resumed guard duty at Mabel’s elbows. When a platter scraped too near, both boys slapped it back down with twin scowls.

“Gentle,” Mabel warned.

Ollie pointed at Kian. “Tell him.”

Kian managed solemn. “Aye, I’ll flog any man who steals yer mam’s carrots.”

“Even ye?” Connor whispered, eyes huge.

“ Especially me,” Kian said, and the boy grinned for the first time, quick and shy.

Astrid, perhaps sensing she’d lost the heir skirmish, pivoted to softer ground. She reached for Elise when the bairn circled her way, and to everyone’s surprise, Elise settled on that immaculate bodice without fuss.

“Well,” Astrid murmured, genuinely moved now, voice going hushed at last. “There ye are, lamb.”

Scarlett’s face twisted oddly, mixed with wariness and gratefulness, as if this was a miracle she hadn’t expected. Kian felt something unknot behind his ribs. Good, he thought. Let even the sharp ones soften for her.

He caught Scarlett looking at him then, across the pale curve of the child’s head.

For a breath, the hall went soundless. Her mouth didn’t smile, not quite, but the corners loosened like a truce.

Heat ran low and steady under his skin, nothing like the wild flare he fought at night.

This was steadier, heavier. Dangerous in a different way.

Campbell broke the spell by standing and making a toast so thunderously sentimental even Morag dabbed at one eye and then barked at herself for it. Cups clinked. Bread passed. Laughter rose. The keep felt full in a way Kian had worked a decade to earn.

Later, as folk drifted and plates emptied, Skylar snagged Scarlett’s sleeve again, dragging her toward the far end of the table where the candles smoked. “Right,” she said. “Proper accounting. Have ye kissed him since he returned?”

Kian pretended to be listening to Hamish describe a troublesome bullock, but his ears tilted shamelessly.

Scarlett made a face. “We’ve… spoken.”

“Spoken?” Skylar echoed, scandalized. “No wonder ye look sour sometimes. Ye need —”

Mabel cleared her throat, gentle warning. “ Sky .”

“What? I’m protecting her interests.”

Scarlett’s gaze flicked briefly toward Kian as if she could feel his attention skirting their talk. She lowered her voice. “It’s… complicated.”

Mabel’s smile went rueful and kind. “It always is. But complicated doesnae mean hopeless.”

Skylar huffed. “It means slow. I detest slow.”

“Ye detest anythin’ that makes ye wait,” Scarlett said, but the words carried affection rather than censure, and Kian found himself oddly pleased to hear that tone when she spoke of patience like she’d decided not to loathe the lesson if it came with the right teacher.

Tam leaned nearer and murmured, “Ye’ve won some ground here.”

“Feels like I’ve entered the field rather than won it,” Kian said.

“Same thing the first day o’ battle,” Tam replied.

Kian let his gaze return to Scarlett. She was listening now, really listening, head bent toward her sisters, one hand absently smoothing the bairn’s blanket where Astrid still held it, the other hand tapping a small rhythm on the table that matched the pipes drifting faint from the yard.

Family, he thought, startled at the word lodging where command usually did. He swallowed, reached for his cup, and forced himself to attend to the work of a host. Another round of bread here, a word with the steward there, the quiet arrangement of tomorrow’s beaters with Tam.