Page 38 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

T he study smelled of smoke and ink, both of which clung to Kian’s tunic as he leaned over the desk. The candle had burned so low the wax threatened to swallow its flame, but still he worked, scratching notes and orders until the words blurred.

That morning Kian had ordered Tam to shadow the McTavish pup. “Follow his trail discreetly. Find out what game he was playing,” he said simply, without any need for providing a backstory, and Tam had gone with a grim nod.

Kian spent the long hours since buried in preparations for battle. Provisions were inventoried, walls checked and reinforced, guards posted thicker along the southern edge.

A knock at the door pulled his tired gaze from the parchments, and Tam slipped back into the study. Kian rubbed at his temple and nodded, expecting a laconic report. But Tam’s single visible eye was sharp, alert.

“Well?”

Tam shut the door behind him, quiet as a thief. “Roderick’s gatherin’ men, Kian.”

The words struck like a hammer blow.

Kian straightened, exhaustion forgotten. “How many?”

“Near forty, maybe more by the time they ride. And he’s promised them Crawford blood for their loyalty.”

“His faither cannae truly ken the reason —” Kian cut himself off realizing Tam too had not been made aware. “He’s comin’ for Elise. Says the bairn is his.”

“Is she?”

“Is she what?”

“Is she his?” Tam asked smoothly.

“The McTavish pup is kent throughout the Highlands for his… ambition. I caught him in Scarlett’s room. About to take the bairn like a thief in the night.”

“In Scarlett’s chambers? The audacity!”

“Aye, thankfully she and I were… on our way there. I fear what might have come to pass had she been in there alone.”

“What proof did he have to claim Elise?”

“Just some perfectly webbed tale of the bairn’s maither. Scarlett, of course, isnae convinced.”

“Well, he’s nae just gathered his own men for his cause. His faither’s guard has joined him. They mean to approach with a show of force.”

The chair scraped back hard against the stone as Kian rose. “Then we’ll meet them before they lay a hand on these walls. Summon the captains. Double the watches. I want every man drillin’ at dawn.”

Tam folded his arms. “They’ll be expectin’ to find a soft keep full o’ guests. Best we send the gentry away before swords cross.”

“Aye,” Kian muttered, pacing before the fire. “We’ll give them that chance. But nay man in Crawford service will mistake this for anything less than war.”

He turned, fixing Tam with a stare. “We hold the line. Nay one touches the bairn. Nay one touches Scarlett.”

Tam inclined his head, approval glinting in his eye. “As it should be.”

Kian relaxed back into his chair. The day had slipped by in a haze of faces, whispered questions, and the weight of Scarlett’s silence.

He hadn’t spoken to her since the night in the study when all of it came to light, and she hadn’t sought him out either.

Her absence gnawed at him, but he had no time to wrestle with it.

He barely registered the click of the study door with Tam’s departure than he did another click of the door with an aroma of sweet bannocks filling the room.

The next day had dawned gray, with clouds pressing low as though to swallow him up.

Kian folded up the piece of parchment he had been working on, shoved a bannock in his mouth, and grabbed another as he strode out of his study to his chambers. Changing quickly, he shoved the other bannock in his mouth, gripped the parchment tight, and took to the great hall.

Its long tables already half-emptied of guests who murmured about the laird’s summons. Scarlett sat near the front, her posture straight, her expression unreadable. She hadn’t looked at him since he entered, and the distance between them burned worse than any blade.

He stood at the head of the hall, the parchment of his prepared words heavy in his hand.

On the back of it was Scarlett’s neat script stared back at him.

They were all of the notes she’d made after walking the village prior to the Michaelmas Festival.

Her reminders of which stalls needed supplies, which neighbors required placating.

He swallowed the nails in his throat and flipped the page back over.

Neutralizing his features as he had so often done as the laird, and his voice filled the chamber.

“Friends. Allies. Me household thanks ye for yer presence at this year’s hunt.

But the hounds willnae sound again. Nae this week.

Nae until Crawford’s enemies are dealt with.

Some of ye will hear rumor already — I’ll nae hide it.

A guest who supped at this table has insulted this house, this lady,” his hand cut briefly toward Scarlett, “and threatened our line. Threats of steel, threats of blood. I will nae suffer it.”

Murmurs rose, sharp as bowstrings.

Kian’s voice boomed over them. “Any who wish to leave may do so under me escort. But ken this, Crawford men stand ready. Should any enemy ride into this glen, they’ll find walls strong, bellies full, and blades thirstin’.”

The hall erupted in a mix of approval and unease.

Scarlett’s eyes found him then, wide, startled.

But he didn’t linger. She was finding all of this out along with the guests, which he could admit to himself was wrong, but he didn’t.

He couldn’t afford to feel even the slightest bit of regret for not sharing this news with her.

Not with all that needed to be done still.

He stepped down from the dais, his cloak brushing the flagstones, and walked out of the hall without a word to her. The silence she cast after him weighed more than the mutterings of the crowd.

The courtyard blazed with torchlight that morning as Kian stood before his gathered men. Armor clanked, swords gleamed faintly in the fire’s glow. The cold bit sharp, but the air was thick with heat — the kind that only anger could stoke.

“They call us weak!” He began, voice steady but carrying. “They call us ripe for plunder! They say Crawford’s bloodline is soft!” He swept his gaze across them, letting the words sink in. “I say they’ve ne’er bled on this soil before. I say they’ve ne’er met Crawford steel.”

A rumble of approval surged from the men.

“The McTavish pup and his kin have spat on this keep, on this lady, and on all who wear our crest. They come nae as guests but as thieves. And thieves find no mercy here. We’ll meet them at the glen’s mouth.

Spears in hand. Shields locked. Let the Highlands ken that nay man takes what Crawford guards. ”

The roar that followed shook the stones.

Kian let it wash over him, but inside the tension only tightened.

He wasn’t fighting for land or coin. Not this time.

He was fighting for the bairn sleeping in Scarlett’s arms, for the stubborn woman herself.

And though he’d not spoken it aloud, that truth rattled him more than the thought of forty armed McTavish riders.

Tam took over the guard, issuing out orders under Kian’s approval. Each man breaking off by design and through the steadfast commitment of his men, a small part of Kian’s resolve hardened further.

I’ll nae give up Elise. Ever.

By the time the men dispersed, the sun at started to set. Kian stood long in the courtyard, staring at the black ridge of hills. His body ached with weariness, but his mind refused rest.

Eventually he returned to the study, Tam trailing behind. The fire had burned low, throwing only a dull glow across the room.

“They’re ready,” Tam said simply.

Kian nodded rhythmically. “Then tomorrow, we begin in earnest.”

He glanced at the parchment still lying on his desk — Scarlett’s notes, Scarlett’s hand. His chest ached with something that had nothing to do with war.

Where was she hiding?

“Have ye spoken to Morag?” he ventured to ask Tam, and the man knew exactly what he was asking without him having to say it.

“Aye, Morag.”

“How’s the preparations comin’ along inside the keep?”

“The keep is battle ready. Morag’s seen to it. Effie told me that Scarlett hasnae had a wink of sleep more than maybe ye have.”

“That’s outrageous. What on Earth has she —”

“Been in with the wee lass for days now… exceptin’ for the announcement…”

Christ, has she at least eaten? Kian’s teeth ground together at the unasked question, but Tam replied knowingly. “Effie’s been seein’ to her meals.”

Kian’s boots struck hollow on the flagstones as he made his way back toward his chambers, the echo following like a shadow that wouldn’t quit. His thoughts darted around wildly in the darkness.

Scarlett’s pale face in the firelight of the hall, the stubborn lift of her chin, the child’s soft breath when he’d passed the nursery door. Duty. Battle. Elise. Scarlett. They tangled together until he could scarcely tell one from the other.

Inside his chamber he stripped off his coat and tossed it onto a chair. The hearth was still smoldering from earlier, throwing weak orange light across the room. He sank onto the edge of the bed, elbows on knees, palms dragging down his face.

What in God’s name was happening to me? He used to close a day with ledgers and strategies, not the memory of his wife’s eyes boring holes through him.

He lay back at last, staring at the beams above until they blurred. Sleep claimed him hard and sudden, like a fist.

A knock roused him not a few breaths later. Soft, hesitant. His chest tightened.

Scarlett?

He pushed upright, ran a hand through his hair, and crossed the floor with a pulse he hadn’t felt since battle.

He opened the door. Tam.

“Ye look crushed, Laird,” Tam said dryly, one brow lifting. “Sorry I’m nae red-haired and furious.”

Kian scowled, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “What is it?”

“Guests are already stirrin’. Courtyard’s busy as a tavern. Thought ye’d want to ken before the hens scatter.”

Kian grabbed his boots. “Aye. Let’s see them off.”