Page 42 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

T he parchment lay heavy in Kian’s hand, though it weighed less than a breath. He’d read and reread the words he’d scrawled, sealing his decision in ink before his resolve could waver.

The rider before him shifted in the dim courtyard, a lad barely old enough to grow a beard. His pony stamped and snorted in the dawn chill, as though it too sensed the unease of the errand.

“Ye’ll ride swift,” Kian ordered, folding the parchment and pressing his seal deep into the wax.

“Straight for the McTavish camp, if they’ve set one near.

Else to the village. Ye’ll give this into Roderick Hendry’s hand, and nae another’s.

Ye’ll say I invite him here under a banner o’ truce at sunset.

Alone, or with one guard. If he brings more, we shut the gate. ”

The boy swallowed hard but nodded, gripping the case tight. “Aye, m’laird.”

Kian clapped his shoulder once, firm. “Go.”

The lad wheeled the pony, hooves clattering against the cobbles, and in a moment horse and rider disappeared down the misting road, swallowed by heather and shadow.

Kian stood a long while, jaw set, watching the empty space where they had gone. Tam’s words echoed in his skull — If it is blood. He shook them off. He could not afford hesitation now.

When he entered the solar, the three men he had called to awaited him. Tam by the hearth, arms folded, Hamish with the stern patience of an elder, and Campbell, restless bulk filling the chair as though it might splinter under him.

Kian shut the door behind him and didn’t waste time. “I’ve sent for Roderick Hendry under the banner o’ truce. He’ll be here by nightfall. When he comes, I’ll hand him the bairn.”

Tam’s visible eye snapped up, sharp as a hawk’s. “The bairn he claims is his,” he said evenly.

Hamish said nothing at first. His silence pressed heavy.

Campbell’s mouth curled, half a sneer, half a smirk. “So, we roll our bellies up and show him soft,” he muttered. “After he strutted bold into yer wife’s chambers.”

“He’ll nae strut there again,” Kian said, voice iron. “But aye, I’ll give him what he’s come for. We cannae bind a child to us by steel and spite. Blood calls to blood.”

Tam’s jaw worked. “If it is blood,” he repeated.

Kian met his gaze. “We’ve nay proof it isnae.”

At last Hamish leaned forward, his age-lined hands clasped. “I’ll say me piece plain. Roderick Hendry’s a lad who’s never seen a true battle. If he’s here under the banner o’ truce, ye take it and send him away. An ounce of peace now is worth a barrel of blood later.”

Campbell snorted. “Or we strike first, settle it clean. Men in me glen are hungry for a fight. Better that, than handin’ over what’s ours like milk to a babe.

” His expression softened, barely. “Though I’ll grant ye, Crawford.

Ye’ve done well. The walls stand stronger, the men move like one, the granaries smell o’ plenty.

Be a pity to break it all for a McTavish pup that cannae keep his breeches tied. ”

Even in Campbell’s rough tongue, the backhanded compliment struck deep.

Kian gave a short nod. “I daenae want our work undone. Or Scarlett’s.”

At her name, all three men exchanged a look he caught and pretended not to.

Hamish cleared his throat. “Scarlett will rage. She’ll argue. She’ll pace holes in yer stone. But she’s nae a fool. She kens the clan cannae bleed for pride alone. Stand firm and she’ll stand by ye, in time.”

“Aye,” Campbell said dryly, “and if she does choose to bleed, she’ll make sure it’s someone else’s.” He grinned, wolfish. “Ye married a firebrand. Be proud of it.”

Tam finally spoke again, tone measured. “We’ll need men on the walls, bows strung but low. Cordons set behind the gate. If he smells a trap, he’ll bray like a mule. If he smells weakness, he’ll bray louder. Either way, we’ll ken what sort he is afore sunset.”

“Do it,” Kian said.

“And the plan for when battle ensues?” Hamish offered, and the word inevitably was ever present even in the silence.

“Ye’ll take Scarlett, Hamish. Campbell will follow while his men take the east flank, and assault whatever forces Roderick brings that lurk in the shadows of the woods.”

“My men will stay on me. I’ll keep Scarlett safe. It’ll be on ye to kill the pup, Kian,” Hamish’s words were ruthless in meaning but landed soft as a feather.

“Aye,” Kian said, his eyes connecting with his wife’s father at the unsaid addition to the plan. I’ll keep Scarlett, and Elise, safe.

The meeting broke swiftly. Campbell striding for the yard, Hamish for the chapel, Tam already barking orders before the door had shut behind him.

Alone, Kian sagged into the ledger chair out of habit.

But instead of lists and figures, a scrap of parchment caught his eye.

It was more notes from the village. Widows need oats, a baker proud of pies, a bridge sagging.

On the backside of the parchment lay a hastily drawn drawing of the village merchant stands with the words, Does not make sense , underlined furiously.

He smoothed out the folds, traced the slant of her ink, then folded it careful and tucked it into his coat with a smile. Something about it steadied him.

Word had gotten out quickly that the McTavish pup was to arrive at sundown. By late afternoon the keep was cloaked in the hush before a storm. Even Morag swept softer, like her broom might wake the hills. The men moved sharp but quiet, checking bowstrings and buckles.

Kian mounted the gate-walk as the sun began to slip, Tam a shadow at his shoulder.

Down the road, a smear of color crested the rise.

A McTavish green, veined with arrogant red.

Two riders led the line — Roderick at the fore, polished and proud, a single guard trailing.

Behind, perhaps twenty more waited in loose array.

“Too many for truce,” Tam muttered.

“They’ll stop short,” Kian said. “Let them.”

And they did.

Tam’s grip tightened around his hilt as he nodded firmly toward a guard, dressed in full black attire, standing by near the far buttress of the keep.

Kian’s eyes followed the man as he moved stealthily through the brush and into the shadows of the forest surrounding them, and then he looked over at his man with a raised eyebrow.

“Ye cannae expect for me to nae plan for the worst. It’s just surveillance.”

Kian nodded, and the two men stopped walking as the McTavish horses approached.

Roderick raised a hand, drawing rein with a flourish. Even from the wall, Kian could see the smug curl of his mouth. Hope or hunger, perhaps both, lit his eyes.

“Laird Crawford!” he called, voice smooth as butter. “I come as asked.”

“As told,” Kian returned, flat.

The McTavish heir’s smile sharpened. “Then by all means, let us conduct our business.”

Tam shifted beside him, eye narrowed. “Smug enough to choke on his own reflection,” he muttered.

Kian kept his gaze steady, his voice colder than the stone beneath his boots. “Let him have his moment,” he said.

Then he lifted his hand, signaling for the portcullis teeth to lower.

“Bring her,” he told Tam.

Scarlett’s hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

She’d dressed Elise in her softest wool gown, the one Effie had stitched with tiny flowers along the hem, and yet the babe’s weight in her arms felt heavier than stone. Heavier than her own breath.

“Hold still, m’lady,” Effie whispered, trying to tuck the bonnet ribbon beneath Elise’s chin. Her fingers fumbled twice before Morag swatted them away and tied the knot herself, brisk and neat.

“There,” the housekeeper said, her voice clipped. “Fit for the King’s table, this wee lass is.”

Scarlett looked down. Elise blinked up at her with wide, curious eyes, her little hand batting at the air as if chasing some invisible prize. Blissfully unaware. Scarlett’s throat squeezed tight.

Effie sniffled and leaned close to press a kiss against the babe’s cheek. “Och, I’ll miss her already,” she whispered, her words wobbling.

Scarlett’s teeth ground together. She isnae gone yet.

Morag, less sentimental, straightened her apron. “She’ll be needin’ a good sendoff, aye. But daenae dawdle, m’Lady. Tam will be here any moment.”

As if conjured by her words, the knock came. Heavy and sure.

“Aye, come in, Tam. We all ken it’s ye,” Morag’s voice rang out.

The door creaked open, and Tam filled the frame, shoulders broad as an oak tree. He looked grimmer than usual, his lone eye fixed on the babe. For a breath, his scarred face softened.

“Time,” Tam said gently, loosening Elise’s grip.

Scarlett rose, clutching the babe close. Effie let out another sob, muffled in her apron. Even Morag sniffed once before snapping, “Enough blubberin’. Ye’ll scare the child.”

But Scarlett wasn’t fooled. She saw the way the housekeeper’s knuckles whitened around the cradle edge, the way her lips pressed thin as a blade.

They left the nursery together, Tam leading, Scarlett behind with Elise snug against her chest. Each stair felt like a noose tightening. Her legs wanted to buckle, but she forced them steady. For Elise’s sake.

At the base of the stairwell, Kian waited. His presence hit her like a wall. He said nothing, only stepped forward. For a moment, Scarlett thought he might stop her. That he’d change his mind.

Instead, he bent low. His lips brushed Elise’s forehead in a fleeting kiss. “Be well, sweet lass,” he murmured. Too soft for the men waiting beyond the gates to hear.

Scarlett swallowed hard.

Her arms tightened, protective. She wanted to say she is ours . But the words wouldn’t come.

This is what’s right. He is her faither.

Together Kian, Tam, and Scarlett walked out into the courtyard. The air bit sharp, the smell of iron thick as men gathered in rows along the walls. Above, archers stood ready, bows loose but strung. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the creak of leather and the distant caw of a crow.