Page 5 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

Scarlett didn’t answer. But the question lodged in her chest like a thorn.

Safe? Was that what she was now? A place someone could entrust with their child?

The weight of it pressed against her lungs.

She forced herself to take a slow step closer. Then another.

The baby turned her head slightly, as if sensing her.

Scarlett’s heart twisted. She didn’t know this child. Didn’t know her story. But something about the calm in her expression struck something deep.

Then her eyes fell on the edge of the swaddle, where something stiff was tucked into the folds.

A bit of parchment, barely visible.

Scarlett drew a sharp breath. “The note?” she managed.

“Aye,” Brighde said flatly, and pulled the folded scrap of parchment. “I havenae read it. It’s address to yerself and the laird.”

Scarlett took it with careful fingers. The handwriting was neat but rushed.

This is Elise. Please care for her as if she were your own. We cannae keep her. We only ask that the Laird and Lady Crawford show her kindness. She is good. She is loved. She deserves a life better than the one we can give her.

Scarlett read it again. And again.

“Elise,” she whispered.

Effie leaned closer. “That’s a fine name.”

Morag crossed her arms, and trained her narrowed eyes at the bairn. “Nay seal. Nay sign of who left her?”

Brighde shook her head. “None.”

Scarlett swallowed the lump in her throat. She looked at the child again.

Elise .

And the moment their eyes met, something inside her twisted. Like a string pulled taut behind her ribs.

“What are we supposed to do?” Effie asked.

“Care for her,” Scarlett said, voice steadier than she felt.

The baby gurgled in response, kicking once under her blanket.

Scarlett stepped back and braced her hands on the edge of the healer’s table, her knuckles white.

A child? in me care? What if I cannae keep her alive?

She could command the kitchens. Oversee harvest planning. Resolve livestock disputes with a firm tone. But this?

This was a human life. Small, fragile, blinking up at her like Scarlett was someone who could fix things.

Scarlett’s hands crept toward the bundle, and she fought the urge to grab the child and hold her tightly to her chest, but Brighde placed and hand on hers.

“Nae yet, m’lady. We daenae ken if she’s safe to hold yet.”

Scarlett nodded, but the pounding in her head made it hard to think.

“She’ll need a wet nurse,” Morag said. “If we can find one.”

“I’ll ask around,” Brighde added. “There’s a widow near the village who lost her child a few weeks back. She might still be able.”

Effie glanced at her, eyes wide. “M’lady… are ye alright?”

“Nay.”

She turned on her heel and marched out of the room.

Effie scrambled after her. “Where’re ye goin’?”

“To me study.”

“Let me ken about the nursemaid by supper, Brighde. Until then, the bairn will sleep in the infirmary.”

Morag stepped forward calmly, “I’ll send a boy to the village, and get ye the word soonest, m’lady. The bairn will be just fine here.”

Scarlett could barely see anything. Her hands were shaking as she turned, pulled open the heavy infirmary door open, and stormed through the keep, straight to the study.

She took the steps two at a time.

She bounded down the corridors.

And even took a corner too tightly, and shoulder-checked the stone wall that bit back painfully, but that didn’t deter her.

In the study, she went straight to the desk, and whipped a piece of parchment from the drawer, slamming it atop the wood.

The quill scratched furiously as she began to write.

Laird Crawford,

If ye have even a shred of decency beneath that cold, brooding brow of yers, ye’ll return at once. This is not a request. I’ve spent eight months waiting. I’ll wait no longer.

Lady Scarlett

She signed it with a hard, final stroke, then sealed the letter before the ink was dry.

Effie lingered at the doorway, brows lifted.

Scarlett looked up, green eyes blazing toward Effie’s quiet, lingering figure in the doorway.

“Find a rider. Tell him to ride like hell. And if me husband asks why I’ve dared command him,” she said, waving the letter angrily. “Tell him that absence forfeits authority, and that he is expected with immediacy. ”

Kian broke the red wax seal with his thumb, smearing a streak of ink where it hadn’t fully dried. His brow furrowed. The courier had handed it over like it held a royal decree.

The handwriting was unmistakable. Bold. Tilted. No frills.

He read the first line.

By the third, he was smiling.

By the last, he was laughing. A menacingly low and dark sound.

If ye have even a shred of decency beneath that cold, brooding brow of yers…

God, she was still furious. Good.

He leaned back in his chair, folding the letter once and tapping the edge against his knee. She didn’t once ask for him to come home before, or even ask when he was due to return, but now…. She commanded him.

And she thought she could command me without consequence?

His smile flattened. He turned to stare out the window of the Edinburgh townhouse where he’d set up temporary quarters. It overlooked slate roofs and the grey ribbon of the Water of Leith. The city was loud, bustling, full of distractions.

And yet, for weeks now, he’d found himself distracted only by thoughts of her.

He hadn’t expected her to last long at the keep. Not with its harsh winters and long silences. But from what little word he’d had, from her letters but mostly secondhand, Scarlett Murray had turned Crawford Keep inside out and made it stand at attention.

She’d made a place for herself without him.

Now she wanted him back. But not for affection. Not for longing. No, she needed something. Something urgent enough to make her drop the pretense of courtesy.

He stood and crossed the room, pulling on his coat.

“She needs remindin’,” he muttered, half to himself, “of who gives the orders in this marriage.”

He wouldn’t send word.

He wouldn’t write back.

He would ride.

And when he returned to Crawford Keep, Lady Scarlett Crawford would learn that commanding a man like him came with a price.