Page 8 of A Highland Bride Disciplined (Scottish Daddies #2)

S carlett lay curled on the nursery rug, elbow propped beneath her as baby Elise slept soundly on her chest, warm and soft as a bread loaf fresh from the oven.

One of the babe’s fingers had managed to curl into the edge of her bodice lace, and the other twitched every few breaths like she was dreaming of chasing butterflies.

“She sleeps like a wee drunk,” Effie whispered from the rocking chair by the window, where she was pretending to mend a seam and doing it rather badly.

Scarlett raised an eyebrow without looking over. “What sort of drunks are ye familiar with that twitch and drool and fart in their sleep?”

Effie grinned. “Mostly male ones. But she is definitely a gentler sort.”

Elise made a soft snuffling noise. It was somewhere between a hiccup and a sigh, and Scarlett instinctively shifted to rock her.

The fire was steady, the air warm, the stone walls humming with stillness. Outside, boots echoed now and again, indicating the guards changing shifts, but in here, it felt like the world had hit pause.

Her thoughts spun in a tangled and stubborn, endless mess.

Kian .

The bloody man had reappeared like a thundercloud, glowering and growling, making her whole body tense up just by standing in the same room.

She should be furious with him still, she was still furious, technically, but that didn’t explain the way her breath had caught when he walked through the study door.

Or the way her skin remembered the heat of his nearness.

Effie looked up from her crooked seam. “Yer cheeks are pink.”

“They are nae.”

“They are . Ye’ve got a whole dreamy look about ye, m’lady. Like ye just remembered somethin’… indecent .”

Scarlett gave her a deadpan look. “The only indecent thing I remember this day is yer mending.”

Effie held up her needlework that was now tangled so badly it resembled a fishing net. “Still counts as progress.”

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “God help me.”

They sat in companionable quiet for a moment. Effie yawned. Elise shifted in her sleep, face scrunching up like she’d remembered something unpleasant and then changed her mind.

“I like her,” Effie said suddenly, her voice quiet. “The bairn.”

Scarlett looked down at the baby, her soft lashes resting on flushed cheeks. “Aye. So do I.”

“She feels like she belongs. Ye think so?”

Scarlett hesitated. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want her to belong here.”

Effie didn’t push, just nodded and poked at the fire again.

The door creaked open.

Mrs. Morag’s formidable shape appeared, keys swinging like warning bells. “The bairn is still sleepin’, then?”

Scarlett looked up. “Aye. Ye’ve just missed the puppet show and juggling act.”

Morag sniffed. “Right. Well. Are ye needin’ anythin’?”

“We’re fine, Morag.”

“Tea? Blanket? Bit o’ lemon water?”

“We’re fine.”

Effie smiled sweetly. “We’ll holler if she explodes.”

Morag didn’t leave. She just folded her arms and stared at Elise like she could memorize the curve of her nose through sheer willpower.

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “Ye can hold her, if that’s what ye’re here for.”

“I most certainly will nae,” Morag snapped, cheeks flushing. “I’ve worked kitchens since before ye were weaned, Lady Scarlett. I’ve changed enough nappies to build a wall across the glen. I was only checkin’ that the fire was safe.”

Morag left furiously muttering about linens and stew.

Effie leaned in and whispered, “That’s her third visit today.”

Scarlett whispered back, “That woman is worse than me maither.”

They sat in silence, watching the sleeping child, until the second knock came.

Tam Gallagher’s bulk appeared in the doorway, ducking beneath the frame like the stonework might collapse at the sight of him.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’lady” he said gruffly. “The laird asked me to inform ye that he willnae be joinin’ ye for supper. Or breakfast tomorrow. Possibly nae lunch either.”

Scarlett blinked. “Did he send that message with flowers or just a growl?”

Tam scratched the back of his neck. “Closer to a growl, if I’m bein’ honest.”

“Charming,” Scarlett muttered, standing carefully with Elise still tucked against her. “Tell him I’m touched by his absence.”

“Should I… really say that?”

“Oh aye. Word-perfect.”

Tam didn’t move.

Effie squinted at him, but shifted away to busy herself with the fire.

“Anything else, Tam?”

He glanced awkwardly at the baby.

Scarlett followed his gaze, raising a brow. “Would ye like to hold her?”

His visible eye widened. “I couldnae possibly.”

“It’s a bairn, nae a ball of fire.”

He didn’t laugh. “Nay. It wouldnae be right.”

Still, he lingered.

Scarlett rocked Elise gently. “She willnae bite. Unless ye’re English.”

Effie choked back a laugh.

“I’ll just… stand here a bit. In case ye’ll be needin’ anythin’,” Tam muttered, and took one deliberate step to the side of the doorway like that made him invisible.

Scarlett studied him with amusement. Of all the things that could rattle a one-eyed man-at-arms, who’d once broken a man’s nose with a soup ladle, she wouldn’t have guessed a six-month-old baby.

Effie leaned back behind Scarlett and whispered softly, “He’s starin’ at her like she’s goin’ to knight him.”

Scarlett whispered back, “She might.”

Elise let out a squeaky snore, and all three of them stilled.

She didn’t wake.

Tam cleared his throat, once.

Effie sat frozen on the rug.

Scarlett exhaled slowly and gave the baby another gentle bounce.

No one spoke.

It was the strangest standoff Scarlett had ever seen. A warrior, a maid, and a woman, all captivated by a bundle of warmth and spit bubbles.

Effie was twisting the ends of her apron. It was the kind of twisting that wound fabric into ropes and turned knuckles white.

Scarlett caught it from the corner of her eye and waited for the girl to speak, but when no words came, she decided to drag them out herself.

She twisted, staring blatantly at Effie’s apron before pointedly capturing the maid’s gaze as if to say, “Out with it.”

Effie jumped and started smoothing the apron.

Scarlett just gave her a look.

Effie bit her lip. “It’s just… I daenae like bein’ alone wi’ him.”

“With whom?”

Effie glanced at the door, where Tam Gallagher still stood as though time had frozen him in place.

Scarlett blinked. “Tam?”

Effie nodded, then immediately looked guilty. “I ken he’s loyal. And good. And big-hearted, under all the scars and scowls. But he frightens me.”

Scarlett tilted her head. “He frightens ye how? He’s nae done anything to deserve yer fear?”

“Oh nay, nay,” Effie said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper that made Scarlett really have to strain to hear her. “Nothin’ like that. It’s just that one day I dropped a plate from yer supper tray the other day, and he was there just glarin’ at me.”

“Well, that’s hardly reason to be scared of the man, Effie.”

“It’s just… he’s so quiet and judging. And he stares like he’s picturing yer funeral but cannae decide if he should dig the grave first or say a prayer.”

Scarlett laughed then, too loudly. Elise squirmed in her arms and let out a tiny grunt of protest.

Effie cringed. “Sorry. But really, ye must admit, he looks like a wolf that’s been told to mind a lamb.”

Scarlett hushed the baby, her smile still lingering. “He’s a gruff one, aye. But Tam’s never laid a finger on anyone that dinnae deserve it. He’s got a soft spot, whether he likes it or nay.”

Effie grumbled. “Soft spot’s buried under chainmail and bad attitude.”

They both looked toward the door again.

Tam, to his credit, was trying to appear preoccupied by the tapestry on the wall, as if a half-faded depiction of Saint Columba meant more to him than the baby or the two women watching him with growing curiosity.

“Ye could ask him to hold her again,” Effie muttered, mischief curling around the words.

“I already did. He damn near sprinted from the room in spirit if nae in body.”

Effie squinted. “Maybe he wants to but willnae let himself.”

“Ye reckon he’s afraid of a wee bairn?” Scarlett murmured. “Tam Gallagher, veteran of tens of battles and that infamous pub brawl with six men twice his size?”

Effie grinned. “Some fears are worse than blades.”

Scarlett considered it. There was something in the way Tam kept glancing toward Elise. It was a type of longing mixed with terror, like a man staring down a fate he didn’t believe he deserved.

Before she could say more, the hallway clattered again.

“Saints preserve us,” Effie whispered, already grinning.

Sure enough, Mrs. Morag pushed through the door with her keys singing like a war cry and a wooden spoon gripped like a dagger.

“I’ve counted linens, stirred broth, scalded three pans, and ye’ve yet to move a single inch, Tam Gallagher,” she barked without preamble. “Ye’re nay statue. Ye’ve got limbs. Use ’em.”

Tam straightened like he’d been caught sneaking out of confession. “The laird requested I deliver a message.”

“Ye did that. I saw ye more than five minutes ago walking up here to the nursery. Now ye’re loiterin’. Ain’t got nothin’ better to do than hover over a babe like ye expect her to sprout wings?”

Effie tried and failed to stifle her laughter.

Tam looked briefly at Scarlett for help, but she only shrugged.

“Perhaps ye’re here for the embroidery lessons?” Morag continued, eyes gleaming. “Or is it naptime in the nursery what tempts ye?”

“I’ll take me leave. Have to deliver a message for Lady Scarlett anyway,” Tam said quickly, already backing out the door.

Morag pointed the spoon after him. “And keep it movin’, ‘fore I assign ye to nappie duty!”

He vanished.

Effie was in a full giggle fit now, collapsed against the rug and wheezing like she’d swallowed smoke. “She terrifies him.”

“She terrifies everyone,” Scarlett said, adjusting Elise in her arms. “Even the cook flinches when she critiques the porridge.”

“Brave woman,” Effie said in awe.

“She’s earned it,” Scarlett replied. “I’m half certain Morag’s rebuilt this keep with her own bare hands and strict attitude.”