Page 45 of A Highland Healer Captured (Scottish Daddies #3)

“ Y e’ll nae ruin this, Scarlett. D’ye hear me?” Astrid’s voice cut sharply through the tented air, her lips barely parting as she smiled tightly at a passing guest. Her fingers clutched Scarlett’s wrist, her grip deceptively gentle.

Scarlett blinked at her mother, more tired than angry. “Ruin what , exactly? The sham ye and Da arranged behind me back?” Her words came out quiet but dry as dust.

Astrid’s smile didn’t falter though her nostrils flared. “The alliance, lass. Yer duty. The alliance between MacLennan and Crawford depends on ye keepin’ yer head down and yer mouth shut .”

Scarlett scoffed and pulled her arm free. “I’ve done me duty. I wore the dress, I spoke the vows, I held his bloody hand at the altar though he’d barely looked at me. What more d’ye want, Maither? A painted smile and a grateful curtsy?”

Astrid tsked. “He’s a laird, Scarlett. Ye’re nae a barmaid flirtin’ in the tavern. Behave yerself. There’s power in restraint.”

Restraint?

Scarlett swallowed the bitter laugh threatening to tear from her throat.

“He hasnae even spoken a full sentence to me. Nae a letter before today, nae a glance durin’ the ceremony. What restraint would ye have me show exactly? Shall I sit by the hearth like a good lass, knittin’ socks for a stranger who would rather be anywhere else than here?”

Her mother’s lips twitched, ready to retort, but then she froze. Her spine stiffened, and her eyes widened a little as she reached out, smoothing Scarlett’s already flawless sleeve.

“He’s comin’,” she murmured, her voice barely a breath.

Scarlett turned before she could think better of it.

The air left her lungs.

There he was. Kian Murray, her new husband.

Tall as sin and twice as unforgiving. His dark hair was wind-tossed but neatly tied at the nape of his neck, the deep green tartan casting a shadow over the powerful lines of his shoulders.

He wove through the crowd with the ease of a man used to command.

Some people moved to greet him, but one look sent them scuttling back.

He was making straight for her.

Scarlett’s pulse kicked up. She tilted her chin up, summoning the aloofness she’d perfected during cèilidhs and family functions, but it barely held. He hadn’t even said a word, and already her body was betraying her.

She didn’t clearly remember the ceremony because she’d been too dazed and panicked, but one thing stood out like firelight in the dark.

His eyes.

He’d looked at her like he meant to study every inch of her then burn her from memory. Not kindly, not cruelly… just intensely.

Now, those same eyes were trained on her again. Light brown, unreadable, and far too intelligent.

She took a step back before she caught herself.

“Nae too late to run,” came a voice from behind her.

Effie. Of course.

Scarlett glanced at her maid, who was pretending to tidy the hem of her gown while watching the Laird approach with open fascination.

“If I bolt, will ye follow with me trunks?” Scarlett muttered.

Effie grinned. “I’ll pack yer nightgown and all.”

“Enough,” Astrid hissed, smoothing her skirts.

The crowd around them began to hush. Even the musicians faltered, their tune stumbling to an awkward end. Scarlett felt the weight of every gaze shift toward her.

She braced herself as Kian stopped before her.

“Lady Crawford,” he said, his voice low and formal.

Her full title. Not Scarlett. Not even a polite compliment.

A man of warmth and passion, then.

“Laird Crawford,” she returned, lifting her chin. “Or shall I call ye husband now?”

His eyebrow arched, and something flickered in his eyes. It might’ve been amusement.

Or judgment.

“We’ll leave shortly,” he declared and turned toward the waiting horses.

Just like that.

Scarlett stared after him, stunned. “Shortly? We’ve barely eaten.”

“He’s eager to show ye yer new home,” Astrid offered hastily.

Scarlett rounded on her mother. “He’s eager to claim me and produce an heir, ye mean?”

Astrid reached again for her wrist, but Scarlett stepped out of her reach.

She looked around the grounds, at the flower-draped arch that meant nothing now, the MacLennan and Crawford colors twisted together like they were trying to suffocate her. She didn’t want this life, but she’d agreed for the safety of the clan and mostly for her sisters.

And yet the man who was supposed to lead her into it hadn’t even had the decency to look at her.

She clenched her fists at her sides.

“Well,” she said under her breath, turning her gaze once more to her husband’s retreating figure, “if he thinks I’ll make this easy for him, he’s in for a rude awakening.”

She lifted her skirts and followed him, her shoulders rolled back, her heart pounding, fury a thin wire running through her veins.

Kian Murray’s footsteps were measured and heavy. Each one thudded like a war drum against the stone path. He stopped in front of her without a word, casting a long shadow over her silk skirts.

“Ready?” he stated simply, more than asked.

That was it. No greeting. No compliment.

Not even a nod to her appearance though Effie had spent two hours curling her unruly hair and tucking in the wilder strands.

Her crown of strawberry-blonde hair was pinned high, her green eyes outlined in kohl, and the dress she wore was hand-stitched from MacLennan silk that glimmered like morning dew.

And still, he looked at her like a reluctant farmer surveying a poorly bred mule.

Scarlett stiffened then forced a smile. “Time, is it? Couldnae we stay a day or two longer? Ye’ve nae even met me sisters properly.”

Her voice was softer than she’d intended, and it startled her just how small she sounded. She had intended to be amiable, not pitiful.

Damn.

For all his silence, Kian Murray was her husband now. Her life. She ought to try at least. If he’d only see how likable and charming she was, and would be as a partner, perhaps they could begin on steady ground.

“I daenae need to meet yer sisters, Scarlett,” he said, his brown eyes devoid of emotion. “We’re wed. The formalities are done.”

Her heart lurched. A formality?

She swallowed thickly and lifted her chin, painting steel over the soft ache.

“Well,” she said, bitterness returning to her tongue, “that’s a pity. Ye’d have liked them better than me.”

Effie made a scandalized noise behind her. Scarlett wished she had the gall to do the same.

Kian glanced toward the waiting horses where his man-at-arms adjusted the saddle cinch with a grim frown. “We ride.”

Scarlett’s heart skipped a beat. “I just thought ye might like to spend a night wi’ yer wife under her faither’s roof. Show her some kindness before draggin’ her away to a place she’s never kent.”

He turned his gaze back to her, and again she felt that strange twist in her belly. His stare was unreadable but not empty.

No, something flashed behind his eyes. He was thinking. Judging. Weighing.

And somehow, she knew she wouldn’t like the verdict.

“Nay,” he said with finality. “We ride for Crawford Keep.”

Scarlett clenched her jaw and bowed. “As ye wish, husband.”

The word tasted like ash.

But then he offered his arm.

She hesitated just a moment too long and then put her hand lightly on his sleeve. It was hard beneath her fingers, all lean muscle and rigid tension.

He didn’t look at her as they moved through the thinning crowd. No waves. No goodbyes.

Effie scurried behind with her bag, muttering something under her breath that Scarlett couldn’t quite catch.

Tam Gallagher, Kian’s man-at-arms, stood by the horses. He wore a patch over one eye and a scowl that looked permanent. His thick arms were crossed, and a sword hung heavy at his hip.

“Me lady wife,” Kian said flatly.

Tam grunted in acknowledgment though his one good eye gave her a once-over that wasn’t unkind. “M’Lady.”

Scarlett nodded stiffly and let Kian help her into the carriage.

The two men mounted, and they all rode in silence.

The MacLennan banners vanished behind them within minutes, swallowed by the curve of the hills.

Scarlett’s heart ached with every hoofbeat. She hadn’t expected to be happy , but she hadn’t imagined feeling so utterly disposable.

The further they rode, the more her discomfort grew. Her new husband said nothing, offered no reassurances, asked no questions. The man was a slab of stone, carved into the shape of a laird. Handsome, yes, unreasonably so, but colder than the Highland lochs in winter.

His jaw worked as he rode next to the carriage, the muscle tight near his ear. She hated that her eyes lingered there. Hated that she noticed how his coat clung to his shoulders or how the wind tousled his dark hair just so.

He looked like a storm barely held at bay.

And I am expected to live with him?

Scarlett exhaled hard through her nose.

Another hour passed before her patience snapped.

“So, ye’ve nothin’ to say, then?” she asked, her voice loud enough to carry over the thundering of hooves.

He looked over at her, one eyebrow rising.

“Yer poor bride,” she went on, unable to help herself, “torn from her home and kin with nae so much as a question whether she’d prefer to eat before bein’ hauled across the hills. Is it always so brisk, or d’ye just nae care what yer shiny new trophy thinks?”

Kian tugged on the reins to slow his horse just a touch. The grin that pulled at his lips was slow, wicked.

“Trophy?” he repeated, turning fully to face her.

Scarlett’s cheeks flushed. She hadn’t meant to say that part aloud.

“Aye,” she muttered, her chin jutted. “I meant me . But I’d wager the title suits, nay? Pretty enough to hang on yer arm, but nae worth a real conversation.”

His eyes swept over her too slowly, and his grin widened just enough to make her stomach twist.

“Ye’re me wife,” he said at last. “Nay one speaks ill of her. Nae even herself.”

That wasn’t what she had expected.

And damn him, he knew it. She saw the flicker of satisfaction before he turned ahead.