Page 109 of A Highland Bride Disciplined
“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.”
Together they headed down, the chill air biting harder with each step, the keep alive again with the clatter of departure even before the sun broke through the morning clouds.
The courtyard churned with hooves and voices, steam curling from horses like ghosts. Morag’s keys clattered as she strode through the fray, shoving oatcakes into hands, thrusting cloaks tighter about shoulders. Effie fluttered like a hen, tripping over a coil of rope and apologizing to it twice.
Kian stood on the step with Tam at his shoulder and watched it all move. The keep exhaled its guests in a long, reluctant sigh.
Campbell of Muir arrived first, a wall of a man wrapped in a wolfskin cloak, one massive hand planted at the small of his wife’s back like a barricade. Mabel, round with child and glowing despite the cold, wagged a finger at him without even looking up.
“I can walk, Campbell,” she said. “I’m expectin’, nae dyin’.”
“Aye, and I’m the fool that lets ye trip on a loose cobble,” Campbell grunted, though his mouth twitched.
Ollie and Connor hovered on either side of their aunt, underfoot and everywhere at once. Ollie craned up at Kian with a conspiratorial squint. “Will there be a battle, Uncle?”
“There’ll be a reckoning,” Kian said, voice flat.
“Cool,” Ollie breathed, just as Connor slipped a small hand into Mabel’s and leaned against her hip like a shadow.
Hamish MacLennan came next, all iron beard and unreadable eyes, the kind of silence that made men straighten their backs. Astrid swept at his side with her usual sheen of disapproval, though even she had dressed for travel with a practical hood. Skylar trailed behind them with a bow over her shoulder and a dare in her gaze.
“Ye’ll nae bring that,” Astrid hissed, flicking a look at the bow.
