Page 14 of A Highland Bride Disciplined
Scarlett found herself smiling. “Come on, then. If ye can go a full hour without toppin’ somethin’, I might just let ye eat early.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge,” Effie beamed.
The two women wove through the corridors of the keep, and then out into the courtyard, where Scarlett turned to appreciatehow well the keep had bounced back over the past few months. Ivy tamed. Windows and sills, cleaned. That’s when Scarlett smiled to herself, recalling a memory.
“And if I see another stocking pinned to the curtain rod...”
The maid gasped, pressing both hands to her chest in exaggerated horror. “That happenedone time, m’lady! And I told ye, it was dryin’ faster up with the opened window!”
Scarlett shook her head, biting back a smile. “Faster or nae, Lord above help me if the next guest passin’ by the South Wing gets a lacy surprise flappin’ like a bawdy banner of surrender.”
“Och, it wasnae as bad as all that!”
They walked together through the west garden, where new rows of lavender and chamomile had finally taken root in the stone-edged beds. A few hens scratched near the hedge. They had escaped from their pen again, no doubt, but Scarlett let them be. She had bigger victories to savor.
The keep was no longer crumbling or drafty. The drafty corners in the main hall had been mended, and it stood proud again. Food stores were replenished. Trade with the local villagers had improved, thanks to a few modest changes in how the clan’s harvests were shared and stored.
Scarlett had written it all in her monthly letters to her husband. Each one carefully worded, polite, but not overly warm. And always with the numbers.
Three new dairy cows from Muirhold. One wagonload of barley sold to the MacKinnons. A modest investment in the keep’s stone ovens, already paying off in bread that didn’t taste like burnt dust.
She’d signed each letter as “Lady Crawford,” sealed them herself, and sent them without a single reply.
Not one word from Kian Murray. Not a letter. Not a scratch of ink. The silence was louder than any insult he could have sent. Clearly, he couldn’t have been bothered.
Coward,she often thought.If he wanted me silent, he could’ve just said so. If he didn’t like what I’ve done, he could’ve written back.
Instead, nothing. Eight months of silence. Eight months of ruling a keep… aclan… without a husband. Eight months of trying, and failing, not to remember the heat of his breath against her neck.
Scarlett brushed that thought aside and tilted her face to the sky. Spring had returned to the Highlands, and she wouldn’t let her mind wander to things better left in the past.
“Have I truly improved nothin’?” Effie asked, skipping a stone along the garden wall.
“Oh, ye’ve improved. Ye only broke one plate last week instead of five. That’s what I call progress, but Mrs. Morag wouldnae call it that.”
Effie grinned. “I’m nay good at scrubbing, but I’ve a knack for loyalty.”
“Aye.Thatye do.”
Their moment of quiet was shattered by aclatterand a strange thudding sound from the far courtyard.
Scarlett turned, frowning.
And then she saw her.
Mrs. Morag Drummond. The keeper of order, destroyer of nonsense, and sworn enemy of any improper hemline was running directly toward them.
Running?
Her heavy ring of keys clanked wildly against her hip. Her skirts bunched in one fist. Her greying braid flapped behind her like a battle flag.
Scarlett’s stomach dropped. “Effie…”
“I see her. What… what in heaven’s name could makeMoragrun?”
Mrs. Morag wheezed to a halt before them, bent double, hand on her knee, breathing like a bellows.
Scarlett stepped forward, her heart already quickening. “Mrs. Morag, what’s happened?”
