Scarlett’s arms crossed tighter, her nails biting into her sleeves. “Out wit’ it, then. What did ye find?”
Kian exhaled slowly, running a hand over his jaw. “It wasnae simple. Duncan’s word led us to a small village along the coast. Folk there remembered a young woman, fair, frightened, keepin’ to herself. She’d rented a room at the inn.”
Scarlett’s brows pinched. Her voice dropped. “A room? Alone?”
“Aye. Alone.” He hesitated, then added, “She had a babe wi’ her when she arrived. The innkeeper swore it. A wee bairn wit’ a cry strong enough to rattle rafters.”
Scarlett’s breath hitched, arms loosening. “Elise.”
Kian gave the faintest nod. “Aye. It seems she left her at our door the same night she might have disappeared… though that’s quite a ways to travel considerin’...”
Scarlett clutched the back of the nearest chair, knuckles white. “Then where is she now? Did ye find her? Did she leave word?”
He stepped closer, careful, like one might approach a skittish mare. “We searched. Questioned villagers and tradesmen. The innkeeper said she’d been… troubled. Skittish. Wouldnae eat. Spoke little. Spent hours starin’ out toward the cliffs.”
Scarlett’s green eyes flashed, desperate. “That doesnae mean —”
“Nay, it doesnae,” he cut in gently, though his voice carried the weight of stone. “But the same night she vanished, folk heard screams near the water. Come mornin’, her shawl was found snagged on the rocks.”
Scarlett shook her head violently. “Ye cannae ken that was her. It could’ve been anyone —”
Kian reached into his cloak and pulled free a folded scrap of parchment. Its edges softened from travel. He didn’t hand it over yet only held it, as though the words written on it burned his palm. “Scarlett, listen to me. I found this in the room she left behind.”
Scarlett’s eyes darted to the letter and then back up at him. Her throat worked around a swallow. “So she… she’s…”
He let out a breath, heavy and final. “Aye. The villagers believe she threw herself over. And all we’ve left is this.”
Scarlett’s knees nearly buckled, and she caught herself on the chair again. The chamber blurred for a moment, the airtight in her chest. “Nay. Oh, God.”
Kian closed the last of the distance, his voice low and steady though his own jaw was tight. “I wanted ye to ken the whole of it. Piece by piece. So ye’d see we dinnae stop searchin’. We dinnae give up until there was naught left to chase. As I promised I would.”
Scarlett stared at him, heart pounding, eyes locked on that folded scrap between his fingers. Her arms ached from the absence of Elise in them. She didn’t know what to think.
“What… what’s in the letter?” she whispered.
Kian’s gaze softened, “We’ll read it together.”
Scarlett stared at the parchment in Kian’s hand, her breath snagging in her throat. The world felt narrowed, reduced to that folded scrap. Her palms itched to take it, yet she feared what words waited inside.
Kian didn’t push it on her—he only offered it, steady, his expression unreadable save for the faint crease at his brow.
“Read it,” he said quietly. “Best ye hear it from her own hand.”
Scarlett’s fingers trembled as she reached for it. The parchment was softer than she expected, worn thin at the folds, as though opened and closed many times before being left behind. She smoothed it on the table, her vision blurring.
Her lips parted, and she forced her voice to steady as she began.
“Laird Crawford —”Scarlett’s eyes flicked to Kian’s before she kept reading on.
“If ye’ve found this letter, then I was right to trust ye would.
The bairn I left at your keep is my Elise. I have neither the strength nor means to protect her from my cruel fate.
You and your wife once pulled me from the edge of certain death. Both fierce and unyielding. You saved me then. I should have stayed, but shame is a hard chain to carry.
So, I leave my daughter, the best part of me, in your care. I pray you hold her as if she were your own blood. Love her as I couldn’t.
When she’s grown enough to understand, tell her that she was loved beyond measure. And though I was weak, my heart was hers from her very first breath.