Page 127 of A Highland Bride Disciplined
Kian looked once more at the shawl. The thought of it around Elise’s small shoulders made his throat go tight. “Aye.”
He felt the shape of a reply forming as he spoke. It would be brief, and clean,Your letter received. Your son returned. Your contrition noted. The child is safe.
He would send out about the offer of trade, too, when the time was decent. Shared patrols on the ridge line come spring. Beeswax for the chapel candles. Timber for the coopers. If they could twist a feud into a market, the Highlands might sleep easier.
“Tam,” he added, and the big man paused, hand on the latch. “Good work. All of it.”
Tam’s mouth did a quick, surprised thing, almost a smile. “Go see yer lass and the bairn before Morag catches ye at the desk and sets ye to dusting.”
When the door shut, the study felt suddenly larger. Kian set the letter on the corner of the desk and rested his palms beside it. For years, he’d believed safety came only by his hand tightening. He’d been right, in part. But this past week had taught him what all his ledgers hadn’t — sometimes the thing that held best was the thing you didn’t choke.
He tuned his ears beyond the fire, beyond the distant clang of hammer and anvil, and found the quiet he wanted. Scarlett’s laugh floated faintly down the corridor from the nursery, rich as the whiskey aging in their casks. The bairn answered with a string of nonsense that sounded nearly like words.
He slipped the shawl into his pocket, careful not to crease it, and took up a fresh sheet of paper. The pen hovered. He wrote the salutation and the first line.
Your letter has been received— he started then stopped.
This could wait an hour.
He stood abruptly, and left the reply uncapped before he strode through the study, and down the hall.
He paused on the threshold a heartbeat to take them in. Scarlett stood by the window with the afternoon light caught in her hair, and Elise babbled playfully against her shoulder.
Kian sat quietly so as to not interrupt them. He sat and watched.
The nursery was warmer than usual, though Scarlett couldn’t tell if it was the fire, the midday sun spilling in through the high window, or the shawl of nerves she’d wrapped around herself all morning. Elise cooed against her shoulder, tugging at a loose curl as though the bairn sensed her mother’s restless mind.
Kian sat nearby, a folded parchment in his hand, his jaw clenching in thought. When his gaze lifted, he caught her watching him, and instead of speaking he offered the letter.
“From McTavish,” he said.
Her stomach knotted, but she took it, smoothing the vellum flat with careful fingers. Kian leaned back, arms crossed, waiting.
She read in silence. Each line twisted and unknotted her chest. McTavish condemned Roderick’s actions, returned thanks for his son’s burial, admitted his shame. And then, the part that made her throat close, he wrote that he wished for Elise to remain here at Crawford, as Nieve had wished. That they were to raise her. That he would honor the choice of the bairn’s mother.
Scarlett read the passage twice, then a third time, her lips moving without sound. She barely noticed Morag entering until the woman harrumphed loudly.
“Too warm in here by half,” Morag scolded, bustling toward the window. She tugged the shutter open, letting in a wash of cool air. “Child’ll sweat herself raw if ye keep her bundled like a Christmas goose.”
Scarlett blinked, startled back to the room. Elise gurgled in response, as though to agree.
Morag turned next to the hearth, poked the fire with unnecessary vigor, then adjusted the lamp wick until its glowsoftened. “Light’s poor too. Nay wonder yer eyes are squintin’. Where’s Effie gone off to?”
Kian, lounging in his chair like a cat who’d swallowed something smug, only quirked a brow. He didn’t answer.
Scarlett bent over the letter again, suddenly very intent on rereading the bit about beeswax and barley.
That was when Effie peeked in through the door, her cheeks pink, her hair a little mussed. Tam loomed behind her, broad shoulders filling the frame, his one good eye sharp as ever.
“Well,” Morag declared, crossing her arms with satisfaction, eyeing the two of them presumptively. “It’s about time.”
Effie froze, mortification blooming crimson across her face. Tam scowled. “Shut it, woman,” he warned, his voice low enough to rattle the shutters.
For one beat, the room was stiff with silence. Then laughter cracked it wide open. Scarlett giggled helplessly into her hand, Kian’s deep chuckle rumbled beside her, even Effie half-snorted despite herself. Morag sniffed, pretending innocence, and Elise squealed at the noise as if she’d joined the joke.
The bairn kicked her heels, her little mouth working around a sound that made everyone fall still.
“Da,” she chirped.
