Page 82 of A Highland Bride Disciplined
Tam must have felt the turn in him. “Ye’re thinkin’ on the lady,” he said, not a question.
Kian exhaled. “She’s nae a fool. She’ll ken the shape o’ what we’ve learned whether I soften it or nae.”
“Aye, but the softenin’s the point,” Tam said. “Normally ye’d hand a truth like a blade—hilt first if ye’re merciful, point first if ye’re nae. But with Lady Scarlett ye look like a man tryin’ to wrap steel in velvet, and it doesnae suit ye.”
Kian almost laughed. Almost. “I’m nae afraid o’ the woman.”
Tam’s visible eyebrow did a slow climb. “Nay Ye’re ridin’ like ye’d rather meet the devil than her eyes.”
Kian rolled his shoulders, leather creaking. “I’m… considerin’ me choices. That’s all.”
“That so? Well, that’s odd because usually ye’re the one who’s already,” Tam paused. “Except whereshe’sconcerned.”
The words threaded under Kian’s skin and pulled. He loosened the reins a hair, letting the gelding pick his way through a shallow run of stones. “I brought ye because ye say what others willnae,” he said, voice even. “Daenae mistake that for an invitation to sermonize.”
“Then I’ll put it plain,” Tam said. “Ye daenae ken how to tell her because ye daenae ken which hurts worse — sayin’ the lass is dead, or sayin’ ye’re nae sure. Ye’ve lived by certainty. She’s makin’ a home o’ doubt in ye.”
Kian’s mouth set. Doubt. Scarlett had walked into his keep and lit every shadow he’d left to smolder. And then a bairn arrived in a woollen blanket and turned his house into a cradle for hope he hadn’t asked for.
“Ye saw her last night,” he said, quieter. “At the festival.”
“Aye. Laughin’ like she meant to convince the whole glen she was fine.”
“And she wasnae,” Kian said. It wasn’t a question.
Tam’s silence was answer enough.
Kian pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed cold air till his head stopped buzzing. “If the letter tells me the lass took her own life, I willnae leave Scarlett holdin’ a ghost. If it points to the McTavishes, I willnae leave them unanswered.” He glanced at Tam. “If it says nothin’ at all, we keep lookin’.”
Tam nodded. “Right, then.”
Kian grunted.
They crossed a rise. To the left, a stand of birch kept off the worst of the wind; to the right, the land sloped toward a scatter of crofts and a ribbon of river. Kian’s mind kept circlin’ to the letter in his coat. It was heavy. The wax seal like a hot iron against his ribs.
Tam cleared his throat again. “What are ye goin’ to tell her, then? The words o’ it, I mean.”
Kian considered. He didn’t compose speeches. He gave orders. But orders wouldn’t serve here. “I’ll tell her what we saw and what we dinnae. I’ll tell her a McTavish came askin’. That the innkeeper burned what shouldnae have been burned. Thatthere’s a cliff and a rumor and neither are proof.” He paused. “And I’ll tell her I found a letter.”
Tam’s head snapped. “Ye will?”
Kian almost smiled at his shock. “Aye. I’ll nae keep it from her.”
Tam huffed something like approval. “Read it first, though. Saints save us from men who hand their wives a fresh-cut wound ‘fore they’ve checked where it’s bleedin’.”
“Aye,” Kian said. “I’ll read it.” He swallowed. “Just… nae in front o’ her.”
“Because ye daenae want her to see ye flinch,” Tam said. No judgment in it. Just fact.
Kian’s fingers brushed the coat at his chest. “Because I’m nae sure which man I’ll be when I do.”
They rode in another strip of quiet. The moor opened wider, the light sharpening. A hawk hung on the air, motionless, then dipped and cut away.
Tam shifted in his saddle. “There’s another matter,” he said carefully.
Kian set his jaw. “Say it.”
“If the lass is gone, Elise’s maither, I mean, then the bairn’s future sits with the two o’ ye. And I’ve seen ye step into rooms full o’ debt and make the numbers kneel.” He tilted a look at Kian. “Ye cannae make a child kneel.”
