Page 93 of A Highland Bride Disciplined
Scarlett tapped the desk, once sharp, then again slower. At last she nodded. “So, the feast will be bait.”
“Hospitality,” he corrected, though they both knew better.
Her mouth curved wryly. “Bait wi’ bannocks then. I’ll see to the letters. Maither will nae miss the chance to wag her tongue at ye.”
His jaw ticked at the thought of Astrid Dunlop. “If she does —”
“I’ll handle her,” Scarlett cut in, calm and firm.
Silence followed. Not brittle this time, but full. He found himself watching her fingers curl steady around the quill, already sketching invitations. She wrote this new chapter for them as though she’d always been meant to. And for once, the thought didn’t scrape his pride raw.
A knock rattled the door. Effie poked her head in, curls wild, apron damp. “Pardon, m’lady, but the bairn’s got a hold o’ Morag’s ear and willnae let go — oh.” She spotted Kian and bobbed a curtsey. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Laird. Just thought ye should ken she’s got a grip like a smith.”
Scarlett’s lips twitched, and to his own surprise, Kian almost smiled. “We’ll be there shortly, Effie.”
Effie vanished in a flurry of skirts.
Scarlett chuckled, low. “Elise the Fierce.”
Kian tilted his head. “Fierce bairns make fierce women.” His gaze held hers. “She’ll grow well under ye.”
The compliment surprised her. Her lips parted, ready with a reply, then closed again. A flush rose, soft as dawn, before she bent quickly back to her writing.
Kian sat back, voice deliberately steady. “So we’re agreed. The hunt. The feast. The McTavishes.”
Scarlett’s quill scratched. “We’re agreed.”
And for the second time ever, the words between them did not feel like battle.
Scarlett had not expected his words to linger the way they did.
A hunt. Guests. Her family.
For all his brooding, Kian had surprised her with the suggestion. More than that, he had trusted her to prepare it. Trusted her to bring kin and allies to Crawford and make it more than stone walls and wary silence.
By the time she returned to her chambers, Elise cradled against her shoulder, her thoughts were already racing. Effie helped her change from her riding gown, clucking about ink stains and dust on the hem, but Scarlett barely heard her. She sat at her desk before the fire, ordered parchment and quill, and began to write.
Her first letter went to Mabel, of course.
Dearest Sister,she scrawled, the words flowing faster than she could think.Crawford Keep will host a hunt this fortnight. Bring Campbell, the boys, and do not make excuses. I will not take no for an answer.
Her hand stilled at the note.
Should I include something about Elise?
For months Scarlett had led this keep alone, shouldering burdens she had never been trained to carry. But tonight, with ink staining her fingers and Elise asleep in the cradle, she allowed herself the rare gift of anticipation.
Letters went out swiftly after. To her father, formal and precise, as he preferred. To her mother, a softer note, though Scarlett could already hear the sharp edge of Astrid’s questions about heirs and duty. To Skylar, she wrote a half-page of sisterly chatter before Effie leaned over her shoulder and whispered, “Best nae mention the laird too much, my lady, or she’ll crow before she’s here.” Scarlett had laughed, crossed out two lines, and sent it anyway.
Then came the letters to other lairds. A handful only of men and families whose presence would matter, whose alliances might prove useful. She chose carefully, remembering the endless accounts Kian kept on the trade routes and kinship ties that had bound their clans together. She wrote of venison feasts, of hounds in the glen, of wine and merriment, painting the picture of a Crawford that was not just rebuilt but thriving.
Effie sealed each with wax, Morag oversaw a lad to deliver them at once, and by nightfall Scarlett sat by the hearth with Elise in her lap, whispering of all that would come.
“Ye’ll have cousins runnin’ through the halls soon,” she murmured into the Elise’s downy hair. “And yer aunt Skylar will likely tell me everythin’ I’m doin’ wrong. But ye’ll have kin, little one. Ye’ll ken ye belong.”
The following day the first responses returned.
Mabel’s came by swift courier, ink blotted where it had been dashed too quickly to dry.We will be there within days. The boys are restless as colts and will not forgive me if I delay.Scarlett laughed aloud reading it, and Effie clapped her hands in glee.
