Page 79 of A Highland Bride Disciplined
Kian woke to the cracking of dying coals and the rasp of boots on stone. His neck ached where it had lolled against the back of the study chair, and a half-dried smear of ink tugged at the skin of his knuckles where he’d fallen asleep mid-line. The ledger on the desk still sat open, his scrawl trailing off into nothing.
“Saints above,” came a voice that was as dry as winter. “A man could mistake ye for a corpse sittin’ there.”
Kian blinked into the dim, morning just hinting pale blue beyond the mullioned window. Tam stood in the doorway, arms folded, one eyebrow climbing high under the leather strap of his eyepatch.
Kian sat forward, rolling his shoulders until they popped. “What hour is it?”
“Too late for bed, too early for work,” Tam answered, ever unhelpful. “But if ye’ve the strength for both, I’ll join ye.”
Kian raked a hand over his face, the rough bristle of his jaw reminding him he hadn’t shaved since yesterday morning. “Did ye come to mock, or is there purpose to yer intrusion?”
Tam grinned, all teeth. “A bit o’ both, if I’m honest.”
“Let’s have it then.”
Tam leaned against the study doorframe, one boot crossed over the other, eye glinting with mischief. “Before ye start barkin’ orders, ye should ken Duncan’s returned. Or —” he corrected, lips twitching, “— stumbled in, more like. Smelled like he’d been livin’ inside a whisky barrel.”
Kian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Christ, Tam. Tell me ye’ve lashed him to the stables till he sobers.”
“He’s lashed, aye, though nay thanks to me. Near collapsed on his horse when he rode in. But he brought word… garbled as it was.”
That drew Kian up straight. “Aye?”
Tam nodded. “Heard tell of a lass. Young, alone. Took work in scraps, asked after lodgin’ by the coast road. Had a bairn that she left in the inn whenever she worked, or so the gossip goes. Duncan swears the innkeeper is tellin’ the truth.
Kian stilled.Elise’s mother. A real lead. “And where was this?”
Tam scratched his jaw. “Village by the cliffs. Fisherfolk mostly. Name changes dependin’ on who ye ask, but Duncan swears she was there as recent as nearly a week or so past. Then —” He hesitated, for once weighing his words. “— says folk tell she went missin’. Some claim she walked the cliff path and never returned.”
The words struck like ice. Kian’s jaw flexed. “Gossip.”
“Aye. Could be nothin’. Could be truth. Duncan’s nae clever enough to invent it though.”
Kian began pacing, boots dragging lines across the study rug. His chest felt tight, too tight, the memory of Elise’s small weight in his arms pressing at him. “If she’s alive, we find her. If she’s nae, then we’ll find proof. Scarlett deserves that much… Elise deserves that much.”
Tam straightened, sensing the decision had settled. “So. We ride?”
Kian met his gaze, grim. “Aye. We ride. Duncan’s tongue may be loose, but his nose for trouble’s sharp enough. If the lass was seen there, we’ll learn it ourselves. Better truth from me own eyes than rumor carried back on whisky fumes.”
“The men are saddled and waitin’. Thought ye’d want to lead this search yerself,” Tam grinned flourishing his hands feigning ceremony.
That dragged Kian fully awake. He rose, tugging on his coat with brisk motions. “Right, then.”
“Aye. Best afore the village grows busy. Folk are looser-tongued when their bellies are empty,” Tam said, falling into step behind him as they left the study.
The keep was quiet, only the scrape of their boots on stone and the faint bleat of sheep from the far meadow. Dawn hadn’t yet cut the sky. For a moment Kian wondered if Scarlett stirred upstairs, curled protectively around Elise. He pushed the thought down.
By the time they reached the stables, the air bit sharp and cold. Two guards stood ready with bridled horses, stamping and snorting in the chill. Tam swung up with the ease of long practice, while Kian settled into the saddle of his black gelding. The beast pawed once, eager.
They rode hard at first, hooves hammering the frozen earth, mist trailing like smoke in their wake. The glen widened, then narrowed again, leading them toward the next village along the ridge.
Tam whistled low. “Ye ken, I’ve seen ye ride to Edinburgh with less fire than this.”
Kian kept his gaze on the horizon. “Edinburgh is coin and contracts. This —” His jaw tightened. “This is flesh and blood. A bairn’s future.”
Tam said nothing for a while, and Kian was grateful. The wind tore at his cloak, the heather blurred past, and still the unease sat heavy on his chest.
When the roofs of the village finally appeared it was nearly nightfall. Kian slowed his gelding. The place was no more than a clutch of cottages around a sagging inn, a handful of fishing boats drawn up at the riverbank. The kind of hamlet where every face was known, and strangers were remembered long after they left.
