Owned by the Scarred Laird (The Highland Contracts #1)

Chapter 1

“Ye’re nae listenin’ again.”

“I am.” Chloe pulled her shawl tighter and kept walking, half a step behind Jenny, the way she always did without thinking about it. The garden path curved gently toward the rose beds, and the morning air carried the smell of damp earth and something faintly sweet, almost gone for the season.

“What did I just say?”

“Somethin’ about Lord Dunbar and the east wing.”

Jenny turned to look at her. “That was three full sentences ago.”

Chloe said nothing. She had been watching a sparrow work at the base of the garden wall, determined and unbothered, entirely indifferent to the conversation happening above it. She envied it a little.

Jenny let out a breath that was not quite a sigh and turned back to the path. “Ye ken, most ladies’ maids pretend to listen, at least.”

“I could pretend if ye’d prefer.”

“Daenae bother. Ye’re terrible at it.” But there was no edge in her voice. There never was, not with Chloe. Jenny walked with her hands loosely clasped, her skirts brushing the gravel, at peace with the morning in the way she was at peace with most things she had decided not to argue with.

A groundsman crossed the path with an armful of kindling and ducked his head without breaking stride. "Me Lady." Then, quicker, easier, to Chloe, "Miss Mullen."

"See," Jenny said, once he'd gone. "Even Robbie kens how to listen when someone's talking to him."

"Robbie's paid to listen. I'm only paid to carry yer shawl and agree with ye."

"Ye're paid to do both badly, from what I can tell."

Then the sound echoed through the courtyard. It was initially voices, intertwined and moving quickly. Both of them halted.

Jenny tilted her head, listening. A slow smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Do ye ken, the last time I heard a commotion like that…”

“Daenae say it.”

“I got married.”

Chloe laughed, sudden and real, the kind she could not have stopped if she tried. “That cannae happen again. Ye’re already Thomas’s problem.”

“Lucky Thomas.” Jenny sounded entirely sincere about this. She stood still a moment longer, looking in the direction of the noise with that expression that showed her curiosity had already won, but she had not admitted it yet.

Chloe watched her, a sudden sense of dread running through her. “We should go and see.”

“It’s probably nothin’.”

“Aye, probably.” Chloe was already turning toward the house. “Come on then.”

She stepped into the entrance hall behind Jenny, noting how the staff had pulled back along the walls. The housekeeper stood near the stairs with her hands pressed together. Every face was angled toward the center, where stood a man she had never seen before.

He was broad and weathered, dressed in the colors of a clan she did not recognize. He had guards with him, stationed around the hall as if they belonged there, which they did not. He was not shouting exactly, but his voice filled every corner of the room as though he had built it to do that.

“I will nae stand here another minute. Bring the lass to me.”

Something tightened in Chloe’s chest. She was the only lass in this house.

Jenny glanced at her and stepped forward. “What is goin’ on in me house?”

The man barely glanced at her. “I’ve business here, me Lady. It willnae concern ye long.”

“Everythin’ in this hall concerns me.” Jenny’s voice was pleasant. Her eyes were not. “Who are ye, and what lass are ye talkin’ about? I have only one here, and she is me maid.”

“Chloe Mullen is certainly nay maid to ye!” he barked, almost indignant. “I’ve come a long way. I will nae be kept waitin’.”

Chloe stood frozen on the stone floor, her heart pounding a frantic beat against her ribs that felt way too loud for the sudden silence of the room.

Who is he? How does he ken me name?

She searched his face, looking for anything familiar or recognizable, but there was nothing. The far doors opened, and Thomas came through them at a glacial pace, a guard falling in half a step behind him, low and urgent.

"Laird MacLaud, there's a man —" The man cut himself off at the sight of the hall.

“What in God’s name is this?”

“I am here for me daughter.” The man turned toward Thomas and said it again, slower, as though he’d already said it too many times. “Chloe Mullen. She’s here. I’ve come to take her home.”

The room froze.

Chloe heard Jenny say something beside her.

She heard Thomas respond. Somewhere behind her, one of the kitchen girls had come to the doorway and was being quietly pulled back by someone else.

All of it reached her as if through water, muffled and strange, because there was a sound in her own ears now that was louder than any of it.

His daughter.

Her mother had told her about her father plainly and without making a ceremony of it. He died before ye were born. Chloe had never questioned it. It had never occurred to her to do so.

She did not know how much time had passed. Long enough for Thomas to get between the man and the room. Long enough for Jenny to look at her more than once with carefully guarded eyes. Long enough for the ground under her feet to finally start feeling solid again.

She found her voice somewhere in the middle of all of it.

“I daenae have a father,” she whispered desperately.

The man stopped. He turned and looked at her for the first time since she had walked in.

Chloe stood straight. She kept her hands still at her sides. “Me father died before I was born. Me mother told me herself.” She held his gaze. “So I daenae ken who ye are, or what it is ye think ye want here. But ye have the wrong person.”

He looked at her for a long moment, made a small sound in the back of his throat, before slowly crossing the hall toward her. He stopped close enough that she had to hold herself from stepping back. She raised her eyes and kept them steadily on him.

His eyes moved across her face. “Ye have yer mother’s look about ye.” Then, almost in the same breath, he sneered, “Stubborn bitch hid ye from me all these years.”

Jenny went rigid.

Thomas took one step forward. “I beg yer pardon.”

“Ye heard me.”

“Aye, I heard ye.” Thomas’s voice had dropped. “And I will ask ye to mind yerself. That woman raised Chloe from a bairn. She’s nae here to defend herself and ye’ll nae speak of her that way in this house.”

Jenny had moved to Chloe’s side without Chloe noticing. Her hand found Chloe’s arm and gripped it.

Chloe could not speak.

Me mother. He is standin’ there talking about me mother like she was nothin’.

The anger came up fast and hot before the grief could get there first.

“Daenae,” she said. Her voice came out low. “Daenae speak about me mother like that. Ye didnae even ken her.”

The man frowned. Looked at Thomas, then Jenny, then back at Chloe. Something shifted in his expression.

“Who do ye think I am talkin’ about?”

“Moira Mullen.” Chloe lifted her chin. “She raised me as both mother and faither, so I willnae stand here and listen to ye speak of her in that manner.”

The man jerked back, then let out a breath that was almost a laugh, dry and humorless.

“I am nae talkin’ about a maid, lass.” He said it as if the misunderstanding were an inconvenience.

“I am talking about Lady Siobhan O’Donell.

” He looked around at the three of them, taking in their faces. “Yer mother. The real one.”

Jenny’s grip on Chloe’s arm loosened slightly.

She felt the blood drain from her face.

Lady Siobhan O’Donell?

How is this even possible?