The Laird’s Secret Bairn (Untamed Highland Brides #2)

Chapter 1

Dougal crossed the yard, sweat-damp and satisfied after the morning’s training. He saw them before he reached the door.

His mother and Stephen stood too still, too casual. Their attempt to appear casual was odd. Almost suspicious.

“Ye’re hiding something, both of ye.”

No need to hold back; he’d better find out what trouble hung over his head this time sooner rather than later.

“Hiding’s a strong word, son.” Kenna smoothed her skirts, not meeting his eyes.

“Maither, what is it?”

“It’s naught that cannae wait till after ye’ve eaten,” she assured him. “Bad news is always best told on a full stomach.”

“Is it now?” Dougal asked flatly.

Stephen nodded. “Yer maither is right.”

Dougal couldn’t agree. If anything, his mother telling him to wait sounded even more suspicious.

“Stephen.” He turned to his man-at-arms, who at least had the decency not to flinch under his gaze. “Ye tell me. This is an order.”

Kenna sighed and left without another word, which told Dougal more than anything she might have said aloud.

Stephen waited until she’d gone, then held out a folded pamphlet.

Dougal took it with a raised eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Ye should read it yerself.”

He didn’t like the sound of that, but Stephen persisted, nodding towards the pamphlet.

Dougal unfolded it and scanned its contents. The Lion of the Highlands. A crude sketch of his own face stared back at him—the mask, the scar, the eyes half the Highlands had learned to fear.

“What’s this supposed to mean?”

“Read it.”

Dougal bit back a growl. “Stephen?—”

“It’s better if ye read it yerself, I… To be frank, I daenae dare to repeat what is written in there.”

He scanned a few lines, his jaw tightening with every word. “He pulled her against him, and she trembled, unsure if it was fear or—” He stopped. “How dare they? I’m gonna find out who wrote this and kill them. I swear it.”

The words came out before he could even stop himself, rage taking over. Whoever had written this was going to pay. Had they given any thought to how it would add to his already tarnished reputation?

He had long since stopped caring about the rumors, but for Lily’s sake, he did worry.

“That’ll do wonders for yer reputation.”

“Do ye agree with it, then?” His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “That I’m some beast who’d?—”

“Ye were called the Lion in battle long before any pamphlet, me Laird.” Stephen shrugged, unbothered. “Ye’ve survived worse rumors than a lass too scared to indulge a man who might kiss her. Ye ken ye’ll survive this.”

“This is different.”

The image of Lily flashed through Dougal’s mind.

Her bright green eyes were always filled with curiosity.

She loved animals and stories, always asking him to tell her one.

She would tug at her blonde braid whenever she had a thought, much like her mother used to do in those months leading up to the wedding.

Elsie would have been proud to see what her daughter had become.

“Is it? Folks already whisper that ye killed yer first betrothed. What’s a bit of implied indulgence going to do that hasnae already been done? Best to let people do what they always do. Cannae stop the rumors. Ye ken that better than anyone, Dougal.”

Dougal stared at him. “Ye truly believe that.”

“I believe ye’ve spent seven years letting other men write yer story for ye. Perhaps it’s time ye wrote a bit of it yerself.”

“And how would ye suggest I do that?”

“Attend cèilidhs. Show yer face. Show them ye’ve got nothing to hide.”

“So they can stare and whisper and decide for themselves how the story ends?” Dougal scoffed. “Ye truly have gone mad, have ye nae?”

“It’d still be better than letting a pamphlet decide it for them,” Stephen pointed out. “But it’s yer choice, me Laird. Just be sure ye make the right one.”

The words hit Dougal harder than Stephen likely intended.

Small feet came pounding down the corridor before he could answer. Lily barreled into him, and he caught her without thinking, scooping her up. The tension in his shoulders eased immediately.

“Da! Did ye win all yer fights?”

“Every single one, little one.”

She studied his face the way she always did, too perceptive for a seven-year-old. “Ye look cross.”

Dougal chuckled, a rare smile flittering across his scarred face. His smiles were saved for two people: his mother and Lily. But if he was being honest, Lily earned them the most.

“Do I now?”

He looked over her head at Stephen, who only raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“Do I?” he repeated, and the words carried more weight this time.

Stephen cleared his throat. “I think it’s about time I go check on me horse.”

Lily wrinkled her nose. “Ye want to check on yer horse now?”

“Stephen really should do that. Now,” Dougal stated plainly.

Stephen sighed. “Think about what I said, will ye?” he demanded, his voice low.

“Will ye let it rest?” Dougal almost growled, but Lily was looking at the two of them, curiosity shining bright in her green eyes.

She was growing up fast—faster than he liked.

“I’ll let it rest if ye consider it,” Stephen insisted.

Damn it all, but Dougal was starting to consider it, almost wondering if Stephen might have a point.

“Yer horse cannae wait anymore. And I’ve had about enough of ye. Go.”

Stephen chuckled, shooting him one last knowing look before vanishing down the hall.

Dougal dressed without ceremony, pulling on his trews first, the heavy tartan trimmed with buckskin along the inner leg and worn smooth from years on horseback.

His sporran hung heavy at his hip, his sword belt cinched tight over it. He fastened his plaid at the shoulder with the silver brooch bearing his clan’s badge, the same one his father had worn before him.

Long socks went on next, then his boots, laced to the knee. Last of all came the mask, settled carefully over the scarred half of his face, fixed in place before he allowed himself to look in the mirror.

Not one to be vain, he avoided looking at his reflection if he could. It was better that way, for it was a reminder of everything that had happened with Elsie and how he had failed to help her in the only way that truly mattered.

A rapid knock at the door drew his attention from his reflection, something he was ultimately grateful for.

“It’s yer maither.”

Dougal crossed the distance to the door in three steps and opened it to find Kenna standing there, looking bothered.

“What is wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” she asked with a gentle laugh.

“I simply ken ye too well.”

Kenna nodded. “We were trying to decide how to tell ye about the pamphlet. Quite a surprise, I imagine.”

“If ye want to call that a surprise,” Dougal grumbled. “Stephen tells me to show me face. Show them that I have nothing to hide.”

“I think ye’ve made the right decision.”

He sighed, adjusting his mask. “Do ye now, Maither?”

“I do.”

“How do ye ken it’s nae going to end in disaster?”

“We have managed so far, have we nae?”

Dougal supposed they had managed as best they could. And he could always… eliminate any trouble that stuck too long.

“Managing isnae the same as thriving, Maither.”

“Nay,” Kenna agreed, reaching up to straighten his collar the way she’d done since he was a boy. “But it has kept ye alive this long, and it has kept Lily safe. That counts for something, even if ye’re too stubborn to admit it.”

“And if showing me face tonight only gives them more to whisper about?”

“Then they’ll whisper. They’ve never stopped, son, with or without ye giving them reason.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Ye sound certain.”

“I’m yer maither. I’m allowed to sound certain even when I’m nae,” she gently reminded him, a soft smile gracing her wrinkled face. “It has been some time since ye attended a cèilidh.”

Dougal grunted.

“I will look after Lily while ye’re gone. Daenae worry about her.”

One of those rare smiles graced his scarred face. “I never worry about Lily when she’s with ye.”

“Good. Ye should take care of yerself, nae worry about us,” Kenna murmured.

“Would ye rather I remain here?”

Kenna shook her head. “Nay, but I worry for ye. Ye’re me son. It is natural for a maither to worry about the safety of her only child.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

She nodded, smiling, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “People will always talk and believe the worst of others. It is how ye respond to it that matters.”

“And this is me response,” Dougal pointed out.

Kenna sighed. “Exactly like yer faither.”

He chuckled. “Ye usually say that with joy in yer voice, nae annoyance.”

She patted his arm. “Just stay safe. Lily and I will be waiting for yer return.” She reached up, briefly touching the edge of his mask, before pulling her hand back as if catching herself. “I only mean, daenae go looking for trouble tonight. Let the evening find its own shape.”

“I’ll behave meself, Maither. I willnae kill anyone, I promise ye that much.”

“Ye said the same before the last cèilidh and came home with a bloodied knuckle and a man’s tooth in yer pocket.”

“He deserved it. And even then, I didnae kill him, did I?”

She shook her head, though her mouth curled into something close to an amused smile.

Lily stopped him near the door, wrapping her tiny arms around him and giving him a tight hug. “Goodbye, Faither.”

He lifted her effortlessly, making her giggle. “I’ll see ye soon. Behave for yer grandmaither.”

Lily grinned. “I will!”

She was always good. That was the one thing Dougal could always count on.