Page 55 of The Laird’s Wrong Wife

Ceana raised her eyebrows. “Will I be permitted to speak, or will I only be permitted to watch?”

“If I wanted silence, I wouldnae take ye.”

Heather hid a smile behind her cup. David pushed back his chair, and the meal gave way to the final preparations for their departure.

In the courtyard, Heather wrapped both arms around Ceana and held her close. She searched her daughter’s face before pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Send word at once if Daphne contacts ye,” she whispered in her ear. “Any word, even a single line.”

“I will.” Ceana held her a moment longer before turning to her father.

He took both her hands. “Take care of yerself, Lady MacKane.”

His thumbs pressed against her knuckles, a familiar gesture from childhood, while MacKane riders waited by their horses.

“Take Bryce seriously,” she urged. “Please.”

“I do, lass.” His mouth tightened as he glanced toward the carriage.

Oscar called the escort leader forward. “Keep the carriage between ye. Stop only where ye can hold the road, and send word the moment Laird Morrag reaches his land.”

The man repeated the orders, mounted, and signaled the others into place.

Heather and David left beneath Morrag colors, with MacKane riders guarding the front and rear. Ceana watched until the carriage passed through the outer gate and vanished around the bend.

Oscar came to stand beside her, his sleeve a hairsbreadth away from hers. “This afternoon ye’ll meet yer people,” he said, his voice sharp.

Later that afternoon, they took the road curving down the hillside. Tommy and Paisley were already ahead with Ness. Lennan followed at a discreet distance, ready if they needed him.

Oscar walked beside Ceana. The downward slope pulled at muscles still tender from the previous night, and her next step shortened. He noticed, matched her pace, and said nothing.

Soon, they cleared the first row of cottages.

Ceana had expected the villagers to guard their speech before their Laird. A fruit seller came to the roadside, and Oscar asked whether the repaired thatch above her fireplace had held through the last rain. The miller joined them from the lane.

“How many sacks are waitin’?” Oscar asked.

“Seven, me Laird. I can have them ready by Friday.”

“See Mrs. Bain’s grain ground tomorrow. Her meal willnae last until Friday.”

A small boy waved from a doorway. “Good day, me Laird.”

Oscar answered with the same gravity he had shown the miller, and the child stood taller.

Ceana noticed that he remembered matters reported days or weeks ago. He checked the roof after its repair and knew which household could not endure any more delay.

Warmth coiled low in her belly, close to the mild soreness she felt with every step. Oscar caught her watching, but did not smile. His eyes held hers while the miller moved away, and she looked toward the green first.

A silver-haired woman waited near the market tables with both hands folded over a stout walking stick.

“That is Elspeth Kerr,” Oscar whispered to her as the woman approached them. “Bit of a firebrand, this one, so just… keep calm.”

“I see,” Ceana muttered.

“Lady MacKane,” Elspeth said. Her greeting was correct and measured. She turned to the man and the woman beside her. “Morna and Callum have a matter to discuss with ye. His cow broke through their dyke and ate her winter greens.”

Morna’s mouth pinched. “The whole plot, me Lady. I want payment for all of it.”