Page 35 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

“He has rejected that spoon twice already this morning,” Mrs. Donnan said from across the room, without looking up from the linens.

“I noticed.” Chloe adjusted the angle. William’s eyes narrowed. “He has strong opinions.”

“Aye. Gets it from his uncle.”

Chloe glanced up. Mrs. Donnan kept her eyes on the shelf.

By the time the bowl was half-empty, William’s eyelids had grown heavy, the dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks. His fussing stopped, replaced by a soft sigh. When Chloe set the bowl aside, he made a tiny sound of protest.

“He’ll do that,” Mrs. Donnan said. “Wants to be held after. Always has.”

Chloe slid her hands beneath him and lifted him without being asked, tucking his head against the crook of her shoulder, her body falling into a slow, instinctual sway. He was heavier than she expected for something so small. Warm and entirely real.

“Ye’ve done this before,” Mrs. Donnan said. Not a question.

“Ten years in service.” Chloe pressed her cheek briefly against the soft top of his head. “A great many bairns.”

Mrs. Donnan was quiet for a moment. “He has nae been held like that in a while. Nae since his mother left.”

The tight, defensive coil in Chloe’s chest loosened without her permission.

She was still standing by the hearth, swaying in the quiet rhythm of the room, when a sound echoed from the stone corridor outside.

A footstep. Heavy. Deliberate.

Then, absolute silence.

Chloe turned her head toward the door. The arched entryway was empty, but Mrs. Donnan was staring at it with a look that sat somewhere between deep reverence and relief. A beat later, a voice drifted through the opening, low, rough, and spoken more to the shadows than to anyone else.

“William.”

Chloe recognized the sharp tone of correction before she even understood the context. A second later, the voice of a kitchen maid echoed from the hallway.

“Pardon, me Laird. Are ye visitin’ wee Will?”

“William,” Edward repeated, his voice dropping into a gruffer, unyielding register.

Chloe’s arms tightened just a fraction around the sleeping baby. She kept her eyes locked on the empty doorway.

Edward stepped into the frame a moment later, his massive shoulders filling the space entirely. He had clearly just come from the stables; his dark plaid was damp from the mist, and the smell of leather and fresh earth clung to him. His boots were caked with dried glen mud. The moment his pale blue eyes met hers, the atmosphere in the nursery grew tense.

Mrs. Donnan set down the linens without a word, dropped a quick curtsy toward them both, and slipped out through the far door.

He had been standing in that corridor for longer than he cared to admit. She was certain of it.

“I didnae expect to find ye in here,” he said, his voice flat.

“Nay,” Chloe replied evenly, her body continuing its gentle, rocking motion. “I expect ye didnae.”

She turned her back to him, focusing entirely on the baby, who was fighting sleep with a stubbornness that clearly ran in the O’Brien bloodline. She was not going to make it easy for Edward to retreat into his shadows.

A long, agonizing moment passed. Then, without an invitation, Edward’s heavy boots clicked against the floorboards as he stepped fully into the room.

He did not come near her. He moved to the far side of the nursery near the narrow window, his back half-turned as he stared down into the courtyard, doing a poor job of pretending she was merely a coincidence.

“Ye could just say good mornin’,” Chloe said.

“I was passin’ through.”