Page 4 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

Chloe had stared at the stranger’s mud-streaked boots, and the realization hit her that if she followed him out that door, she was not just leaving a house; she was agreeing to let the girl she had been simply vanish.

She would rather be a nameless maid in a drafty cottage, confident in who she was every morning, than a high-born ghost in a glen she did not recognize.

“I am nae goin’ anywhere with ye. I daenae ken ye. I daenae want yer name or yer clan or whatever it is ye think ye’re offerin’ me. I am stayin’ here.”

He turned around slowly. He looked at her with a blank expression, which was somehow worse than anger. He moved back toward her, stopped close, and lowered his voice so only she could hear.

“Ye’ll come willingly, or ye willnae wake up tomorrow mornin’. That I promise ye.”

Chloe heard Jenny’s sharp intake of breath.

She looked into his eyes. There was nothing performative in them—no bluster, no frustration. Just a flat, sure calm that told her he had said things like this before and meant every word.

“Ye cannae threaten her in her own home.” Thomas was already moving forward. Jenny’s hand came to Chloe’s shoulder.

“She’s nae in her own home.” The man’s voice was cold. He did not look away from Chloe. “She’s in yers.”

Thomas stepped forward, his boots heavy on the floorboards, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “Nay. Ye’ll take yer ring and yer lies, and ye’ll leave. Ye cannae come into a man’s home and threaten his family like they’re livestock for the takin’.”

The stranger simply let out a short, sharp breath and looked directly at Chloe.

“Is that so?” the man asked, his voice smooth as whetstone. “I am thinkin’ Chloe here is more sensible than her guardians. She looks like she kens what I am capable of if I am denied what is rightfully mine. I will be at the trailhead at first light. Be ready, lass.”

He turned on his heel, his heavy plaid swirling behind him, and vanished into the night. The door remained open for a heartbeat, letting in a gust of wind that made the candles sputter and hiss.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Chloe looked around the room and felt the world tilting. She saw the servants huddled in the shadows, their eyes wide with fear. She looked at Thomas and Jenny, and in the sagging line of their shoulders and the frantic, hollow look in their eyes, she saw the truth: they were brave, but they were powerless against the storm this man could bring to their door.

The weight of their safety settled on her shoulders, heavier than anything she had ever experienced.

“It’s all right,” she said quietly.

“Chloe—” Jenny started, her voice breaking.

“It’s all right,” Chloe said again, her voice gaining a cold, steady edge. She looked at them both, her gaze lingering on the fear in their faces. To stay was to burn everything they loved to the ground.

She let out a shaky breath. “I will go.”

Her father stopped at a keep to rest after one week of riding. It was small and much older than anything she had ever seen. The stones were dark with moisture, the mortar between them crumbling in places, and the courtyard they rode into smelled of wet hay and horses. A fire burned somewhere inside. She could see the light through the narrow windows, orange and unsteady.

She had stopped counting the hours somewhere on the road.

Her back ached, and her hands were cold inside the cloak they had given her at the last stop. It was made of thick wool, the kind of quality that cost money. She had pulled it tightly around herself, hating the way the expensive fabric felt like a bribe. Saying nothing had become her only defense, a way to keep the girl from the glen alive inside a shell of silence.

A woman met them at the door and casually ushered her inside. The table was already set with food—bread, cold meat, and a bowl of something warm that steamed when she leaned over it. Her stomach responded before she could stop it, a sneaky growl that made her pulse race with shame.

“Eat,” her father said from across the room.

She picked up the spoon and ate. Not because he told her to, but because she refused to be weak. She would take their food and their fire, but as she chewed the heavy bread, she made a silent vow: they could claim her blood and her name, but they would never truly have the part of her that still belonged to the glen.

She took another spoonful of the broth, hating that her body was already accepting the warmth and the salt while the rest of her still screamed to grab the horse and ride away. To eat was to accept she was staying. To swallow was to admit that the girl who spent her mornings gathering eggs and her evenings by Jenny’s side was being replaced by this captor.

The woman led her to a room upstairs. Small, tidy, with a bed covered in two blankets and a candle on the windowsill. Chloe sat on the edge of the bed and listened as the keep settled around her. Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. She heard a low exchange of voices she could not understand. A door closed somewhere below.

She went to the window.

Two guards were in the courtyard, both looking outward, which meant they weren’t watching for something coming in.

They were watching her.