Page 38 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

“I was passin’ through,” Edward growled, his voice a low vibration in his chest.

“Passin’ through the nursery wing?”

“The corridor.” He brushed past Tyler’s shoulder, his heavy boots striking the flagstones with unnecessary force.

Naturally, Tyler fell into step beside him. Edward had not invited the company, but Tyler had never required an invitation in the ten years they had bled together. “Of course,” Tyler murmured agreeably, matching Edward’s brutal stride. “The one that happens to run directly past the babe’s quarters. Where the Lady Chloe spends her mornings.”

“Drop it, Tyler. Lest ye want to spend the afternoon cleanin’ the stables.”

“Dropped entirely, me Laird. Sealed in a vault.” Tyler clasped his hands behind his back, the picture of innocence. “I was merely notin’ that it is a fine mornin’ for a walk. The upper corridors, especially. Fresh air. Good stone. Nothin’ of particular interest in any direction.”

Edward said nothing.

“Though I will say,” Tyler continued, entirely unbothered, “that the Lady O’Brien has made some interestin’ changes to the mornin’ schedule of this castle. Fires are lit earlier. Kitchens are runnin’ smoother. Mrs. Donnan looks less like a woman who has swallowed a thistle.” He tilted his head. “Remarkable, really. What a fortnight can do.”

“Ye have a trainin’ yard to get back to.”

“I do. Duncan here needs at least another hour on his footwork alone.” Tyler glanced sideways at the boy, who straightened indignantly. “But I find meself curious, me Laird, in the purely professional sense. How does a man who has terrorized this glen for the better part of a decade end up standin’ outside a nursery door at sunrise lookin’ like he has forgotten how his own legs work?”

Edward stopped walking, and Tyler stopped with him, wisely saying nothing further.

“I am entitled to occupy any corridor in this fortress.”

“Inarguably.”

“I do nae require yer observations on how I occupy it.”

“Of course nae.” A beat. “Ye looked well, though. Standin’ there. If it helps.”

“It does nae help.”

“Aye.” Tyler’s smirk softened into something that was almost, in a very annoying way, kind. “I am guessin’ she isnae what ye expected.”

“Ye are dangerously close to cleanin’ the stables for a month.”

“I ken.” Tyler resumed walking. “I am just sayin’. A man would have to be made entirely of granite nae to notice.”

Edward looked at him.

“Which ye are,” Tyler added quickly. “Entirely. Head to boot. Solid granite throughout. I noticed nothin’.”

Behind them, Duncan cleared his throat.

“I landed twelve clean strikes during the dawn drill,” he announced, his voice cracking only slightly. “Tyler said ten was the mark to join the castle guard. I got twelve.” He lifted his chin. “I think that means I am ready for the steel, me Laird.”

Tyler groaned. “I said ten strikes was the mark to begin thinkin’ about whether ye might eventually, after another year of trainin’.”

“Twelve is twelve,” Duncan cut in, his jaw set in a perfect imitation of Edward’s own stubbornness.

Edward looked down at the boy. Fifteen, all sharp angles and fierce determination. “We’ll get back to that.”

The morning air in the passage was bitter, the ancient stone still holding the frost of the night. Pale, watery light cut through the high arrow slits, throwing long, jagged shadows across their path.

Chloe had stood there with the boy pressed against the curve of her neck, swaying with a natural, unhurried grace. She had not been performing for him. She had simply looked at him, stripped away his titles with a single glance, and told him he needed to be there. He had not been spoken to in such a manner since… He ruthlessly cut the memory off before his father’s ghost could take shape.

Behind them, the heavy latch of the nursery door clicked open.

Edward did not turn around. His entire body went rigid as her voice drifted down the stone hallway.