Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Ye’d ask that of me?” Lavina whispered, her voice thick with disbelief. “The audacity…”
Her chest rose and fell quickly. It had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real. Yet the musky scent of burned oak and lingering cigar smoke confirmed it wasn’t some fever dream.
This was their ancestral home, and the walls were closing in on her.
He wanted a simple answer—yes or no. But the very idea repulsed her.
Perhaps he expected her to be grateful.
Perhaps he thought she’d be too desperate to refuse.
And maybe… maybe he was right.
She glanced at the Laird, who was pacing slowly before her, each step heavy against the hardwood floors. She didn’t want to hear anything more from him, yet she knew deep down what was at stake.
Her sister’s life.
Their home.
Their future.
If she refused, Micah’s wrath would be swift and merciless. She could already see Maisie’s face if he caught them—bruised, broken… gone.
Lavina swallowed hard and rolled her shoulders back, refusing to let her fear show. Her glare didn’t falter as the Laird folded his arms across his chest.
“Surely ye can understand,” he said, his tone measured, as though he were speaking of crops and not lives. “In me position, I need a wife. Someone who understands loyalty. Yer situation should allow ye to see the freedom that comes with such an arrangement.”
Freedom?
The word nearly made her laugh.
He spoke as though marrying her was a mercy.
Lavina’s gaze dropped to the scar across his face—one she’d heard her parents whisper about. It was a constant reminder of the man’s past, and perhaps of the violence he was capable of.
“If I refuse,” she asked quietly, “ye’ll cast us out? Is that it?”
He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. The truth hung heavy in the air between them.
Finally, he spoke, “Aye, that’s right. Why take on more mouths than I can feed?”
“But ye’re one of the wealthiest lairds on the isle,” Lavina pointed out, dumbfounded. “How can ye propose such a deal?”
He saw her hesitation and leaned in. “If ye agree, ye’ll be safe.
Married, aye, but safe. I’ll protect ye, and when the time comes, ye’ll have a place here.
And nae just ye, but yer sister as well.
She’s important to ye, is she nae? Then, she’ll be able to stay and wed whomever she pleases.
Is that what ye want to hear? Is that what will sweeten this deal? ”
“I’ll nae be yer prize,” Lavina said, her voice low but steady.
A flicker of amusement crossed his features, as if her defiance entertained him. He arched an eyebrow.
“Ye’re bold, arenae ye?” he muttered, before crossing to the bar in the corner of the room and pouring himself a drink—some dark, amber liquid.
“I have matters to tend to,” he said, dismissing her.
“If ye want to see to yer sister, ye’ll find her down the hall.
Once ye reach the foyer, turn into the second hall on the right.
Head for the hallway with the yellow tapestry, nae the green one.
The place will smell of burned sugar and whisky.
The healer, Aaron, will be tendin’ to her. ”
Her mouth fell open, shocked at how effortlessly he dismissed her. She bobbed a quick, stiff curtsy and stormed toward the door, her skirts swishing around her legs. But as she crossed the threshold, his voice stopped her.
“I hope ye value yer sister as much as ye say,” he called. “Because if ye walk away from this offer, it may be the last time ye share a chamber in this life.”
She paused, her jaw clenched. Her fingers curled tightly at her sides. Every fiber in her body screamed at her to fight. Instead, she simply walked away, her silence louder than words.
Lavina heard footsteps echoing from the hall as she followed the Laird’s directions. The castle felt colder now, as if the very stones knew what she’d agreed to—or rather, what she hadn’t refused.
She descended the narrow staircase, the scent of damp stone and old whisky guiding her. She pushed through a heavy wooden door and entered a wide, dimly lit room. A weak fire burned in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
There, curled up beneath a tattered blanket, was Maisie.
Lavina rushed to her and kneeled beside her, taking her frail hand and pressing it to her cheek. The girl stirred.
“Lavina…” Maisie’s voice was barely a whisper. Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with fever and exhaustion.
Tears stung Lavina’s eyes as she brushed her sister’s damp hair from her face. “Shhh… rest now. Ye’re safe.”
A voice sounded from the far side of the room. “Dinnae make her speak; she’s too weak.”
Lavina turned to see an elderly man hunched over a table, his gnarled fingers working herbs into a thick paste. Shadows obscured his face, but his presence was commanding.
“The child’s fever is strong,” he muttered. “But she’s a fighter, this one.”
“Will she recover?” Lavina asked, her voice tight.
“Aye, with rest. And prayer.” The healer hobbled over with a steaming bowl. “Help me lift her head.”
Lavina obeyed, gently lifting Maisie as the man spooned the warm mixture between her lips.
“It’ll ease the pain and break the fever,” the healer explained. “And dinnae worry, the Laird gave his word. Nay harm will come to ye while ye’re under his roof.”
But Lavina wasn’t so sure.
As the healer returned to his herbs, Lavina leaned close to Maisie. Her sister’s breathing had slowed, her small frame finally surrendering to sleep. Lavina wrapped an arm around her and held her close, needing the comfort just as much as Maisie did.
Her thoughts swirled with everything she’d seen, everything she’d heard.
The Laird’s offer was no gift—it was a bargain. And she hated herself for even considering it.
Yet, what choice did she have? Her sister’s life hung in the balance.
The morning sun spilled softly through the shadows, bathing the stone chamber in a golden hue.
Lavina stirred and quickly rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Her attention snapped immediately to Maisie, who was slumbering in the cot, her cheeks rosy once more.
Back from the brink of death.
Relief swept through Lavina like a balm, warm and overwhelming—unlike anything she’d ever known. It was almost enough to push away the nightmares lingering at the edges of her mind.
“Good mornin’, bobbin,” she whispered, gently pressing her lips to Maisie’s knuckles and breathing in her familiar, sweet scent.
Whatever Aaron had put in that mixture had worked wonders. Maisie’s fever had broken. Life pulsed again through her frail body.
Lavina would be forever grateful. Yet it was not Aaron to whom she owed her deepest thanks, but the Laird himself. It was he who had offered them shelter and protection in their darkest hour. And for that, she would find a way to show her appreciation, no matter how complicated he might be.
The soft clearing of a throat drifted to her ears, drawing her gaze to the corner of the room.
She half-expected to see the old, hunched healer settled in his usual chair.
Instead, she saw a young maid, her head bowed respectfully, her hands folded before her as if too timid to step further into the chamber.
“Me Lady,” the maid said, her voice barely above a whisper, “the Laird requests yer presence for breakfast this mornin’.
Ye’ll find that he’s provided something more pleasant for ye to wear than the rags ye’ve got on.
He wasnae sure about yer size, but he has provided several dresses that he thinks might fit. ”
Lavina’s eyebrows drew tightly across the bridge of her nose as she stared at the maid in puzzlement.
How had the Laird known her size? Surely, he hadn’t summoned a seamstress just for her overnight, had he?
It wasn’t as though she were his ward—or worse, a mistress at his beck and call. Then again, she knew precious little about the man beyond his reputation.
Laird McGowan was said to be cruel. Ruthless. A beast who stopped at nothing to get what he wanted, including the death of her kin.
Still, he had spared her. And he had saved Maisie. And now, he was requesting her company.
Her hesitation hardening into resolve, Lavina rose from her place beside her sister and reached for the garments that had been set aside. Whatever came of this breakfast, she would face it with confidence and grace. She owed her sister that much, and more.
“Does he, now? And ye wouldnae happen to ken what matter he wants to discuss with me?” she asked, her voice bending with uncertainty she hoped the servant didn’t hear.
“Cannae say. But it’s nae like the Laird tells me anything. I just do as I’m told.”
She turned her attention back to Maisie, brushing a strand of hair from her flushed cheek, silently hoping the servant would scurry off and leave them in peace.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, bobbin,” she murmured. “I want ye to get better before I get back, do ye hear?”
Maisie’s face scrunched up, as if she could hear Lavina but couldn’t do anything to pull herself out of her slumber.
Pulling in a long, deep breath, Lavina stepped back from her sister and the cot.
She was going to have to figure out how to bide her time with the Laird.
Marriage wasn’t exactly something she was willing to jump right into.
But if it meant protection for Maisie too, it was certainly something to consider.
An icy finger slithered down her spine, and her body tensed. She was about to walk into the hornet’s nest. Surely the Laird would expect an answer from her. But what would she say?
And the fact that she had no allies here was disheartening. How could she trust anyone around her? There was no telling who among them could be trusted, or if she’d made a grave mistake by seeking help from the very man her uncle would never approach.