A Virgin for the Iron Highlander (Under the Lairds’ Rule #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Hold still, ye stubborn beast, or I’ll draw ye with three heads and make ye the monster ye are.”

Scarlett narrowed her eyes at the pigeon wobbling along the window ledge. The bird cooed, unbothered, before turning its back on her completely. With a quick swipe of her charcoal, Scarlett gave it exactly what it deserved, an extra wing sprouting from its side.

“Better,” she muttered, holding the sketch at arm’s length. “If ye willnae pose properly, then I’ll improve ye against yer will.”

The pigeon flapped off, scattering a feather against the glass. Scarlett blew out a sigh, tapped the page with her charcoal stick, and then rubbed her face in confusion, leaving a smudge on her cheek.

“Useless creature. Even ye willnae sit still for me.”

A knock interrupted her scolding.

“Me Lady?” A head poked around the doorframe. It was Maisie, one of the younger maids, her cheeks flushed from hurrying up the tower stairs. “Yer brother says ye’re wanted in the solar.”

Scarlett dropped her sketchbook into her lap, and her eyes widened.

“Now?”

Maisie nodded vigorously. “Aye. He said at once. And he had that serious look."

Scarlett groaned, tipping her head back against her chair. “Of course, he did. He has spent half his life with that look.” She then rubbed at her temple, only succeeding in smearing more charcoal across her skin.

Maisie tried to smother a laugh but failed, snorting into her hand.

Scarlett narrowed her eyes. “Daenae think I didnae hear that.”

“I daenae ken what ye speak of,” Maisie said quickly though her shoulders still shook. She edged toward the door. “I’ll tell Laird Gallaway that ye’re coming.”

“Wait!” Scarlett hopped up, nearly tripping over her skirts as she snatched her sketchbook. “Before ye scurry off, have a look at this.”

Maisie froze. “Och, I’m nae sure-—”

Scarlett shoved the book into her hands anyway. “Go on, be honest. Do ye see a pigeon or… something that belongs in a tale to frighten children?”

Maisie stared at the lopsided creature—two bodies sharing three wings and a beak that looked more like a crooked dagger. Her lips pressed tightly, not sure of what to say.

“Well?” Scarlett demanded with her arms crossed.

“It’s…” Maisie drew the word out, clearly trying to find the right words. “It’s fierce, that’s what it is. I’d nae want to meet the likes of it in the courtyard.”

Scarlett snorted, grabbing the sketch back. “I ought to stick to portraits. At least people can be persuaded to hold still.”

“Most people,” Maisie muttered.

Scarlett lifted her chin. “I’ll have ye know I once convinced a goat to pose. Sat as prim as ye please.”

Maisie burst out laughing. “Of course, ye did, Me Lady.”

“Aye!” Scarlett closed the sketchbook with a flourish. “Off with ye, then. Tell Aaron, his beloved sister comes to hear whatever doom he’s brewed up now.”

Maisie dipped a curtsy, still chuckling as she slipped back through the door.

Scarlett tucked her sketchbook under her arm and left her art room, still smiling to herself about Maisie’s comment.

Her brother’s summons wasn’t unusual; Aaron was forever buried in maps and parchments, forever planning for the next border skirmish or trade deal.

She wondered what it might be this time: grain stores, soldiers, or another tedious dispute with a neighboring clan.

Whatever it was, he certainly didn’t need her opinion. She told herself that often enough that she'd stopped noticing when it stopped being funny.

The long corridor carried her toward the solar; banners of the Gallaway crest hung stiff along the stone walls. She walked at an easy pace, not rushing. By the time she reached the door, she could already hear Aaron’s voice, commanding as usual, speaking over someone else’s lower tones.

Scarlett pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Her brother stood at the head of the table, his dark hair drawn back, and his shoulders squared in his usual posture of authority. Across from him was Malcolm Reid, Aaron’s trusted advisor.

The maps on the table were weighted too carefully, corners pinned flat as though no hand had dared disturb them. That alone warned her something was wrong. Aaron only became neat when the matter before him had already been decided. The two men looked up at once.

Aaron’s expression didn’t change. “Scarlett.”

Malcolm straightened, offering a small bow. “Me Lady.” With that, he gathered his notes and slipped past her toward the door. He was always respectful, and he knew when he wasn’t needed. The latch clicked behind him, leaving her alone with Aaron and his brooding silence.

She crossed the room, resting a hand on the back of one of the chairs. “So,” she said lightly, “what urgent matter requires me presence? Have ye finally decided to let me redraw the family crest? I could make it far more impressive.”

Aaron didn’t even blink. “Sit.”

She arched a brow at his tone but humored him, sliding into the chair across from him. He looked serious as usual though she still suspected this was about something dull.

Aaron folded his arms. “I won’t waste words. Laird Robert McLaren of Gundor Castle has offered a marriage alliance.”

Scarlett froze. “A marriage alliance?”

He nodded once. “He will wed ye. It secures peace between our clans and strengthens both sides.”

For a long moment, she could only stare at him. Then she laughed, short and incredulous. “Ye can’t be serious. I’ve never even met the man.”

Aaron’s gaze stayed fixed on her. “Ye’re twenty-two, Scarlett. Most women are long married by then. It’s time.”

She pushed back from the table. “Time for what? For ye to decide me future without asking me? I’m nae ready for marriage, and I certainly willnae tie meself to a stranger.”

His mouth hardened. “Yer sketches and idle hours willnae protect ye when war comes. This alliance will. Gundor is strong, and McLaren is steady. Ye’ll be safe with him.”

Scarlett felt her face flush hot. “Safe? Ye’re bartering me like livestock, Aaron. As if me only value is the ink ye trade me for.”

For the first time, his expression wavered, just a flicker of something softer, but it was gone in an instant. “I would see ye cared for, Scarlett. Even if ye cannae see the sense in it.”

She folded her arms, holding his gaze. “I’d rather stay here. Hallow is me home. I daenae want to be sent away.”

Aaron shook his head. “What ye want doesnae change what must be done. Yer life here is sheltered, but it willnae last. Ye’ll marry McLaren, and through ye, our people will be safer. That’s the end of it.”

Scarlett pressed her lips together, biting back the storm of words fighting to get out. He was in his usual mode, stern and immovable, already convinced he knew what was best. She could argue until her throat gave out, and he wouldn’t bend.

Her hands curled against her skirts, and her nails dug into the fabric.

“So that’s it. Me future settled in a few strokes of ink on one of yer maps.”

Aaron didn’t answer. He only looked at her, and she knew he’d already closed the matter in his mind.

Scarlett swallowed, forcing her voice to steady even as her chest tightened. “Ye’ve already decided.” “Aye,” Aaron said quietly. “I have.”

Scarlett didn’t flinch, but the word married hit her. It sat in her chest like a stone dropped into a frozen loch. Heavy, cold, and final. She felt the ripples of it vibrating through her ribs before her mind could even process the image.

A stranger’s name on her lips. A stranger’s fortress walls closing around her. A stranger’s weight in her bed.

She forced a breath into her lungs, slow and rhythmic. It was the same controlled mask she’d worn since they were children, the one she used whenever Aaron decided her life was a piece of parchment he could fold and tuck away.

Then, she pictured Edith.

The thought wasn't a panic, it was a cold, sharp clarity. She had known, in that dark, quiet place beneath her heart, that this was the only card she truly held. If she was to be sold, she would set the price herself.

She straightened her spine, the silk of her bodice whispering against her skin like a call to arms. When she spoke, her voice wasn't just steady, it was steel.

"I will do it," she said, her gaze locking onto Aaron’s until he was the one who looked away. "I will marry Robert McLaren and carry the weight of his name. But I have a condition.”

His eyes narrowed. “A condition?”

“Aye.” She leaned forward with her hands flat on the table. “Edith stays here. She’ll be safe within these walls, housed and protected. If ye send me away, she’ll have nay one.”

Aaron’s brows pulled together, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. “Scarlett—”

“Ye owe me that much,” she pressed, cutting him off. “I’ll give meself to yer alliance. All I ask is that Edith be allowed to remain at Hallow.”

Aaron’s jaw clenched. “She’s lowborn and a maid’s daughter. She has nae place living here once ye’re gone.”

Scarlett shot to her feet, with heat rising in her throat. “Do ye even hear yerself? Ye’re willing to trade me across the border like... like a goat at market, and yet ye sneer at Edith’s worth?”

His tone hardened. “Mind yer words.”

“Nay, I willnae mind them this time,” Scarlett snapped, her voice trembling but still loud. “Ye think because she’s lowborn she doesnae deserve safety? She’s been more of a sister to me than anyone. She deserves better than to be cast out like scraps once I’m gone.”

Aaron’s hand pressed flat against the table as he leaned forward as well. “This is nae about Edith. It’s about securing peace. Ye’ll do yer duty.”

Her throat burned, but she held his gaze. “And I will. I’ll be the dutiful sister, the pawn ye so clearly think I am, but I willnae leave Edith to fend for herself.”

Aaron’s eyes narrowed further. “Ye’d risk defying me for her?” “Aye,” Scarlett shot back. “Every time.”

A silence fell between them.