Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
The castle was alive in a way Scarlett hadn’t seen in years.
Servants hurried through the corridors with armfuls of rushes, fresh straw laid in the courtyard to soften the thunder of hooves.
The kitchens rattled and smoked; the fires had been blazing from dawn while the great hall had been polished and swept until the stone floor gleamed.
Everyone spoke in hushed tones of the McLaren riders expected before nightfall.
Scarlett sat in her chamber while Edith knelt before her, fastening the ribbons on her gown. The dark green silk caught the light, a shade chosen by Aaron’s steward to mark her as a Gallaway daughter even as she stood on the edge of leaving.
“I feel like a goose trussed for market,” Scarlett muttered, tugging at the sleeves.
Edith laughed softly. “Ye look bonnie, Scarlett. There’s nay man alive who will see ye today and think otherwise.”
Scarlett groaned, throwing herself back against the chair. “That’s precisely the problem. I’m meant to not look bonnie enough to be bartered away.”
Edith shook her head, smoothing the fabric across her knees. “Nae bartered. Married. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” Scarlett’s lips twisted. “Feels the same to me.”
Edith sat back on her heels, studying her. “Then tell me this, what do ye imagine he’ll be like? This Laird McLaren?”
Scarlett lifted her brows, pretending to consider. “Old, surely. Balding, with a belly from too much ale. A man who snores through his council meetings.”
Edith giggled. “Scarlett!”
“What? I’d rather imagine him foolish than imagine him cruel.”
The laughter faded from Edith’s face, replaced with something gentler. “And if he is neither? What if he’s kind?”
Scarlett toyed with a ribbon at her wrist, her fingers smudged faintly with charcoal, no matter how much she scrubbed. “Then I’ll count meself lucky. But I willnae hope too much, Edith. Hope makes fools of us.”
Scarlett stared down at her hands, her breath hitching in a small, frustrated huff. Despite three frantic scrubbings this morning, the charcoal remained, ground deep into the creases of her knuckles and the beds of her nails. It looked like shadows clinging to her skin.
She rubbed her thumb over her pointer finger, the skin raw and pink from the lye soap, but the stubborn black dust refused to budge.
It was a mark of who she was, an artist, a woman who looked at the world and tried to capture its soul, and it was a mark that had no place in the life Aaron had sold her into.
Let the McLaren see it. Let him see that her fingers were stained with something other than the Gallaway name. If he wanted a porcelain doll to sit at his table, he had bartered for the wrong woman.
Edith touched her hand, her voice soft. “Hope also keeps us breathing.”
Before Scarlett could answer, the door opened without a knock. Aaron stepped inside, filling the space with his presence. His eyes flicked immediately to Edith.
Edith dropped her gaze and rose quickly. “Laird Gallaway.” She bobbed a curtsy, retreating a step.
Aaron gave her a brief nod then turned his full attention to his sister. “It’s time, Scarlett.”
Scarlett rose, smoothing her skirts, her displeasure obvious on her face. “Already?”
“The McLaren riders are nearing the gates.”
Scarlett glanced at Edith, whose eyes shone with a mix of pride and sorrow. She squeezed her friend’s hand once more before letting go. “Stay close,” she whispered.
Edith’s throat bobbed as she nodded. “Always.”
Aaron watched the exchange with unreadable eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and held the door open for Scarlett.
She followed him out with her pulse quickening.
The great hall was filled with the restless hum of voices. Clan Gallaway men lined the walls, their tartans bright against the stone, while the servants kept bustling with last-minute arrangements. Scarlett stood at Aaron’s side on the dais, and her palms were damp against the folds of her gown.
She tried to keep her chin high, but her stomach twisted. She had told herself she would face this moment with calm, yet the echo of hooves in the courtyard made her throat go dry.
“Stand straight,” Aaron murmured beside her, “And ye’ll greet him with courtesy. This alliance is too important to falter on niceties.”
Scarlett arched a brow. “Aye, brother, I’ll be the very picture of obedience. Maybe ye should have me carved in stone to save ye the trouble.”
Aaron’s eyes narrowed, a silent warning, but he said nothing.
The doors opened wide, and the procession swept in.
Boots rang against stone as the McLaren riders strode through the doors, their dark plaids heavy across broad shoulders, and their steel glinting at their sides. At their head walked a man who drew every eye the moment he crossed the threshold.
He was taller than any man she’d seen, his frame broad and cut like it had been forged in battle. Black hair, trimmed close, only sharpened the stark lines of his face. His jaw was square, his mouth stern, and his storm-gray eyes swept across the hall with a command that needed no words.
Scarlett’s pulse stuttered. She had expected someone older, perhaps softened by age or indulgence. Instead, this man looked as though he had been carved from stone, every line of his face speaking of discipline and control.
Aaron stepped forward, “Laird McLaren. Welcome to Hallow Castle.”
Robert McLaren inclined his head. “Laird Gallaway.” His voice was deep yet smooth. “I thank ye for yer hospitality.”
The two lairds clasped forearms; the gesture was strong and formal.
Scarlett remained still though her gaze lingered longer than it should have. He was not smiling, not even looking her way yet, and still something in her chest gave a sharp tug.
Aaron motioned toward her. “Me sister, Lady Scarlett.” At last, Robert’s eyes turned.
Scarlett’s breath hitched under the weight of that storm-gray gaze.
It swept over her quickly and unreadable then lingered upon her hands.
She glanced down, realizing with horror that faint smudges of charcoal still darkened her fingers, impossible to scrub away.
She curled them into her skirts, heat rushing to her cheeks.
Robert had prepared himself to find a meek lass waiting. A Gallaway pawn and a woman quiet enough to accept terms and play her part.
Instead, his eyes landed on a figure that unsettled him at once.
She was tall for a woman, her frame lush and curving in a way that made his throat tighten. Her black curls spilled loose from their pins, and ribbons barely taming the wildness, and her eyes... green as spring leaves met his with unflinching strength.
She’s bonnie. Too bonnie. And bold enough to look straight at me when most men would lower their gaze.
He noted her hands, fingers stained dark, most likely from charcoal. His brow flicked the slightest inch. An artist, then. Not what he had expected from a laird’s sister.
Aaron’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Shall we sit, Laird McLaren? We’ve much to discuss.”
Robert gave a curt nod. “Aye.”
He kept his features as unreadable as stone though inside, unease stirred. He had not expected desire, not so swiftly, not so sharply.
Control yerself. She’s a duty, nothing more.
A wife. A function. Nothing she does with her eyes changes that.
They moved to the table at the center of the hall where wine was poured and the men of both clans stood in quiet anticipation. Scarlett remained beside her brother, her chin high though her hands betrayed her nerves.
Aaron spoke first, “Clan Gallaway seeks peace and strength as does Clan McLaren. This marriage ensures both.”
Robert inclined his head. “Peace and loyalty. I’ve nay interest in fleeting pacts.”
Aaron’s mouth twitched. “Nor do I. Me sister is prepared to fulfill her duty. She will bring nay protest.”
Scarlett’s eyes flicked to her brother, a flash of some annoyance in them, but she said nothing.
Robert caught it. He admired the fire there though he did not let it show.
Scarlett cleared her throat softly, drawing both men’s attention. “I’ll do what is required,” she said, “but I will speak for meself, brother, if ye please.”
Aaron gave her a stiff nod though the muscle in his jaw ticked.
“If this alliance is what must be, then I’ll do me part. I willnae cause shame to me clan.”
Robert studied her openly now. She spoke without trembling.
Out loud, he said simply, “Then let us be clear. The alliance is agreed.” Aaron lifted his cup. “Agreed.”
The men around the hall echoed with approval.
Robert’s gaze lingered one last moment on Scarlett, and he noticed her cheeks flushed faintly though whether from anger or nerves, he could not say. What he did know was that she was nothing like the obedient shadow he had prepared himself for.
This will be more complicated than I thought.
The murmurs in the hall had scarcely died when Robert turned to Aaron. “With yer leave, Laird Gallaway, I’d like a word alone with Lady Scarlett.”
Scarlett felt Aaron stiffen beside her, but before he could speak, she lifted her chin. “Aye, I’ll hear him, brother.”
Her brother’s eyes flashed with irritation at her boldness, but after a pause, he gave a curt nod. “Very well.”
Robert’s gaze flicked toward her, unreadable as ever, before he gestured toward the door. “If ye please, Me Lady.”
The hall erupted again with hushed whispers as Scarlett descended the dais and followed him out. She could feel eyes on her back, but her steps didn’t falter. The great doors closed behind them, sealing the world away as she led Robert down the corridor to Aaron’s solar.
The chamber was empty now, firelight throwing a golden glow across the maps still scattered on the table.
Robert gestured for her to enter, his large hand a dark, steady shadow against the light of the corridor. Scarlett stepped past him, the silk of her skirts brushing against his leather boots. A brief, electric contact that she felt all the way to her toes.