Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
Edith stopped at the entrance of the library.
The scent of old parchment and polished oak enveloped her at once, and she let out a slow breath, her chest tightening as she stepped over the threshold.
For a moment, she simply stood there, staring around the empty old library.
When Scarlett was still at Hallow, they would often sit together at the corner table near the window, reading the books that Scarlett would borrow from the main library and sharing stories that felt like they belonged only to them.
The library had once been a place filled with laughter and whispered conversation. But now, it was silent.
Edith walked toward the center of the room.
She had never imagined that it would one day become a place where she sat alone.
She had never imagined she would find herself drawing in it either.
But somehow, in the months after Scarlett left, drawing had slowly become a habit she found comfort and escape in.
And she came here whenever her thoughts grew too loud.
There was no proper setup. Her materials were nothing more than things she could take without notice or permission.
When she first started drawing, she had only a single piece of parchment and dried ink.
But now, she had managed to collect a small bundle of charcoal sticks from burnt heartwood and a pile of parchment that was either too old or smudged to practice her new hobby.
Her heart settled as she made her way to the corner table, her fingers brushing lightly over the wood. There were still inscriptions on it from when she and Scarlett used to scribble. S.E., an initial they coined from both their names.
A few old sketches lay on the table, untouched since the last time she came in here. Sketches of roots, leaves, bundles of herbs, and, occasionally, flowers. They were things that she had and knew. Simple things.
Edith sighed. She settled onto the stool and reached for the top sheet of parchment, turning it over between her fingers. It was clean. No writings or stains on either side. A rare find.
A small smile touched her lips.
I should draw something special today.
The thought came softly, settling into her mind before she could stop it.
She picked up a sharpened piece of charcoal and pressed its edge against the parchment.
Her strokes were meaningless at first—or at least that was what she told herself. Lines began forming beneath her hand. A wrist. Long fingers. A bare hand cradled carefully in a larger one.
Her breath slowed. She should have been thinking of the days ahead. Of her new position and her strange arrangement with Aaron. Of the lessons she wanted so badly from the healer.
Instead, her thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.
She sketched an outline of Aaron’s hand wrapped around hers—a memory she had spent so little time convincing herself did not matter, because she genuinely hadn’t thought about it since their meeting in the study.
Her thoughts drifted to the warmth of his mouth against her skin when he kissed the back of her hand. To the strange look that had entered his eyes afterward, as though he had felt the moment too.
Perhaps—
She cut off that train of thought and swallowed, continuing to sketch.
The charcoal moved carefully beneath her fingers as the memory slowly came to life before her eyes. She shaded their hands first, and then his head as he bent to kiss her.
The image looked nothing like the polished illustrations inside noble books. The proportions were imperfect in places. Still, it looked real enough that heat slowly crept into her cheeks.
An unexpected sound jolted her back to her senses.
Edith started, dropping the charcoal against the edge of the parchment as she twisted around.
“Violet,” she gasped, straightening in her seat. “I didnae hear ye come in.”
Violet smiled easily as she stepped further into the library. “I kent ye’d be here,” she said softly. “Ye always come here when ye miss her.”
Edith’s throat tightened. She had not realized anyone noticed that about her.
She picked up the piece of charcoal that had smudged the corner of the parchment and tucked it with the rest, before wiping her stained fingers on a piece of cloth.
“Do ye draw often?” Violet asked, her eyes lighting up as she approached the table. “I thought ye’d be reading. Ye and Lady Scarlett used to read together.”
Edith glanced briefly toward the empty stool beside the table. “Aye,” she said quietly. “We did.”
The silence lingered briefly before she looked back down at the parchment.
“I practiced while she was gone,” she admitted after a moment. “It makes me feel as though she is still here somehow.”
Violet’s smile softened. “She always will be,” she whispered, crossing the remaining distance between them.
She placed a folded stack of parchment on the table beside Edith, along with a small bottle of fresh ink.
“I brought these for ye,” she said gently, “so ye may write to her.”
Edith looked up at her. Violet was nineteen, three years younger than her, but already an incredibly kind woman.
Her throat tightened painfully at the unexpected gesture.
“Thank ye, Violet,” she whispered.
Violet reached for her hand, squeezing it gently before finally letting go. “Ye’re welcome, me Lady.”
Edith winced at the title, then laughed softly under her breath. Her gaze drifted down to the sketch.
“Can I see it?” Violet asked.
Edith’s entire body stiffened. Heat rushed fiercely into her cheeks as she realized exactly what sat on the table before them.
“Nay,” she blurted out, snatching up the parchment and flipping it face down against the wood.
But Violet had already seen enough. Her eyes widened slightly, before a grin slowly spread across her face.
Och, heavens.
Edith wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.
“’Tis beautiful,” Violet whispered, sounding genuinely awed.
Edith pressed the parchment tighter against the table. “It is nothing,” she muttered.
But Violet’s smile only grew wider.
“Ye shouldnae hide sketches of yer beloved,” she teased lightly. “In fact, ye should show them to him.”
Edith nearly choked on her breath.
“Beloved?” she repeated, horrified.
“Aye.” Violet nodded, as though it were obvious. “Who else would ye sit dreaming about whilst drawing kisses?”
“I wasnae!” Edith protested, her face burning hotter.
Violet laughed softly, the sound filling the quiet library for the first time in months.
And somehow, despite her embarrassment, Edith found herself laughing too.
The next council meeting was held sooner than anticipated.
After the announcement of the previous day, Aaron had expected his council to be rattled. But he had not expected that the councilmen and elders would be nervous enough to request a meeting the very next day.
It was unlike them. They had sent a messenger ahead to request an audience, and Aaron sent word back immediately, ordering them to meet in his study at noon instead.
He had prepared for this. He already knew what they wanted to say, and it suited him to have them say it earlier, rather than ruin his supper two nights in a row.
He stood in the study, his face set in a hard expression as he faced Caelan and his council.
One of the elders cleared his throat, stepping forward before Aaron had given permission to speak. “Me Laird,” he began carefully, “we appreciate ye agreeing to meet with us again so soon.”
“I didnae agree,” Aaron replied flatly. “I summoned ye instead.”
The elder’s mouth tightened faintly, but he nodded, bending his head before stepping back.
No one else spoke until Aaron signaled the start of the meeting.
Another councilman stepped forward. “Folks remain unsettled by yer announcement.”
Aaron scoffed. “Folks should concern themselves with winter stores and border patrols instead of me betrothal.”
A few of the councilmen exchanged glances.
“We only seek clarity,” another elder said. “Such matters affect the future of the clan.”
Aaron’s jaw hardened slightly.
There it is again. The future of the clan.
His councilmen spoke as though the clan would continue to exist once they handed it over to MacFaris. But they were mostly ignorant and old, and it was only unfortunate that time alone could prove the truth.
“Me Laird,” another councilman stepped forward, bowing his head low before rising.
“I beg ye to listen. If ye marry Laird MacFaris’s daughter, the clan would gain more lands and power.
” His eyes shone with greed as he spoke.
Aaron recognized him as one of those who had spoken ill of Edith after the announcement.
“Lady Edith has no noble ties. No alliances. No dowry worthy of a Laird’s household. ”
Aaron’s expression did not shift. Perhaps it was because he had governed since he was young and the lairdship had passed to him following his father’s death. They still viewed him as a lad.
“Is that truly the matter?” he asked quietly. “Or are ye displeased that I refused the alliances ye attempted to force on me?”
The councilman looked up. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
Aaron swept his gaze across all the men present, but no one stepped forward to speak. And that was answer enough.
His chest tightened.
“Ye speak as though the sole purpose of marriage is gaining land and money,” he said. “As though Hallow would crumble because I chose differently.”
“Alliances strengthen survival,” one elder pressed carefully. “Especially now.”
Aaron glanced sharply at him. “Especially now?”
The elder hesitated only briefly. “MacFaris grows wealthier by the season.”
So it is truly about greed.
Another councilman leaned forward. “Had ye accepted his daughter, the matter would have already been settled.”
Aaron laughed under his breath, the sound devoid of humor.
“Settled?” he repeated. “Ye think giving MacFaris influence over Hallow would settle anything?”
“He commands trade routes we cannae ignore,” the man argued.
“And he squeezes half the Highlands dry while doing it,” Aaron snapped.
The room fell silent again, but only for a moment.
“Me marriage isnae a bargain to strengthen another man’s grip over this clan,” Aaron said firmly. “And I willnae discuss the matter further.”
The eldest councilman exhaled heavily. “With respect, me Laird, we fear what people will say.”
Aaron’s brows lowered. “What will they say?”
“A lowborn bride invites gossip,” another admitted reluctantly. “Questions. Doubts.”
Aaron stared at him for a long moment. Then he spoke quietly, “Edith has lived in this castle longer than some of ye.”
No one interrupted him this time.
“She kens the castle. She kens our people. And from what I witnessed during supper, she handled herself with more composure than half the lasses ye once suggested to me.”
He felt it immediately. The slight shift in the air. The exchanged glances. The way one elder’s brows lifted faintly.
Hell. He had defended her too fiercely.
He straightened at once, his expression hardening again.
“The matter is already decided,” he said sharply. “Ye may disagree with it privately if ye wish. But publicly, ye will respect me future wife.”
He had made his stance clear enough. There was no room for further debate.
The eldest councilman rose slowly to his feet, his sour expression somehow managing to show through his full beard. “As ye command, me Laird,” he said quietly. “We shall leave now.”
He walked out of the study, and the others followed him one by one, though the tension in the room lingered long after they left.
Aaron glanced at Caelan and let out a loud groan, pressing his palms flat against the desk.
The war was not over yet. The discussion was done, but he still needed to earn his council’s trust. And he needed to do it before MacFaris swayed them completely.
His thoughts drifted to Edith. He wanted to see her again, against his better judgment. His jaw tightened as an image of her stubborn face flashed through his mind.
Aye, we shall have our first outing today.