Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Aaron crossed to the window.
The courtyard below was bathed in the late afternoon light, the castle buzzing as clansfolk arrived for early supper preparations.
Everything was exactly as it should be, except Edith. She still had not come to the study.
Aaron glanced at the clock in his room, his brow furrowing. There were only a few hours left until supper.
Perhaps she is still with him.
A frustrated grunt escaped him, and he moved away from the window. For some reason, he could not help but feel restless.
I daenae care.
His thoughts drifted to Edith again, even as he tried to convince himself that it did not matter where she was.
’Tis only because she keeps me waiting.
Aaron heaved an annoyed sigh as he glanced at the clock a second time.
A knock sounded at the door, and he huffed, returning to his desk. A frown creased his forehead as he sat down, glaring at the door as though he had not just spent most of his afternoon waiting for her.
“Enter,” he said.
The door creaked open slowly.
For a moment, his breath left him entirely. A strange expression crossed his face as Edith stepped into the study, her presence disarming him at once. His chest tightened slightly at her pleasant expression.
What has happened to the lass?
“Good evenin’, me Laird,” she greeted, dipping into a curtsy.
Aaron’s brows rose slightly.
She had never shown enthusiasm for me company before. Why would she now? Perhaps she wants something.
He straightened his back, watching her more closely as she rose.
Her expression was oddly different than usual. There was no hint of irritation or indignation on her face. Just a smile.
She cannae truly be smiling at me.
His jaw clenched tighter as he leaned forward in his seat, his face hardening.
“Ye requested me presence, me Laird?” she asked.
Aaron nodded. “Aye,” he replied curtly. “Sit.”
Her expression barely shifted at his sharp tone. He swallowed as she nodded, lowering herself into the seat opposite him.
His gaze lingered on her.
Edith wore her hair down today, the auburn waves subtly enhancing the freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her face was harder to read than usual, but she looked content.
Aaron cleared his throat, forcing his mind back to the present.
“Ye seem to be in a good mood,” he said before he could stop himself.
Why did I say that?
Edith’s face lit up. “I suppose I am,” she replied lightly. “Me lesson with Martin went well.”
There it is.
Aaron’s hand stilled on the edge of the desk. She had only confirmed his initial assumption. And yet it felt as though she had just punched him in the gut.
“’Tis good to hear,” he murmured.
Edith did not seem to notice the change in his tone.
“’Tis truly wonderful to learn how to help people,” she continued. “I took several notes today…”
Her voice carried easily now, animated in a way he had never heard it before.
He realized distantly that he was no longer hearing the words so much as watching her speak them. The shape of her mouth. The ease in her expression. The way she looked entirely unaware of the effect she was having on him.
He had seen Edith in many states over the past weeks.
He had seen her composed during the announcement of their engagement.
He had seen her sharp and argumentative in his study, in the corridors, and on the stairwell.
He had seen her guarded in the mornings, exhausted before dawn, brave in the face of backlash against their betrothal.
But never like this.
’Tis the healer.
The thought came uninvited.
Martin.
Aaron’s jaw tightened. It occurred to him, with a discomfort he could not immediately locate, that the smile on her face had nothing to do with him.
He reached for the report and looked at it without reading it—a new habit that only surfaced whenever Edith was involved.
Edith paused, and only then did he realize that he had barely heard a word of what she had said.
“What?” The word came out sharper than he had intended.
“I said I daenae suppose ye ken.”
Aaron blinked, confused. “Ken what?”
Edith hesitated for a moment.
“Forget it, me Laird,” she said, raising her chin slightly. “Someone was kind enough to leave a notebook in me chamber, and I thought it might be…” She stopped.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. Then she shook her head once, as if dismissing the thought.
“Actually, I daenae ken why I thought that,” she said.
Aaron’s fingers stilled.
He had left her the notebook. He had had it made specially for her, with lavender colored twine to bind the sheets of parchment. But it was nothing more than a courtesy—a polite gesture after his reaction to her first lesson. Or at least, that was what he told himself.
He cleared his throat, steepling his fingers on the desk.
“There is a matter I need ye to be aware of.” His voice came out sharper than he had intended as he steered the conversation in a different direction.
Edith straightened at once. “What matter?” she asked.
His fingers curled at the shift in her tone, as though he had not been curt first.
“The harvest festival,” he replied. “’Tis in two weeks.”
Edith nodded slowly.
“There will be more people than usual in the keep and the surrounding fields,” he continued. “Merchants. Travelers. Clansfolk.”
“And…?” she prompted.
“It will be our most important outing as a betrothed couple,” he said, then corrected himself after a beat. “As per our arrangement.”
The word sat poorly on his tongue.
“I will need ye to be mindful.”
“Aye.”
“Daenae wander off alone. Daenae leave the keep without an escort. If anyone outside the household speaks to ye, ye answer only if it is necessary.”
Edith’s expression sharpened. “Ye need nae tell me how to conduct meself,” she replied coolly. “I am nae a child.”
Aaron’s eyes narrowed.
There is the stubborn lass I ken.
Her indifference was familiar and easy, contrasting sharply with the soft, wishful woman she had been only moments ago.
Aaron smiled, satisfied.
This is better.
“I didnae say ye were,” he replied evenly, his gaze holding hers a moment longer than necessary. “Ye are under me protection whilst ye’re here. I expect ye to act as such.”
Edith leaned back slightly, her lips pressing together into a tight line. “Ye’re asking me to behave meself in public.”
“Nay.” Aaron’s voice lowered. “’Tis an order. Ye have to.”
Her brows lifted. “Aye? Do ye need me to improve me social graces too?”
The familiar tension rose between them.
“Aye.”
“How rude,” she muttered under her breath, though it was loud enough for him to hear.
“I didnae hear ye, lass,” he said, glaring at her.
Edith huffed. She stood up, folding her arms as she walked toward the door. But Aaron did not move. He simply watched her, expecting her to leave.
She did not.
Of course, she didnae.
She turned around sharply, lifting her chin as she faced him again.
“’Tis very rich of ye,” she said, her voice rising, “to speak of social graces when yer people daenae even like ye.”
The room fell silent.
Aaron rose, the chair scraping softly behind him. He closed the distance between them in a few strides. Edith did not move back, and that alone irritated him more than her words.
His hand came up to catch her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“Ye forget yerself, Edith,” he said quietly. “I am still yer Laird.”
Edith’s breath hitched.
“Aye,” she hissed. “Only for the coming weeks.”
Something in his chest tightened at that.
It was the simple truth. In a matter of weeks, their arrangement would be over. That should have meant nothing to Aaron, but it did not.
His grip tightened on her chin. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then lower to her heaving chest.
The soft light in the room caught the neckline of her dress, the fabric hugging her in a way that made her feel both exposed and untouchable.
He should have stepped back. He was aware of that with the same clarity he was aware of most things.
But he did not move.
There was something about the way she held his gaze when she was angry that made retreat feel impossible.
Only for the coming weeks.
The words had landed harder than she likely intended. Or perhaps exactly as hard as she intended. With her, it was sometimes difficult to tell.
Either way, they sat in his chest like an uncomfortable weight.
Her hair gently framed her face. And her scent, that annoying wild lavender, rose in the space between them.
Aaron swallowed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he realized he’d been watching her.
“I didnae say that ye lack social graces,” he said, his voice rougher than before. “Only that they can be improved.”
His hand was still on her chin, so he let it drop slowly, holding her gaze.
Edith blinked. She did not answer immediately. Instead, she looked away for a fraction of a second before looking back at him. The silence between them shifted again, something softer threatening to break through it.
Aaron stepped back first.
“I cannae help ye improve,” he added, forcing himself back toward the desk.
“I didnae—”
He raised a hand, cutting her off before she could start another argument. Then he reached into the top drawer and retrieved a brown envelope that had arrived earlier that afternoon. He had not meant to give it to her now, but perhaps he was running out of reasons not to.
“I wanted to give ye this,” he said, holding it out.
Edith looked at the envelope, staring at it as though she had not heard him.
“Take it,” he urged, his voice quieter now. “Perhaps it will help ye.”