Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The walk back to the carriage was silent in a way that felt different.
Aaron found he did not entirely mind it.
Caelan and Violet trailed behind, still laughing softly about something he could not quite catch, while Edith walked silently beside him.
He considered striking up a conversation, then immediately dismissed the idea. He was not the sort of man to speak when there was no need for words. He was not going to become one now.
His eyes fell to her hands, catching the small bouquet of wild lavender that she held loosely in her grip. The scent of it drifted toward him in the evening air, mixing with the scent that had haunted him for weeks now, inseparable from her.
“Is it yer favorite?” he asked, and then he immediately convinced himself it did not constitute small talk.
“Aye,” she replied. “It always has been.”
Clearly so.
“I ken,” he heard himself say.
Edith slowed down. She glanced at the small bouquet, then at him, something curious in her expression. “How would ye ken that?”
Aaron did not answer immediately.
His jaw worked as he considered whether to admit the truth—that he had known for weeks now, that the scent had become so thoroughly meshed with her in his mind that he could not encounter it anywhere without thinking of her immediately and entirely.
“It suits ye,” he said instead. The words were true enough.
Edith studied him for a long moment, something soft settling into her expression that he had not seen directed at him in days.
“Thank ye,” she said quietly.
They reached the carriage shortly after, the easy familiarity of departure settling over the group.
Caelan helped Violet up into the small cart she had come in. His face bore an obvious reluctance to leave her side, even as she blushed furiously at the thought of seeing him again before the harvest festival.
Aaron’s mouth twitched despite himself.
“Ye should ride with her,” he suggested, the words sounding foreign to his own ears.
Caelan’s eyes brightened. “Me Laird, are ye—”
“Daenae make me change me mind.”
The road to the castle was safe, and Aaron would not be any safer with Caelan than he would be on his own. But the maid would be alone in the cart if they rode without her.
’Tis only logical.
He turned away quickly before he could reconsider his offer. Surely, Caelan would tease him for his benevolence afterward. But for now, he chose to ignore it.
’Tis nothing unusual.
He helped Edith into their carriage without thinking, his hand finding hers exactly as it had countless times now. The gesture had become so familiar that it no longer required deliberate thought.
The road to Hallow Castle stretched dark ahead of them, the last traces of daylight bleeding out of the sky as the carriage rolled forward into the gathering dusk.
Aaron sat across from Edith, watching the fields blur past the window, his thoughts circling back to everything Scarlett had likely said to her in that quiet conversation near the silk cart.
Perhaps Edith told her about the arrangement.
His jaw tightened slightly at the thought.
Suddenly, the carriage lurched hard enough that Edith’s hand shot out to brace against his legs.
There was no time to ponder the contact.
They dropped sharply into what felt like a shallow ditch, the wheels grinding against something that gave way beneath them with a sound Aaron recognized immediately as trouble.
Mud.
The horse neighed as it pulled forward, causing the carriage to tilt at an angle that made Edith slide slightly toward him before catching herself. Her face flushed.
“Steady,” Aaron said to her before dropping into the dark. The longer he waited, the higher the chance of getting stuck.
His boots immediately sank into the cold, thick mud.
Damn it.
The ditch was deeper than he had thought, the mud nearly swallowing the wheel to its axle. The horse whinnied sharply, tossing its head, its hooves slipping uselessly against the same treacherous ground.
“Easy,” Aaron murmured, moving toward its head, his hands finding the bridle with practiced calm despite the urgency clawing at his chest. “Easy now.”
Behind him, he saw Edith stepping out of the carriage.
“Edith, stay—”
She was already climbing down, gathering her skirts in one hand as she stepped into the muck beside him without hesitation, her breath sharp and visible in the cold evening air.
He considered arguing with her for a moment before dismissing the thought.
There is nay point. She wouldnae listen.
“Move to the other side,” he said instead. “And push when I tell ye.”
She nodded, moving to the side of the carriage. She braced her shoulder against its heavy frame.
“Now,” Aaron called, pulling hard on the bridle while urging the horse forward.
He heard Edith’s breath catch with effort as she pushed, her boots slipping once before she steadied herself and pushed again.
The wheel groaned. The mud released its grip by inches.
“Again,” Aaron said through gritted teeth.
They repeated the motion until, with a final lurch that nearly sent them both sprawling, the wheel broke free. The carriage rolled forward onto firmer ground, stopping a few yards away.
For a moment, neither of them moved, then Edith let out a breathless laugh, straightening.
“I thought the carriage would leave us,” she said, placing a hand on her hip. Her hair had nearly come loose from its careful braids, and mud was streaked up one side of her gown.
Aaron swallowed.
She looked nothing like the composed woman who had sat across from councilmen with perfect poise, or the careful lady who managed every public moment with practiced grace.
She looked disheveled, breathless, mud-streaked, and lovely in the near-dark, and Aaron could not remember the last time anything had struck him as more beautiful.
Her laughter faded slowly under the weight of his gaze, and her breath steadied, her expression growing more careful.
“I should get ye some water,” she said, pointing at his mud-coated hands. “To wash.”
She walked toward the carriage, and Aaron followed behind her, watching as she fetched a satchel. She poured water over his hands first, and he returned the gesture without comment.
For a while, neither of them spoke. The air around them was cold and silent, the night interrupted only by the sound of splashing water and the occasional whinnying of the horse.
He leaned in closer as she tried to get the mud off the side of her dress.
“Ye should…” he trailed off as he leaned forward, his finger brushing a speck of mud from her bodice.
Edith stilled at the touch.
“Why do ye refuse it?” she asked without looking up.
The water ran out at her words.