Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Inform Robert,” Aaron said as Caelan followed behind him, his voice dropping slightly. “Protect Scarlett. Then gather more men to secure the festival.”
The matter was sensitive. Neither of them was certain how many of MacFaris’s men had infiltrated the festival. Regardless, they had to be ready to deal with them without allowing the celebration to dissolve into panic.
I willnae have me people slaughtered on me lands.
Caelan’s jaw tightened. “Aye, me Laird.”
Aaron stopped walking then, turning around to face him.
“Swear it to me,” he said, his voice carrying a weight he rarely allowed it to. “Whatever happens, ye’ll protect them.”
If there was one man he trusted above all others, one man he knew would never fail him, it was his man-at-arms. His best friend.
“I swear it on me life,” Caelan said, his voice steady with the certainty that had earned him Aaron’s trust through fifteen years of loyal service. “I will protect them, or I will die tryin’.”
Aaron held his gaze for a heartbeat longer before giving a single nod.
No one dies today.
The thought was steady in his mind, and he refused to entertain any other outcome.
“Go,” he said. “I will bring Edith back.”
Caelan nodded, his footsteps fading quickly as he disappeared toward the Great Hall, ordering the guards as he passed them.
Aaron turned toward the smaller side door that led through the kitchens—the quickest route toward the western gate and away from the festival.
His hand settled instinctively on his dirk, his strides lengthened, and he whispered under his breath, “Hell.”
He had almost reached the threshold when he stopped abruptly, his heel scraping across the stone floor.
That scent.
It was faint, hardly noticeable, but he could not have missed it for anything.
Wild lavender.
For one impossible moment, he thought his mind had conjured it. The scent had haunted him for nearly a week, clinging to every memory of Edith so much that he now scarcely trusted himself to be sure of it.
He drew another breath and smelled it again. Stronger.
Nay.
His heart lurched as the realization dawned on him.
She is here!
His mind raced for a moment, trying to reconcile what the messenger had said with the scent.
West of the well.
It was the most practical choice. The most reasonable.
How then could her scent be coming from within the keep? Drifting down the stairs that led up to the west wing of the castle?
’Tis a distraction. Of course.
Aaron marched up the stairs, his feet pounding on the stone floors. The scent of wild lavender was stronger in the west wing. Fresher.
He followed it all the way, turning down the corridors until he finally stopped in front of his study.
Darned bastard.
He pushed open the door at once, pulling out his dirk before he had even stepped into the room.
The sight before him made him stop in his tracks.
Edith.
She sat bound to a chair, her wrists lashed tightly to the armrests with coarse rope. A piece of cloth had been tied over her mouth and another over her eyes.
She looked hopelessly small. Vulnerable. Hopeless in a way that made his heart twist in pain.
The study itself had been ransacked. Books littered the floor, the shelves they previously occupied now empty. The surface of his desk had been stripped bare, every drawer hanging open as though someone had searched each one in desperation.
A muffled sound escaped Edith as he stepped inside, and relief struck him with as much force as the rage that followed it.
Heavens.
His gaze shifted to the window, falling on MacFaris.
The man turned around, grinning as though he owned the room.
“Aaron Gallaway,” he said pleasantly. “I didnae expect ye to find us quite so quickly.”
Edith straightened at the mention of Aaron’s name, another desperate sound escaping behind her gag.
Aaron’s gaze hardened as he watched MacFaris. “Edward.” His voice was unnervingly calm.
“So,” MacFaris said, folding his arms as he walked slowly to Edith’s side. “Perhaps I underestimated ye after all.”
Aaron’s irritation flared.
“How so?” he asked, taking a measured step forward.
MacFaris placed his hand leisurely on the back of Edith’s chair, his fingers close enough to her shoulder that Aaron’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
“I wasnae surprised to find an abandoned gate on yer land,” he said. “Nor was I surprised to find it unguarded.” His smile widened. “It speaks to yer arrogance.”
Aaron’s jaw ticked. Every instinct urged him to cross the room and tear the older man away from Edith. Instead, he remained where he was.
“What does that mean?” he asked.
MacFaris straightened as though he had been waiting to say the words that came next for a long time.
“Ye daenae deserve yer title.” His voice hardened. “Ye are unfit to lead these lands.”
Aaron almost laughed.
So this is about pride.
His hand tightened around his dirk as he took another step forward, and MacFaris reacted immediately, drawing a small knife from his belt and holding it lazily against Edith’s throat.
Aaron stopped. His jaw clenched so tightly that it almost hurt, and he sheathed his dirk. “Let her go.”
MacFaris laughed softly. “I intend to.” His fingers flexed around the knife. “After ye surrender everythin’ I came for.”
“There is nothin’ to surrender.”
“Och, but there is.” MacFaris’s weathered features contorted with greed. “Yer lands, Hallow. The northern fields. The trade routes that run through yer territory and lead to the coast.” His eyes gleamed. “Sign them over to me, and yer betrothed returns to ye unharmed.”
Aaron scoffed, veins throbbing in his temples.
“Ye expect me to surrender me clan’s inheritance for a lass.” He forced contempt into every word, making sure to sound as cold and detached as possible, even if it meant that Edith might believe it too.
MacFaris studied him carefully. Too carefully.
“Surely she is no ordinary lass,” he murmured. His expression twisted with open disdain as he looked down at Edith. “Ye rejected me daughter for this lowborn.” He tightened his grip on the knife. “I suppose she is worth everything to ye.”
Aaron’s heart clenched, both at his tone and at the truth in his words.
Aye, she is. Ye got that right.
Edith whimpered and shook her head as the blade touched her skin. Even now, with her life in danger, she was trying to stop him from giving anything up for her.
The sight nearly broke him.
Aaron forced himself to breathe. MacFaris was clever, but he was also greedy. And greedy men always made mistakes.
He only needed one.
His eyes drifted across the study as he thought of an advantage he might exploit. The charter chest remained untouched beneath the corner table behind Edith’s chair.
Perfect.
The bastard had searched everywhere except where it mattered.
“I willnae sign anythin’ until she is released,” Aaron declared, straightening.
MacFaris let out a dry, humorless laugh as his expression darkened. “Ye think me a fool.”
“And ye underestimate how badly I will burn the ground beneath yer feet if ye harm her.”
The knife pressed closer against Edith’s throat. “Careful, Hallow.”
“Let her go.”
“Nay.” MacFaris’s smile vanished. “Nae until ye swear on her life that ye will sign the papers.”
There it was. The opening that Aaron had been waiting for.
He snorted dismissively. “Will ye truly accept the word of a man who has already dishonored ye twice?”
Something shifted in MacFaris’s expression, only for a heartbeat, but Aaron caught it. The first flicker of uncertainty since he had entered the room.
Greedy bastard.
“I keep the land deeds in the charter chest,” Aaron said evenly, glancing toward it. “’Tis why ye couldnae find them.”
MacFaris laughed, but he followed his gaze. Only briefly.
“Ye wish to waste me time.”
“Perhaps.” Aaron shrugged. “Or ye could leave Hallow empty-handed because of yer suspicion.”
MacFaris considered him long enough that Aaron wondered if he had pushed too hard. Then, finally, he broke.
“Fetch it.”
Aaron did not move. “I willnae.”
MacFaris’s patience snapped. He pressed the knife harder against Edith’s neck, and she whimpered against the gag.
“Fetch it,” he growled again.
Aaron slowly raised both hands, feigning surrender. He had the old bastard right where he wanted him. Now, he just needed to play his cards right.
“I will.” His voice rose slightly as he crossed the room without haste, glancing toward Edith to make sure the bastard did not hurt her.
He was closer now. Close enough that he could hear her heavy breathing.
He knelt before the charter chest and unlocked it, withdrawing the folded deeds before placing them neatly on the desk between them.
MacFaris was now facing Edith. He had turned around to look, and Aaron could almost smell his greed from where he knelt.
“Sign them.”
Aaron clenched his jaw.
He straightened, reaching for the inkwell to uncork it. He tilted it once. Only slightly. Then he drew his brows together and corked it again, placing it on the desk.
“The ink has dried.”
MacFaris clicked his tongue impatiently. “Must ye make this difficult?”
Aaron did not blink. “I cannae sign if the ink is dry.”
MacFaris’s eyes narrowed slightly.
The old bastard is suspicious.
As much as it satisfied Aaron to watch him fall into his trap, he did not let it show.
“Hopeless,” MacFaris said as he reached beneath his cloak to pull out a small leather writing case, his other hand still holding the knife against Edith's throat.
Aaron’s pulse quickened.
MacFaris shifted, moving to place the case on the desk. He was still holding the knife, but he had stepped away from Edith, and from the look on his face, he had not realized it yet.
“Now sign,” he said.
Aaron opened the case. Inside rested a stoppered inkwell and a neatly trimmed quill. He uncorked the inkpot, dipped the quill, then paused.
MacFaris frowned. “What now?”
Aaron glanced at the deed. “Ye daenae need to watch me sign,” he said, meeting his gaze calmly. “Unless ye believe I will somehow keep half me lands to meself.”
Take the bait.
MacFaris hesitated, but his greed won quickly. He stepped closer, close enough that Aaron could smell stale ale on his breath. “Write.”
Aaron lowered the quill. Its tip hovered above the deed. Then he stopped again, sending MacFaris over the edge.
“What are ye—”
Aaron wrapped his hand around the inkwell and hurled it, the glass hitting MacFaris squarely in the face. Fresh black ink spilled over his eyes, and he roared.
“Me eyes!”
He staggered backward, clawing wildly at his face. The knife disappeared beneath the flood of ink as he stumbled blindly into the edge of the desk.
Aaron moved then.
He crossed the room faster than he had ever moved in his life, every ounce of fury and terror he had been holding back finally finding its release. MacFaris, now half-blind, twisted toward him with surprising speed for a man his age, drawing another blade from his belt.
He slashed wildly into the air, and Aaron caught his wrist, pushing him with a force that sent both men staggering backward. The desk overturned beneath their weight, wood splintering loudly beneath them.
Age had not robbed MacFaris of his strength. He fought hard, twisting viciously as he tried to wrench his knife free while driving his shoulder into Aaron’s chest.
Aaron answered with a hard blow to the ribs, and MacFaris grunted, his elbow slamming into Aaron’s jaw.
MacFaris tore free, still half-blind, lashing out with desperate fury.
“Stay down,” Aaron growled as the man approached Edith, and she rocked violently against the chair.
MacFaris was awfully close to her now.
Aaron’s stomach dropped. He lunged forward to grab MacFaris from behind, but it was too late. The old bastard had already slammed into the chair, sending it toppling sideways.
Edith crashed onto the stone floor, her hands still bound. The impact tore a muffled cry from her throat. Aaron reached for her, taking off her blindfold.
MacFaris was standing over them. His eyes flashed with menace as he struck downward, but Aaron moved fast, catching his hand just as the tip of his blade sliced through Edith’s upper arm. Blood bloomed across the green fabric of her sleeve.
For a moment, all Aaron could see was red. His chest burned with a fury so absolute it eclipsed every instinct he had spent his entire life cultivating.
A sickening crack echoed through the study, and MacFaris screamed, the knife dropping from his broken fingers.
Aaron struck him once across the face. Then, he did it again until the older man staggered backward, barely able to keep his footing.
The fight, if it could even be called that, lasted mere seconds.
Aaron caught MacFaris by the neck, slamming him into the stone wall with enough force to shake the room. Still, it was not enough. He drew his dirk and drove it into the man’s heart.
MacFaris’s body slumped to the floor, and Aaron stood motionless for a heartbeat, his chest heaving as his fury slowly gave way to something else.
Edith.
He returned to her, dropping onto his knees beside her.
“Edith.” His voice broke as he cradled her face, his heart thumping hard with an emotion he could hardly bother to hold back.
He picked up MacFaris’s knife and used it to cut her gag, then loosened the ropes around her wrists, his hands trembling despite every effort to steady them.
“Aaron…” Edith whispered, reaching up with her bleeding arm to touch his face. “Ye came.”
“Aye,” he said, the word leaving him with the fierce, desperate honesty he had spent weeks trying to suppress. “I will never leave ye again.”