Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Hell,” Aaron muttered as the cups clinked softly against the wooden table.
He uncorked the whiskey bottle in his hand, and the stopper gave a soft, reluctant pop as it came free.
The faint scent of aged oak and peat rose in the air, and he inhaled, pausing for a brief moment before pouring the warm, amber liquid.
He poured a good measure into the first cup and then the second, filling each one evenly before sliding one across the table to his man-at-arms.
“Thank ye,” Caelan said.
Aaron carried his cup to the chair closest to the hearth, turning it once in his hand before relaxing into the seat with a slow exhale.
He had spent an entire evening performing before an audience. The weight of the day still hung heavy on his shoulders. Too many eyes, too many opinions, too many men speaking as though they had a right to dictate his life.
Fire crackled in the grate, filling the silence for a long moment as he sipped his whiskey.
“’Twas a bold move,” Caelan remarked. “Even for ye.” He lifted his cup, smelling the whiskey out of habit.
Aaron shot him a look. “Aye,” he said, taking another sip, the burn of the whiskey lingering on his tongue. “And ye nearly ruined it with yer face, smiling in the middle of a serious matter.”
Caelan snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Please. Nobody was lookin’ at me.” He swirled his cup once before finally taking a sip. “Half the councilmen looked ready to choke on their ale the moment Edith walked through the doors. The other half couldnae stop glaring at ye.”
Aaron scoffed. “Aye?”
“Aye,” Caelan replied easily. “Ye could’ve drawn a sword in the middle of supper, and fewer heads would’ve turned.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Aaron’s mouth.
“Besides,” Caelan continued, gesturing lazily with his cup, “when a stubborn laird announces he’s marrying a lowborn lass after spendin’ years refusing every noblewoman in the Highlands, folk tend to forget I exist entirely.”
Aaron took another slow sip of whiskey, letting the burn settle low in his chest as his gaze drifted toward the fire. For a moment, he said nothing.
He glanced toward Caelan again, catching him over the rim of his cup. “’Twas the only option I had,” he murmured.
Caelan nodded. He did not need any further explanation.
“The council will fight it,” he warned.
Aaron shook his head. “They already have.” His tone was flat, devoid of the slightest hint of satisfaction. “They bent.”
After governing the clan for fifteen years, he was experienced enough to know that a councilman bending was never the same as a councilman yielding.
He had been able to shut down their protests during supper, but that only meant the pressure had shifted temporarily. There was no saying that they would not try to bring up the matter again. And when they did, he had to be ready.
“And MacFaris?” Caelan asked.
The name immediately tightened Aaron’s jaw.
It was because of that bastard that he was in this situation in the first place. He already had a lot on his plate, and now the topic of marriage and heirs had piled on it all, thanks to his dubious offers and constant attempts to place his influence where it did not belong.
“He’s already been informed,” he said, waving his free hand. “I sent word meself. There is no misunderstanding.”
Caelan let out a quiet breath, placing his cup on the table in front of him before leaning forward slightly. His gaze lingered on Aaron until he had nearly drunk half his whiskey.
“What?” he asked.
“I daenae think he’ll see it that way.”
Aaron let out a heavy breath, nearly a huff. “He’ll have to. And to tell ye the truth, I daenae care how he sees it. I have chosen me betrothed.”
Caelan shifted in his seat. “He offered his daughter,” he reminded him. “And before that, he’d expected Scarlett to marry his son.” He shook his head slightly. “Ye denied him then, and now ye deny him again. Men like MacFaris daenae forget such things, Aaron.”
Caelan rarely dropped the formalities. He only did that when he wanted Aaron to hear him as a friend, and not as a Laird receiving counsel from one of his subjects.
Aaron’s fingers tightened slightly around his cup. Then he set it down with a deliberate calm.
“What MacFaris wants isnae a daughter wed into me house.” His voice dropped, steady and unyielding. “He wants to control it. Bleed it dry. Turn it into whatever serves his pockets best.”
The fire snapped in the grate, sending a brief burst of light across the stone floor.
“I will never give him that,” he continued. “No matter how cunning he thinks himself.”
Caelan studied him for a long moment, then he picked up his cup once more, raising it slowly. “To stubborn Lairds,” he toasted, “who refuse to be cornered by greedy bastards.”
The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched faintly, though his eyes remained sharp. He reached for his nearly empty cup and lifted it.
“May the bastard finally learn that ‘nay’ is an answer,” he said, then downed the rest of his whiskey.
The tension in the room eased by a fraction, the way it always did when a thing had been spoken plainly and acknowledged by both men.
Aaron leaned back further in his chair, tipping his head back.
The castle had grown quiet around them, with only the distant footsteps of the night watch breaking the silence every few moments. His thoughts drifted as his eyes closed, his mind slowly filling with images of Edith.
He had not expected her to hold herself as well as she did. He thought of the way she had handled herself at supper and the precise, unhurried manner in which she had set her goblet down, as though the councilmen’s questions had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
She is better than I imagined.
A small smile nearly touched his lips as he remembered the curtsy she’d bobbed in the corridor afterward, low and proper, even when there had been no one there to see it.
Perhaps this will be simple after all.
He straightened in his seat, reaching for the bottle to pour himself another measure of whiskey. His eyes caught a faint shift in Caelan’s expression a moment too late.
“Perhaps we should drink to patience as well,” Caelan said, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Ye’ll be needing a great deal of it with that one.”
Aaron arched his brow slightly. He wondered for a moment how Caelan had been able to tell that he was thinking about her, but then he chose not to question it.
“She’s too stubborn,” Caelan continued, draining his cup. “Perhaps even more than ye are.”
Aaron did not answer immediately.
He looked at the amber liquor in his cup, his mind drifting again to the scent of wild lavender that had slowly begun to haunt his memory, even when she was nowhere near him.
A soft breath escaped his lips, and he closed his eyes again, completely relaxing into his seat.
Or perhaps this month will be hell.
“Aye,” he replied before his thoughts began to drift again. “I ken that well enough.”