Chapter 35
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Aaron could not sleep.
His chest tightened as he stood in the middle of his bedchamber, staring out into the breaking dawn.
It had already been three days. Three days since the village fair. Three days since he had carried Edith into the castle as though she were something precious. Even now, his bedchamber smelled of wild lavender.
Perhaps it is because I havenae returned her undergarment.
He forced himself to accept that excuse, padding softly across the room until he was standing in front of the window.
For three days, he had held on to the flimsy white material in the hope of returning it to Edith. But not once had the timing seemed right. At least, that was what he told himself.
Perhaps it will be better to simply dispose of it.
Aaron leaned against the window frame, the smell of wild lavender catching his nose again. He lifted the whiskey in his hand, taking a long sip from the flask and regretting it at once.
The warm amber liquid burned a path down his chest, the sharpness of it causing the memory of Edith’s taste to reignite itself on the tip of his tongue.
His fingers tightened around the flask.
It did not help that the lass seemed to have forgotten about such an important piece of clothing. She had also avoided him since the carriage, leaving every room as soon as he entered and avoiding his gaze multiple times during last night’s supper.
Aaron huffed. It was unbelievable. She had moaned his name into the night and held on to him as though it mattered. And now, she barely spoke to him outside the requirements of their arrangement.
It should have been a relief. Edith would leave Hallow Castle this week. Once the harvest festival was over, she would return to the Lowlands to become a healer.
The thought filled his chest with an ache he did not wish to name.
What they had done in the carriage had been nothing more than a lapse in judgement. A moment of weakness. One he had no intention of repeating.
He could pretend that nothing had happened and bury his memories of it alongside every other mistake he had made where Edith was concerned. But it was not as easy as it sounded. The harder he tried to push thoughts of her out of his mind, the more they burned in his chest, haunting him.
His eyes closed as he remembered the way her skin had felt beneath his touch and how she had looked at him.
She had not been afraid. She had not resisted him. Worse still, she had wanted him back with the same dangerous hunger he had spent weeks trying to bury.
And that terrified him more than he cared to admit.
Saints.
He opened his eyes and turned abruptly, heading for the door. He walked out into the dawn, leaving the castle behind as though some distance might finally silence his thoughts.
It did not work.
The whisper of the trees followed him down the path beyond the castle, reminding him of her voice and the way it had trembled when she whispered against his skin in the dark.
His feet stomped heavily against the ground. His steps slowed only when he neared the stables.
He drew in a long breath, the familiar scent of hay, leather, and horses taking his thoughts off her, easing the heaviness in his chest only for a moment.
His breathing slowed as he stepped into the stables. There was comfort in the routine of it. In work, and in the presence of the only creatures that he had ever allowed himself to openly care for.
His horse neighed softly as he approached it, running his fingers through its long dark mane before pausing to look around the stables.
There was no one around but him and the horses. The wooden posts looked like they had not been cleaned in a while, so he picked up a brush, rolling his sleeves up to his forearms.
Surely, it isnae much work, he told himself, as though he were not doing it to force his mind into silence.
He got to work at once, the bristles dragging against the wood in harsh, repetitive motions.
Surely she wouldnae leave.
He splashed water from a small bowl on the post, then continued to scrub.
She wouldnae leave the Highlands for the Lowlands.
He dropped the brush once he was satisfied, then picked up a rag.
She isnae used to life outside these walls. She has lived here since she was a wee lass. Surely, she would hate it.
His mind filled with images of Edith all over again, of the way she had trembled beneath his touch. Of the way she had rested fragile against his chest when he’d carried her in his arms. Of her swollen lips and her flushed face.
He thought of her laugh too—the one she did not know how to perform, the one that had startled out of her in the fields weeks ago and again at the fair as she watched children clamor for Caelan’s attention.
That laugh had nothing to do with the arrangement. It belonged entirely to her, and somehow, impossibly, he had started to recognize the difference between it and every other sound she made for the benefit of watching eyes.
He had not earned that laugh. Not truly. Not the way Martin had, apparently, with his quiet lessons and his careful praise. Not the way Scarlett had, simply by existing as her oldest friend.
Aaron had earned her arguments. Her sharp tongue. Her stubborn refusals. And for one reckless night in a carriage on a dark road, he had earned something else entirely.
He was not certain which version of her he wanted more.
“Saints,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the rag against the post until his knuckles whitened.
He had lost control. Worse, he had wanted to.
He straightened abruptly, but the air still carried the scent of wild lavender, faint and stubborn, clinging to him the way it had clung to everything since the carriage.
Perhaps I should prevent her from leaving.
He was the Laird. He could pass it as an order or prolong their betrothal if he wished. But he was not a man to go back on his word, and knowing Edith, she would raise hell if he tried.
Sirius stirred nearby, sensing his unease. She neighed, shifting her weight against the stall door. He walked toward her, running his hand over her neck.
“Ye at least daenae ask questions,” he muttered.
He lifted the latch on the gate and led her out slowly—a new distraction. But even there in the quiet dark of the stables, he could not escape Edith.
He could still feel the warmth of her mouth against his. He could still hear her breathing his name without the careful distance she usually maintained.
He closed his eyes briefly, his jaw tightening as his fingers caught in Sirius’s mane.
This was not who he was. He had spent fifteen years building himself into a man who did not lose control. Not to anger, grief, or anything that threatened the careful order he had constructed around Hallow Castle and everyone in it.
He had buried whatever softness he might have once carried beneath duty so thoroughly that he had nearly convinced himself it had never existed at all.
He was a brute incapable of feeling anything beyond order, control, and duty.
And yet Edith had nearly turned him into a different man with her sharp tongue and her darned lavender scent.
“I must end this,” he said to Sirius, his voice rough. “Before I ruin her.”
“That sounds like too much, even for ye.”