Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
If anyone had asked, Aaron would have denied pacing the entire length of the corridor.
He exhaled, his chest tightening slightly as he stared up the empty staircase, rubbing his palms together.
His thumbs hooked restlessly into his belt, his fingers tightened into fists, and only a few moments later, he was rubbing his palms together again.
The Great Hall had filled earlier than expected.
Clansfolk had gathered for the procession before the festival proper began, the elders and councilmen had readied themselves to host half the Highlands for a day of celebration, and Caelan had stationed himself near the main doors with the watchful stillness of a man who had already counted every head twice.
Aaron had counted nothing. His attention was focused on one thing only—Edith, and when she would finally appear at the top of the staircase.
There was a crowd waiting outside for them. Voices drifted through the Great Hall, and the musicians had already begun tuning their instruments, their quiet notes rising and falling against the growing murmurs of the gathered people.
But Aaron heard none of it. His gaze remained on the staircase until, finally, a sliver of deep green appeared around the bend of the upper landing.
His breath caught.
His pulse quickened as Edith stepped fully into view, and for one impossible moment, the noise of the Great Hall seemed to fall away entirely.
She descended the staircase slowly, her gloved hand trailing lightly along the banister. Her green gown caught the light from the high windows above in a way that made the gold embroidery shimmer faintly with every step.
Saints.
Aaron had seen her in many states since their arrangement began. He had seen her composed, streaked with mud, laughing, and trembling beneath his hand. In the days that led up to this moment, he had thought himself prepared for whatever version of her would appear before him.
But he was not prepared for this.
Her auburn hair cascaded in waves that framed her face, the rest of its long length flowing down her back.
The gown fit her with precision, just the way he had imagined it, and the deep green color brought out the warmth in her eyes, the faint scatter of freckles across her nose standing out against her glowing skin.
She looked like a lady.
She looked impossibly like his lady.
His heart gave one hard, painful thump against his ribs, and he crossed the remaining distance without thinking about it, his hand extending toward hers as she reached the bottom step.
“Edith.”
Her name left his tongue roughly, but Edith did not seem to mind. She placed her hand in his, her touch hotter than anything he had ever felt. His hand held onto her as though she were the most important thing in the world.
A flush rose to her cheeks, and she looked away, seemingly shy.
“Me Laird,” she said softly, raising her eyes slowly to meet his again.
“Ye look—” Aaron stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he searched for the best words to describe her.
Beautiful. Like everything I have been tryin’ nae to want.
“—well,” he said instead, the word entirely inadequate for what he actually meant.
Something flickered in Edith’s expression—disappointment, perhaps—and she looked away once again, her gaze flitting over the empty corridor.
What is happenin’ to me?
Aaron’s jaw tightened. He had built his entire reputation on order and control. On saying precisely what needed to be said and nothing more. On managing every situation with the same calculated precision that he applied to border disputes and trade negotiations.
He was not the sort of man to stumble over simple sentences. He did not lose himself in the company of a woman. And yet here he stood, utterly unable to form a complete thought in Edith’s presence.
“Shall we?” he managed finally, gesturing toward the doors where the sound of music and celebration had already begun drifting in.
Edith nodded, putting her hand on his arm before they walked together into the Great Hall.
The space had emptied considerably as clansfolk made their way outside ahead of them, but the few who remained turned to watch them with open curiosity. The councilmen who had once questioned Edith’s worth now offered respectful nods as she passed.
Aaron felt her hand tighten slightly on his arm.
“Are ye well?” he asked quietly, leaning close enough so that only she could hear.
“Aye,” she said, though her voice carried a thread of tension that suggested otherwise. “It’s just that… there are many people.”
He understood immediately.
The fair had been crowded, certainly, but she had not been the central focus, and neither had the clan.
Besides, the harvest festival drew people from every corner of his lands and several neighboring ones—faces Edith had never seen, and names she could not possibly know.
And they all watched her with curious, scrutinizing gazes.
He put his hand on the small of her back with a firmness he hoped communicated something steadier than his own racing thoughts, guiding her out into the courtyard.
The courtyard beyond had completely transformed overnight.
Long tables stretched along the perimeter, laden with enough food to feed the entire Highlands twice over. Musicians had gathered near the central green, their instruments already filling the air with the bright, layered sound of pipes and fiddles warming toward the celebration ahead.
Banners in Hallow colors hung from every post and archway, and beyond the courtyard, Aaron could see the fields stretching toward the horizon, dotted with the smaller gatherings and stalls of the wider village.
It was, by any measure, the largest celebration Hallow had hosted in years. And every single soul present seemed determined to watch the Laird and his betrothed walk through it.
“There are too many people,” Edith repeated, her grip on his arm tightening further as they moved deeper into the crowd. “I daenae recognize half of them.”
“Neither do I,” Aaron admitted. “Many have traveled from neighborin’ lands. Tenants of MacFaris, I suspect, among others.”
Edith’s steps faltered slightly at the name, though she recovered quickly enough that he doubted anyone else had noticed.
He pulled her closer instinctively, anchoring her against him as they continued through the press of well-wishers and curious onlookers offering bows and congratulations at every turn.
Edith looked up at him then, smiling. It was not the careful, performed smile she always offered whenever they were together in front of the councilmen and clansfolk. It was smaller, more genuine, meant entirely for him.
Aaron’s chest warmed at once. The smile had landed somewhere beneath his ribs with considerably more force than he was prepared for, and he did not know how best to receive it.
He looked away quickly, greeting the crowd and accepting congratulations and well-wishes with practiced grace.
Soon, Edith’s composure steadied until she settled into the performance she had perfected over weeks of careful practice. Except it no longer felt like a performance to him.
Aaron found himself warmed by the way she charmed a cluster of young girls who had gathered to admire her gown, and the way she genuinely laughed at an elderly tenant’s joke about married life.
For the first time, he was allowing himself to be truly present, and for the first time, the event did not seem as frivolous as he had always thought it to be.
By the time they reached the central green where the musicians waited, the morning had settled completely into itself, the sun climbing higher and warming the air enough that several of the older guests had retreated to the shaded tables along the courtyard’s edge.
Caelan appeared beside him, his expression carrying the solemnity he reserved for official announcements.
“Me Laird,” he said, loudly enough for the people nearby to hear. “The clan awaits the openin’ dance.”
Aaron’s chest tightened. This was the moment he had been both anticipating and dreading since the village fair—the public declaration before the entire clan, the first dance that would mark the betrothal as fully, formally real in the eyes of everyone watching.
He turned to Edith. She had gone slightly pale, though she kept her chin high as always.
“Are ye ready?” he asked quietly.
“Are ye?” she countered, a nervous smile touching her lips.
Aaron found himself smiling back, something easing in his chest despite the weight of everyone’s attention.
“Aye,” he said. “I believe I am.”
He led her toward the center of the cleared space, the crowd parting around them silently.
The musicians struck the opening notes of the same Highland song that had played at their first dance weeks ago, the melody settling over the gathered people.
Aaron took her hand, his other hand settling on her waist with ease.
This was nothing like the dance lesson in the Great Hall, with its stamped boots and breathless laughter and the small lad who had interrupted them at the end.
This was charged in an entirely different way.
Every movement felt deliberate, weighted with something neither of them had voiced aloud.
When he spun her, her hair caught the afternoon light exactly as it had that first night, the scent of wild lavender rising between them as she returned to his arms.
When his hand pressed against the curve of her waist, he felt her breath catch, the same way it had in the carriage, the same way it had every time he had allowed himself to touch her since their arrangement had begun.
Aaron swallowed. It struck him then that there would come a day when another man would put his hands on her like this.
The thought tightened his chest so violently that he nearly missed the next step.
I cannae allow it.
They moved through the rest of the dance with a synchronicity that had nothing to do with practice and everything to do with the tension that had been building between them for weeks. Every glance held a beat too long, every touch lingered past what propriety required.
The crowd around them faded into the background, and there was only Edith. Her eyes locked on his, her smile soft and unguarded in a way she rarely allowed in public, her hand warm in his as he guided her through the final steps of the dance.
When the music finally drew to a close, neither of them stepped back. They stood there, their hands still joined, their breathing slightly unsteady. The entire clan was watching, but neither of them seemed aware.
“Edith,” Aaron said quietly, her name carrying as much weight as a full sentence would have.
She looked up at him, her eyes searching his.
Whatever she might have said was lost in the applause and cheers that erupted around them, but Aaron held onto it regardless, his breathing heavy under the weight of her gaze.
Her warm hand still rested in his, and along with it came the terrifying knowledge that whatever was happening between them had stopped being a performance days ago.