Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Dawn fell slowly upon Hallow.
The fires from the festival had long since burned down to embers, and the courtyard lay quiet, emptied of everything but the gentle aftermath of a successful celebration.
Aaron stopped at the window in the Great Hall, a cup of untouched whiskey cradled in his hand as he watched the pale light spread slowly across the eastern hills.
It was over. MacFaris was dead. His son—the man in black—had been caught attempting to flee through the western gate, and Caelan had brought him to the same fate before the night was over.
The entire incident had gone without notice, and by the time the last of the guests began their journey home, only a handful of people knew what had truly unfolded within the keep.
They would all learn of it, eventually. News like this never remained buried for long.
But for today, Hallow was quiet, and Aaron allowed himself to simply stand there, breathing in the silence.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
“Me Laird.”
Caelan crossed the hall, stopping a few paces away as Aaron turned to face him fully.
“Report.”
“The bodies have been taken care of,” Caelan said, simply and without ceremony, the way he delivered all necessary truths. “His men surrendered once they understood what had become of him. Three of them. I have them held in the south tower until ye decide what to do with them.”
Aaron nodded. “And his lands?”
Caelan exhaled slowly. “By law, they fall to ye. MacFaris had no legitimate male heir. There is only the daughter now—the one he once offered ye in marriage.” He paused. “She is the last of his bloodline.”
Aaron set his cup down on the windowsill.
“She is nae to be harmed,” he said immediately. “Whatever her faither did, she carries no guilt for his actions.”
“Aye, me Laird. I expected nothin’ less.”
“The matter of the lands will be decided later,” Aaron continued, his voice steady. “With a clear head and proper counsel. I never wanted to take MacFaris’s lands by force.”
Caelan nodded. “As ye say.”
“The men in the south tower—feed them. They were followin’ orders, same as any soldier. I will speak with them before any judgment is made.”
Caelan studied him for a moment, quiet approval clear in his expression.
“Is that everything?” Aaron asked.
“Aye,” Caelan said. “The messenger and his maither are reunited. The festival grounds are cleared. The clan is settled. The keep is secure.” He paused briefly. “And Lady Edith is awake.”
Something stirred in Aaron’s chest.
“Martin says she slept through most of the night,” Caelan added. “The wound is clean. She is well.”
Aaron’s eyes closed briefly against the relief that flooded through him.
He had known it since Martin’s initial assessment. He had known it through every hour of the long night and had held onto Edith’s words like a lifeline as he secured the keep, even when every instinct screamed at him to return to her side.
Knowing she was fine and believing it were, as it turned out, two different things.
Aaron moved away from the window, heading toward the corridor before motioning for Caelan to follow him.
Scarlett was in Martin’s chamber when they arrived. She stood at Edith’s bedside, her hand resting lightly on her friend’s. Their voices carried softly as Scarlett filled her in on the moments of the festival that she had missed.
Edith looked up once he entered, her eyes lighting up with a relief so open that Aaron nearly stopped in the doorway.
“Ye came back,” she said.
“I told ye I would.” He crossed to her side with a considerably less controlled composure than he was accustomed to maintaining in company. “How is it?” He nodded toward her bandaged arm, his hand finding hers as though it were a reflex.
“Very well,” she said, her mouth curving faintly. “I told ye it wasnae deep.”
“Aye,” Aaron said, barely able to hold back a smile. “Ye did.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. The weight of everything that had happened between them in the study settled quietly into the morning air, acknowledged without either of them speaking it out loud.
Scarlett cleared her throat gently.
Aaron glanced at her. She was watching him with an expression that somehow looked both deeply emotional and deeply smug.
“Scarlett,” he said.
“Aaron,” she replied brightly.
There was only one thing he wanted to ask of her. One request that he knew would send her over the moon.
“Ye may arrange the binding,” he said simply.
Scarlett’s breath left her in a rush.
For one remarkable moment, his sister—who had always had the right words for every moment—said absolutely nothing at all. Then she pressed both hands over her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she made a sound that could only be described as a joyful sob.
“Scarlett,” Edith said, laughing despite herself.
“Daenae,” Scarlett choked out, waving a hand at them both as tears spilled freely down her cheeks. “Daenae say a word. I have been waitin’ for this since ye told me the truth of the betrothal. I kent. I absolutely kent.”
She stopped, pressing her hands more firmly over her mouth as though that might contain the rest of it.
Aaron watched his sister with more affection than he typically allowed himself to display, something loosening in his chest that had been coiled tight for longer than he cared to admit.
“Whenever ye are ready,” he said dryly.
Scarlett laughed, dropping her hands. “Aye. The binding.” She straightened, composing herself with visible effort. “I shall make arrangements immediately. Robert and I can stay here for another fortnight at least, and there is no reason why—”
“Scarlett.”
She stopped.
“Take a breath.”
She took a breath. Then she immediately began planning again, though at a slightly lower volume, turning toward Edith to discuss everything as though she’d just found her purpose.
Edith caught Aaron’s eye over her shoulder. Her expression carried something he had no word for, but he understood it because he felt it too. Peace and gratitude.
Caelan cleared his throat, drawing their attention to him. He gave a sheepish smile.
“Me Laird,” he said, sounding oddly formal. “I have a request.”
Aaron straightened slightly. It was unusual for Caelan to ask anything of him, especially with such seriousness.
“Aye?” he prompted.
“I would like yer permission,” Caelan said, “to court Violet.”
The chamber fell silent for a short moment, then Scarlett made a sound that could only be described as a delighted shriek.
“Caelan O’Keif,” she squealed, spinning toward him with an expression of pure joy. “Ye absolute—”
“I am speakin’ to the Laird,” Caelan said with great dignity, though color had risen to his face.
Aaron regarded his man-at-arms for a long moment. He let the silence stretch out long enough to be uncomfortable, the way Caelan had done to him on dozens of occasions over the years. Then, finally, he spoke.
“Ye have me permission.”
Caelan’s shoulders dropped by approximately half an inch in barely concealed relief. “Thank ye, me Laird.” He turned to Scarlett then, returning her excited smile with a brief nod. “Thank ye, Scarlett.”
The entire chamber was brimming with joy.
“I should warn ye,” Aaron teased, “the lass is Edith’s maid. I suspect the standards will be high.”
“I am well aware,” Caelan said.
Edith laughed from the bed, where she was now sitting up.
Aaron stood in the center of it all—the laughter, the plans already forming, his sister’s joy and his most trusted man’s flustered dignity—and for the first time in longer than he could properly account for, he found that he was truly happy. Truly content.
He looked at Edith. She was watching him with a small smile on her lips, her hand cradled in his, the medallion still at her throat exactly where he had placed it weeks ago.
She mouthed two words to him, quiet enough that only he could see.
Kiss me.
Aaron smiled. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.