Chapter 2
Events like these were exactly the sort of thing that Kaden would rather avoid.
Clansmen and bannermen alike scattered throughout his decorated Great Hall.
Lively music played, and a pair of bagpipes seemed to be engaged in a battle of talent to see who could outplay the other.
Both men were red in the cheeks and straining, but their smiles were evident even from across the room.
Young men and women hoping to meet their matches moved in and out of organized circles as they danced around one another. And a dull din hovered over all of it to keep a steady buzzing in Kaden’s skull.
So many years of silence and nothing but the scurrying of rats to keep him company had ill prepared him for how sociable he was expected to be, now that he had reclaimed the lairdship.
He could remember enjoying things like this as a boy.
He could remember his much smaller self running from maids and tutors.
Dodging through full skirts and around those sloshing wine glasses and speaking merrily.
There had been a time when such social frivolity had energized him greatly.
Now, it only made his eyes hurt and an uncomfortable restlessness rattle his bones.
Somewhere in the crowd was his mother, charming those around her and likely still attempting to do damage control and apologize for the sudden, ruthless reappearance of her son.
Kaden didn’t think for a single moment that his mother didn’t wish him home, and he knew how blessed she felt because of his return. But even though four years had passed since his return, she still didn’t seem to know how to relate to him.
She kept looking for the kind, mischievous boy that she had birthed in the scarred shell of a man who now occupied the prominent seat in the hall, no matter how many times he had proven that he was no longer the same person.
Even the memories felt like glimpses into a stranger’s life. Thinking of the life and man that he might have grown into, had he not been tortured for so long, only filled him with a bitter rage.
No, it was far better to simply keep to himself, to live in the moment. To plot his revenge.
His reputation always preceded him anyway. It was not as if every young lady in the room didn’t side-eye him with less than subtle shudders. At least the fact that most who looked upon him feared him meant that he didn’t have to waste breath tolerating idle chatter and frivolous side conversations.
No, the glass in his hand was truly the only reason he was still sitting here at the cèilidh that his younger sisters had insisted upon throwing. The whiskey warmed him; it was one of the only things that still did.
The way he saw it, as long as he was present long enough to make sure no fights broke out, and his sisters made it safely into their beds later, his duty would be fulfilled.
Kaden polished off his glass of whiskey and lifted his gaze long enough to look for the servant closest to him for a refill.
But before he could locate him, his eyes snagged on something else like a magnet—a small group of women.
Two faces he had seen in passing a few times over the last couple of years, and then one face that was decidedly new.
He would have remembered a lady like that. Tall, striking features, and even more piercing eyes. Her hair was loosened from the seemingly haphazard updo that she had arranged. Her dress didn’t seem to sit quite properly on her frame, despite the good quality of the fabric.
She seemed wholly lost in the conversation she was having with her friends, her smile bright even from across the room. She kept trying to push errant strands of hair from her face every few moments.
What could they possibly be speaking about that had her so amused? What does it feel like to be so unburdened? When was the last time that he had laughed?
Then again, looking at the striking lass, how long had it been since he had taken a woman to bed?
“I would stay far away from that one, Braither.”
Kaden turned slowly to face the woman speaking to him.
His eyebrow arched quizzically as his sister sat beside him without invitation.
He waited for her to explain herself, as she rarely needed permission to speak.
Freya tended to share every thought that passed behind her eyes without waiting for even so much as a break in whatever conversation that she was choosing to have.
“Aye, she is quite bonnie, I’ll grant ye that, Braither.
” She tilted her wine glass in the direction they were both glancing.
Kaden knew that it was likely rude to continue peering at the lass like this, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“But all the fancy faces in the world cannae fix a sour personality.”
Freya shook her head as if somehow that was enough explanation.
“So, ye just daenae care for her, then? Is it some girlish rivalry? Or do ye have something of substance to share with me?” Kaden asked with a soft sigh.
Freya cut him a dirty look. “Of course, I have a good reason! If she were suitable, daenae ye think that Maither and I would have been pushing ye toward her? She’s of the right age, and ye are well overdue for a wife!”
The urge to roll his eyes and turn back to his whiskey rose. But he couldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she had irritated him.
“She’s got two broken engagements to boot, as if that werenae enough.
” Freya sighed and shook her head. “There are rumors of how insufferable she is to men. I daenae ken why she wouldnae wish to marry for the good of her clan, but she has the nerve to come here, gallivanting around like she has nay duty, nay obligation!”
Kaden turned his attention momentarily back to the lass. He couldn’t help but note that she simply seemed to be having fun.
“I daenae ken if ye ken, Freya, but I daenae have the best reputation either,” he spoke mostly into the rim of his glass. “And I have told ye and Maither a dozen times that I have nay interest in finding a wife,” he added in what he hoped was a stern tone.
But Freya didn’t seem bothered by his words.
He sighed again. “Ye ken that ye are one of the only lassies in the whole room that can even stomach to speak to me, much less look at me.”
It was a rare moment of vulnerability, and he spoke quietly when he did so.
“Then how do ye suppose ye are going to produce the heirs that ye claim to wish for?” Freya challenged with a smirk, her eyebrow arching.
He wasn’t about to deny that the prospect of having a conversation with the tall woman was appealing, if nothing for the chance to know what could make her laugh that loudly, or what could fill her with so much joy. But it was an impossible thing to even think of.
“Perhaps ye might consider making an effort to appear less frightening, then? Or do ye suppose that sitting here, brooding and glaring at everyone like they might cause ye some heinous grievance at every possible moment, helps with yer image?” Freya leaned closer, grabbing his whiskey glass from his hands and downing it with a contented hum.
“Ye need the companionship, Braither. I ken that ye are used to being on yer own, and the Lord kens that ye willnae let me, Maither, nor Skye in, but this is nay way to live.”
She heaved a dreamy sigh as she turned her attention back to the dance floor.
Kaden could see in her eyes how badly she wished to be whisked to the dance floor, how badly she wanted to have somebody twirling her around.
There was something that he would have called romantic about the way she was imagining herself out there. But, personally, he couldn’t imagine anything more nauseating to constantly worry about, to have to spend all of his time focusing on. As if he didn’t have enough to worry himself with.
No, that was not a person he could afford to be any longer. If he were to get married, he would have to find a woman who didn’t want anything from him other than the title of Lady and who would agree to give him heirs. Just a wife, no emotions.
Maybe, just maybe, that might be something that would appeal to the lass he had been watching. There had to be a reason she was rejecting all those men.
Freya followed his gaze. “Maither said that the council was going to find ye a bride within a month if ye daenae find one today.” She nodded once more toward the tall lass.
Kaden tried to ignore the resentment that stirred within him at learning that people were meeting and speaking about him behind his back.
“Ye need a wife, and Emily Reid cannae be it.”
Well, Sister, I think Emily Reid is exactly what I need.