Edith was safe. She had made sure of it.
She just hadn't figured out yet what to do about herself.
CHAPTER TWO
The castle was alive in a way Scarlett hadn’t seen in years. Servants hurried through the corridors with armfuls of rushes, fresh straw laid in the courtyard to soften the thunder of hooves. The kitchens rattled and smoked; the fires had been blazing from dawn while the great hall had been polished and swept until the stone floor gleamed. Everyone spoke in hushed tones of the McLaren riders expected before nightfall.
Scarlett sat in her chamber while Edith knelt before her, fastening the ribbons on her gown. The dark green silk caught the light, a shade chosen by Aaron’s steward to mark her as a Gallaway daughter even as she stood on the edge of leaving.
“I feel like a goose trussed for market,” Scarlett muttered, tugging at the sleeves.
Edith laughed softly. “Ye look bonnie, Scarlett. There’s nay man alive who will see ye today and think otherwise.”
Scarlett groaned, throwing herself back against the chair. “That’s precisely the problem. I’m meant to not look bonnie enough to be bartered away.”
Edith shook her head, smoothing the fabric across her knees. “Nae bartered. Married. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” Scarlett’s lips twisted. “Feels the same to me.”
Edith sat back on her heels, studying her. “Then tell me this, what do ye imagine he’ll be like? This Laird McLaren?”
Scarlett lifted her brows, pretending to consider. “Old, surely. Balding, with a belly from too much ale. A man who snores through his council meetings.”
Edith giggled. “Scarlett!”
“What? I’d rather imagine him foolish than imagine him cruel.”
The laughter faded from Edith’s face, replaced with something gentler. “And if he is neither? What if he’s kind?”
Scarlett toyed with a ribbon at her wrist, her fingers smudged faintly with charcoal, no matter how much she scrubbed. “Then I’ll count meself lucky. But I willnae hope too much, Edith. Hope makes fools of us.”
Scarlett stared down at her hands, her breath hitching in a small, frustrated huff. Despite three frantic scrubbings this morning, the charcoal remained, ground deep into the creases of her knuckles and the beds of her nails. It looked like shadows clinging to her skin.
She rubbed her thumb over her pointer finger, the skin raw and pink from the lye soap, but the stubborn black dust refused to budge. It was a mark of who she was, an artist, a woman who looked at the world and tried to capture its soul, and it was a mark that had no place in the life Aaron had sold her into.
Let the McLaren see it. Let him see that her fingers were stained with something other than the Gallaway name. If he wanted a porcelain doll to sit at his table, he had bartered for the wrong woman.
Edith touched her hand, her voice soft. “Hope also keeps us breathing.”
Before Scarlett could answer, the door opened without a knock. Aaron stepped inside, filling the space with his presence. His eyes flicked immediately to Edith.
Edith dropped her gaze and rose quickly. “Laird Gallaway.” She bobbed a curtsy, retreating a step.
Aaron gave her a brief nod then turned his full attention to his sister. “It’s time, Scarlett.”
Scarlett rose, smoothing her skirts, her displeasure obvious on her face. “Already?”
“The McLaren riders are nearing the gates.”
Scarlett glanced at Edith, whose eyes shone with a mix of pride and sorrow. She squeezed her friend’s hand once more before letting go. “Stay close,” she whispered.
Edith’s throat bobbed as she nodded. “Always.”
Aaron watched the exchange with unreadable eyes. Then, without another word, he turned and held the door open for Scarlett.
She followed him out with her pulse quickening.
The great hall was filled with the restless hum of voices. Clan Gallaway men lined the walls, their tartans bright against the stone, while the servants kept bustling with last-minute arrangements. Scarlett stood at Aaron’s side on the dais, and her palms were damp against the folds of her gown.
