He wanted a simple answer—yes or no. But the very idea repulsed her.
Perhaps he expected her to be grateful.
Perhaps he thought she’d be too desperate to refuse.
And maybe… maybe he was right.
She glanced at the Laird, who was pacing slowly before her, each step heavy against the hardwood floors. She didn’t want to hear anything more from him, yet she knew deep down what was at stake.
Her sister’s life.
Their home.
Their future.
If she refused, Micah’s wrath would be swift and merciless. She could already see Maisie’s face if he caught them—bruised, broken… gone.
Lavina swallowed hard and rolled her shoulders back, refusing to let her fear show. Her glare didn’t falter as the Laird folded his arms across his chest.
“Surely ye can understand,” he said, his tone measured, as though he were speaking of crops and not lives. “In me position, I need a wife. Someone who understands loyalty. Yer situation should allow ye to see the freedom that comes with such an arrangement.”
Freedom?
The word nearly made her laugh.
He spoke as though marrying her was a mercy.
Lavina’s gaze dropped to the scar across his face—one she’d heard her parents whisper about. It was a constant reminder of the man’s past, and perhaps of the violence he was capable of.
“If I refuse,” she asked quietly, “ye’ll cast us out? Is that it?”
He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. The truth hung heavy in the air between them.
Finally, he spoke, “Aye, that’s right. Why take on more mouths than I can feed?”
“But ye’re one of the wealthiest lairds on the isle,” Lavina pointed out, dumbfounded. “How can ye propose such a deal?”
He saw her hesitation and leaned in. “If ye agree, ye’ll be safe. Married, aye, but safe. I’ll protect ye, and when the time comes, ye’ll have a place here. And nae just ye, but yer sister as well. She’s important to ye, is she nae? Then, she’ll be able to stay and wed whomever she pleases. Is that what ye want to hear? Is that what will sweeten this deal?”
“I’ll nae be yer prize,” Lavina said, her voice low but steady.
A flicker of amusement crossed his features, as if her defiance entertained him. He arched an eyebrow.
“Ye’re bold, arenae ye?” he muttered, before crossing to the bar in the corner of the room and pouring himself a drink—some dark, amber liquid.
“I have matters to tend to,” he said, dismissing her. “If ye want to see to yer sister, ye’ll find her down the hall. Once ye reach the foyer, turn into the second hall on the right. Head for the hallway with the yellow tapestry, nae the green one. The place will smell of burned sugar and whisky. The healer, Aaron, will be tendin’ to her.”
Her mouth fell open, shocked at how effortlessly he dismissed her. She bobbed a quick, stiff curtsy and stormed toward the door, her skirts swishing around her legs. But as she crossed the threshold, his voice stopped her.
“I hope ye value yer sister as much as ye say,” he called. “Because if ye walk away from this offer, it may be the last time ye share a chamber in this life.”
She paused, her jaw clenched. Her fingers curled tightly at her sides. Every fiber in her body screamed at her to fight. Instead, she simply walked away, her silence louder than words.
Lavina heard footsteps echoing from the hall as she followed the Laird’s directions. The castle felt colder now, as if the very stones knew what she’d agreed to—or rather, what she hadn’t refused.
She descended the narrow staircase, the scent of damp stone and old whisky guiding her. She pushed through a heavy wooden door and entered a wide, dimly lit room. A weak fire burned in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls.
There, curled up beneath a tattered blanket, was Maisie.
