“As if ye willnae be just fine on yer own!” Hamish scoffed. “Since ye ken that yer own path is better than any that would seek to protect ye! Any laird that I partner ye with would provide ye a lifetime of comfort!”
He truly had no idea what he was saying. Nor what he was attempting to condemn her to.
Emily’s eyes rolled despite herself. It was not that she didn’t appreciate everything that she presently had. She loved herhome, she loved her clan and her family, even when there were moments like this when she clashed with her father.
“Ye will be married. I give ye till the snows at the end of the year and nay later,” Hamish insisted. His tone said that his word on this was final, and there was no other way about it. “Whoever asks for yer hand next shall have it. I am finished with these games.”
Emily scoffed again, ready to retort, but the look in her father’s eyes and her mother’s warning headshake stopped her. “Fine, Faither. I understand.”
Hamish nodded and turned sharply on his heel, before storming out of his study, leaving her alone with her mother.
Emily stepped into her mother’s waiting embrace with a knowing wink and a smile. “But what if they daenae want to marry me?”
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 hisrevenge.
His reputation always preceded him anyway. It was not as if every young lady in the room didn’t side-eye him with less thansubtle 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.
