“Do ye remember,” Scarlett said, “when ye taught me to ride here?”
Aaron glanced at her, grateful for the chance to finally escape his thoughts. “Aye. Ye fell three times before ye learned to balance properly.”
“Nay,” she corrected him, smiling gently. “It was four times. Ye only say three because ye refuse to count the time we fell off Sirius’s back together.”
Aaron huffed. He had never fallen off a horse once in his life. But his sister had insisted on remembering it like that for years, and now there was no changing her mind.
Still, he did not give in.
“I jumped down from the horse to save ye.”
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Nay, ye didnae.”
“It was deliberate. Perhaps I shall swear on me honor, so ye would believe me.”
“There is no reason to swear. I can just ask Sirius.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “And how would she ken?” he asked. “She doesnae have eyes at the back of her head.”
Scarlett laughed at that, the sound carrying in the morning air as she relaxed her grip on her reins, slowing down.
They rode further, their conversation drifting easily between memories neither of them had revisited in years.
They laughed about the one time Aaron nearly drowned as a young lad. He had been trying to prove he could swim across the loch faster than any man in the Highlands, and he had failed in his desperate attempt to breathe without coming up for air.
They laughed about the one time Scarlett had hidden in Aaron’s bedchamber to scare him, only to send all the clansmen on a search party looking for her. About the time she swore that the castle had ghosts, and how she had believed that only her mother’s silver medallion could protect her.
She still believed in the powers of the silver medallion. It was why she had sent it to Edith and made Aaron deliver it himself. It was why he had ended up kissing Edith in the corridor.
Aaron sighed.
Life had been easier when he was younger, though it started to take a different shape once Scarlett was born. Their mother had died giving birth to her, and their father had been distant all his years, so he’d had to grow up faster, raising a child when he was barely a lad.
It became tougher when their father died a few years later. Scarlett was only seven, and he was eighteen, needed by his clan to fill his father’s shoes lest they all suffer.
He had learned to become a leader without a guide. A Laird who learned to wield his sword battle after battle, growing with just one loyal man by his side.
Eventually, they stopped near a small rise overlooking the eastern boundary. They dismounted their horses, allowing them to graze the fields nearby. They stood side by side in silence, watching the mist lift from the fields below.
“Ye ken,” Scarlett said, her voice as quiet as the morning. “Ye daenae have to carry everything anymore.”
Aaron did not say anything in response. He understood what she was talking about before she even explained it. But how was he to accept it when all he knew was this life?
“Ye spent half yer life raisin’ me,” Scarlett continued. “Raisin’ these people. Protectin’ the clan. Becomin’ whatever everyone needed ye to be.” Her voice softened. “But ye daenae have to keep living that way.”
“Ye cannae understand.”
Scarlett shook her head. “Ye are right. I cannae. But I ken that ye are allowed to want something at least. Something for yerself.”
Aaron’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
“That is the problem,” he said. “I do want somethin’.” His voice was raw and honest in a way he rarely permitted, even with her. “I just cannae have it.”
Scarlett frowned, confusion flashing across her face. “Why?”
“Because if I take it…” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I become the very thing I swore I would never be.”
Scarlett moved closer, obviously concerned. “What are ye talkin’ about?”
