Aye. Romantic.
Her chest tightened as she stepped inside, but not because of the opulence of the chamber, though it was the most beautiful chamber she’d ever been given.
The chamber was four times the size of her old rooms, and a fire burned merrily in the grate, casting a soft golden light over the stone floors. A bed stood near the window, draped with sheets with embroidered edges and too many blankets.
All of her things were there—a few dresses and shoes—already neatly arranged in the wardrobe as though they had not been in the other wing of the castle just that evening.
“I cannae imagine a room as beautiful as this one,” Violet continued. “The Laird must really fancy ye, Edith.”
Aye. Or perhaps he fancies keeping me on a leash.
“Thank ye, Violet,” Edith said quietly.
Violet gave one last excited smile before slipping out and closing the door behind her.
The chamber was suddenly too silent. Edith stood still for a moment, then exhaled.
She crossed the room slowly, untying the laces of her gown as she went, her fingers clumsy with frustration rather than fatigue. The fabric fell softly into a pile at her feet, and she stepped out of it carefully, leaving it on the floor.
She did not bother taking off her shift. She sat on the edge of the bed, before falling back onto the soft mattress.
Goodness.
It was the most comfortable mattress she’d ever lain on, and yet she was the most uncomfortable she’d been in years.
She did not sleep that night. She could not.
CHAPTER SIX
“Hell,” Aaron muttered as the cups clinked softly against the wooden table.
He uncorked the whiskey bottle in his hand, and the stopper gave a soft, reluctant pop as it came free.
The faint scent of aged oak and peat rose in the air, and he inhaled, pausing for a brief moment before pouring the warm, amber liquid.
He poured a good measure into the first cup and then the second, filling each one evenly before sliding one across the table to his man-at-arms.
“Thank ye,” Caelan said.
Aaron carried his cup to the chair closest to the hearth, turning it once in his hand before relaxing into the seat with a slow exhale.
He had spent an entire evening performing before an audience. The weight of the day still hung heavy on his shoulders. Too many eyes, too many opinions, too many men speaking as though they had a right to dictate his life.
Fire crackled in the grate, filling the silence for a long moment as he sipped his whiskey.
“’Twas a bold move,” Caelan remarked. “Even for ye.” He lifted his cup, smelling the whiskey out of habit.
Aaron shot him a look. “Aye,” he said, taking another sip, the burn of the whiskey lingering on his tongue. “And ye nearly ruined it with yer face, smiling in the middle of a serious matter.”
Caelan snorted, leaning back in his chair. “Please. Nobody was lookin’ at me.” He swirled his cup once before finally taking a sip. “Half the councilmen looked ready to choke on their ale the moment Edith walked through the doors. The other half couldnae stop glaring at ye.”
Aaron scoffed. “Aye?”
“Aye,” Caelan replied easily. “Ye could’ve drawn a sword in the middle of supper, and fewer heads would’ve turned.”
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Aaron’s mouth.
“Besides,” Caelan continued, gesturing lazily with his cup, “when a stubborn laird announces he’s marrying a lowborn lass after spendin’ years refusing every noblewoman in the Highlands, folk tend to forget I exist entirely.”
