“Play,” he ordered the piper, and the hall stilled, the murmurs ceasing at once. “A song for me future wife.”
The first note rose slowly, soft and low, filling the hall the way dawn filled a room gradually and then all at once. The melody was a Highland air, old and familiar, the kind that had been played at celebrations and gatherings since before any of them had been born.
Aaron turned to look at her, and she started slightly. His expression was unreadable, as it so often was. But the look in his eyes was not. He did not need to say a word, although his message was clear—no one would speak against her while she sat at his side.
Her chest filled again as she held his gaze, and this time, she couldn’t help but feel his authority burning through her.
She looked away, breaking eye contact just as the same emotions she’d just sworn off began to resurface.
Nay, I cannae allow it.
The music filled the hall around her, warm and unhurried. She kept her eyes on the candle in front of her and focused on breathing evenly, the way Martin had taught her to focus when something required steadiness she did not feel.
Separate yerself from what ye feel.
It was good advice. It was considerably harder to apply when the cause of her inner turmoil was sitting six inches to her left, entirely composed, as though ordering a piper to silence an entire hall on her behalf was simply another evening in his life.
Perhaps it was.
Perhaps that was precisely the problem.
She thought about the cottage waiting for her in her mother’s village. The herbs she would grow. The people she would treat. The life she had been building in her mind since she was old enough to understand that healing was the one thing she wanted badly enough to wait for.
That life was still there. Still waiting. Two weeks away.
She held onto it carefully.
The medallion lay cool against her collarbone, Scarlett’s weight against her skin, and the pouch sat in her pocket, where she had tucked it and not moved it since.
She should want to leave. Shewantedto. But she also did not want to.
She stared at her plate.
Two more weeks, she told herself.Then it will be over.
She was no longer sure whether that thought was a comfort or not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Edith sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed. Violet stood behind her, carefully working her fingers through her long auburn hair.
It was the beginning of the third week. The morning of the village fair.
The castle had been restless since before dawn, and even from her chamber, Edith could hear the distant noise drifting through the open shutters.
Voices carried from the courtyard, accompanied by the sounds of wagons entering and leaving through the gates, and all the chaos that came with the preparations for the fair.
The morning was still young, but before noon, the village would be crowded with merchants, musicians, clansfolk, and travelers.
She sighed.
Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been excited about it. Instead, her stomach filled with dread that she cared not to acknowledge.
A full day in his company.
The thought of it should not have unsettled her.
It was only another performance. Another outing for which Aaron would pay her. And yet every time she reminded herself of the truth, her thoughts wandered to the corridor outside her chamber and the way he had kissed her against the wall. And every time she remembered the kiss, her chest tightened at the memory of the pouch he had handed her after.
