Chapter 16

The sun filtered through the thick curtains of Scarlett's room, and the sounds of the morning gently roused her from sleep. The gray stone walls glowed golden where the sun hit. She let her eyes fall on the dark blue box lying on the bedside table and reached a hand from the warmth of her blankets to grab it.

The small oath rock sparkled and glistened as she held it up into the sunbeam over her bed. The shadow of her hand danced across the golden stone with each twist and turn of her arm, and light reflected all around the canopy above the bed.

It is all a ruse, Scarlett. It's a ruse.

She inhaled and pressed her lips into a firm, frustrated line before exhaling. Her mother's chastising voice echoed in her mind.

"Mind yer scowl lest the wind makes it permanent."

"Ugh!" she groaned loudly, and brought the rock down, holding it tight.

A loud rapping on her door startled her, and she quickly placed the rock back into the box and on the bedside table as another knock echoed through her room.

"Yes!"

The young maid entered with her head lowered, it was Kenna. "Morning, Me Lady. Och! Did I wake ye? I figured ye were awake. It's later than usual."

"Nay, I was just feeling chilled, Kenna, so I stayed beneath the blankets."

Scarlett's answer lightened the mood, and the young maid smiled and dipped before moving through her room. "I'll rekindle the fire for ye, Me Lady," she said, before placing a dark woolen dress and gray knitted hand warmers on the foot of her bed.

The maid followed Scarlett's gaze to the dress and explained quickly, "Uh, Laird McLaren told us to get ye ready for a walk through the gardens this morning."

"I see, thank ye." Scarlett sat up. She wrapped the top blanket around her shoulders and sat in the large chair in front of the growing fire. Her thoughts raced back to last night. How his breath hit her ear like a warm shawl. How his voice as it deepened so deliciously as he said, ‘How's this for romance?'. The oath stone he gave her called her name from the bedside table. She wanted to run her thumb over the etchings once more.

"How's that, Me Lady?" the maid asked, gesturing toward the small fire she had lit.

"It's lovely, thank ye."

"I'll be back shortly to help ye get dressed."

"Aye, thank ye," Scarlett said and lifted her legs under her nightshift and blanket.

Mrs. Cameron had returned instead of the young maid, bringing a dark blue shawl with large, amber buttons that reminded Scarlett of Laird McLaren's eyes.

"Lady Niamh asked me to bring this to ye, in case ye didnae have a shawl for the morning chill."

"I will thank her in person. Thank ye, Mrs. Cameron," Scarlett said and stood up, so the housekeeper could dress her properly.

"The Laird will meet ye in the courtyard by the stables," Mrs. Cameron added as she finished tying her skirt.

Scarlett wrapped the blue shawl around her shoulders and bodice, and pulled on the hand warmers before nodding and following the housekeeper out of the castle to meet her Laird.

Saint Andrew preserve me…

Laird McLaren stood tall and imposing against the early morning mist. His broad shoulders were framed by his tartan sash, and he wore trews in the bitter chill of the morning, as he did the morning before. Scarlett appreciated the way his muscular thighs rippled under the fabric, and her eyes widened as she took in the full measure of him.

Quite impressive, indeed…

Mrs. Cameron cleared her throat, undoubtedly sensing the shift in Scarlett's mood, and took her leave from her in the dark hallway.

Arran turned at the subtle sound of the housekeeper's departure, and Scarlett steeled herself before walking out to meet him.

She felt his eyes look her over with each step she took toward him. "Good morning, Laird McLaren," she greeted tentatively.

"Morning, lass," he said coolly and turned to tidy the reins of the two large horses standing idly next to them.

"Are we ridin' this morning?" Scarlett asked, and then winced at her thoughtless question.

Duh, why did I ask that?

She recovered and watched his dark hair frame his chiseled, shadowed face as he turned to face her.

The look on his face matched her thoughts, as he playfully but coldly answered, "Aye."

"It's just that, well, Mrs. Cameron said we were going on a walk…"

"We will, but not until later. We will visit the gardens with the Shepherds and me sister. For now, we will ride. Ye can ride, right?"

Scarlett twisted to glare at him, but the early rays of the sun peaking over the stables hit her eyes. He sidestepped so his body blocked the glare.

"Aye," she clipped, "I can ride."

Arran donned the cloak that was draped over his arm and motioned for her to mount the red Andalusian horse that was saddled and standing next to his black Highland pony.

Impressed by the rare breed standing in front of her, Scarlett stroked the mare's mane and looked up at him with unbridled wonder. "Is this a true Andalusian?"

"Aye, it was a gift that me faither gave to me maither."

"So, she is yer maither's mare?"

"Aye, she was," he said firmly, and she knew that was the end of the discussion.

Scarlett silently grabbed the reins and held the pommel. She felt his eyes on her back as she checked to make sure the saddle was secured. She then placed her foot in the stirrup to spring off the ground, when she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her. She swung her leg smoothly over the horse's back, and he guided her to sit upright in the saddle with ease.

"Thank ye, but I've mounted a horse before," she said.

The warmth of his hands lingered on her bodice.

"I could tell, but I couldnae help meself."

Couldnae help himself?

She looked at him thoughtfully as he stroked the horse's neck. "This is Sorcha."

"Sorcha," Scarlett echoed.

The red mare let out a soft chuff, its warm breath forming small clouds in the cool morning air. Sorcha was a beautiful mare, and Scarlett felt connected to her somehow already.

Ye're safe with me, lass…

Scarlett sat upright and loosened her grip on the reins as Arran mounted his tall, black Highland Pony.

"What's his name?"

"Morag."

"Aye, and he is as magnificent as his name," she noted, admiring the pony as well as his strikingly handsome rider.

"Shall we?" Arran asked after patting his horse reassuringly and pressing his legs into its flanks to nudge it into a trot.

Scarlett mirrored his actions, and the red mare fell into step slightly behind them. "Where are we going?"

"I have to show ye something."

"Aye, can we just trot though? I dinnae ken that a wild ride this early would be much enjoyable."

"Aye, it willnae take too long. Ye need to get acquainted with me lands."

"Could we nae do this after the feast ends?"

Arran pulled on Morag's reins to slow down. "Do ye nae want to go?"

"I didnae say that. I'm just surprised, that's all!"

"I promised romance, lass. Even though this here between us is a ruse," he reminded her as he casually batted away an errant twig. "Now, everyone will see us together when we get back."

"But we're unaccompanied."

"I've announced it to the entire group. Yer honor is nay longer in question, but yer faither is meeting us out later."

Scarlett's head whipped around. "What? Me faither?"

She saw the muscle in Arran's jaw tick as he gritted his teeth. "Aye, I didnae stutter, lass," he growled, his frustration with her growing.

It was clear that she shared the same sentiment when she huffed. "Why do ye nae just tell me why I'm out on a ride with ye? What should I ken about it?"

Arran nudged Morag into a quicker trot, and Scarlett followed closely with Sorcha. His response was so quiet that it was almost as if the words were being carried away by the breeze before they reached her ears.

"We're going to the clan burial grounds."