Chapter 22

"Thank ye for yer hospitality, Laird McLaren. We look forward to seeing ye shortly and on a very happy occasion." Mack Paton reached his hand out to grasp Arran's gratefully.

Sienna wiped away an errant tear and bowed low before kissing Scarlett goodbye. "Dear daughter, this is such a happy time. I'm at such a loss for words at how well this feast turned out for ye. What a wonderful match!"

Scarlett lunged forward and embraced her mother fiercely. "Och! Maither, I will miss ye so much!"

"I'll be back in about a week, dearest," Sienna said through her now-flowing tears. "I've told ye all I ken. Ye will be an amazing Lady of Clan McLaren."

"Sienna, we must go," Mack urged and coaxed her away from Scarlett.

He embraced his daughter and kissed the top of her head, before turning around and making for their carriage.

Scarlett followed them out and waved at her parents until the carriage disappeared into the distance. It wasn't until she dropped her hand that she realized that tears were flowing down her cheeks and she was whispering inaudible apologies.

"Lass?" she heard Arran call, but his voice sounded far away.

She quickly tried again and again to wipe her tears, but they kept coming. The lump in her throat grew so large that she rested a hand on her throat to coax it down.

What if she finds out? She's going to be so disappointed when we call it off. She's going to think I'm a failure. What will me faither think? Oh, Saint Dymphna, hear me.

Scarlett knew she failed at keeping it all together when she gasped and tried to breathe, and Arran's arms were around her immediately.

"Lass, I'm here. Ye're safe. I'm here," he repeated calmly as she buried her face in his chest.

"I just feel so guilty lying to them," she said through her uncontrollable sobs.

She felt his arm slide under her legs and lift her up to carry her away. Somewhere safe.

* * *

"Here, drink this," Arran said softly as he handed her a glass of whiskey.

Scarlett looked around, not understanding where he had taken her, and he leaned back into the chair across from her before answering her silent question.

"We're in me study, lass."

"I see," she uttered and then brought the drink to her lips.

The whiskey hit her lips with a comforting warmth. As she let the soothing heat spread through her, she felt an overwhelming calm blanket her heart and steady her breath.

Arran growled as he watched her. The memory of her lips on his was as vivid as the whiskey's bite, and her eyes shot open to meet his. Lingering red-hot desire was building behind two icy sapphires.

Dinnae look at me like that, lass.

Scarlett looked away from him, but not before he watched her gaze fall to his lips. She rolled her bottom lip with her tongue and bit it briefly before breaking the silence between them.

"I-I'm nae sure why I was so overcome with emotion. I'm sorry for that. I'm embarrassed."

"This is yer castle now, ye can do whatever ye please." Arran shrugged and crossed an ankle over his knee.

She took another sip and nodded her head thoughtfully.

Here goes nothin'…

"Lass, ye are right," he started, and the confusion on her face was enough of a response for him to continue. "This is yer castle, and ye should ken what's going on with it. The clan is facing financial ruin after the five-year war. That was the primary purpose of this feast. To save us."

Scarlett tilted her head and furrowed her brow. "Us?" she repeated.

"Aye, and our ceilidh next week."

"Also?" she asked dreamily.

Her tone gave Arran pause, and he mirrored her head tilt.

Is she following?

"Do ye ken what I'm talking about?"

"I dinnae ken why ye are telling me all of this. Nae for the reason ye said, but there's another reason that ye havenae shared."

Her comment stirred something wild within him, and he recalled when she bit her lip and the look she gave him when she took a sip of the whiskey just minutes before.

She follows better than I thought. Saints… I could take her right on me desk right now.

Arran resisted the urge to growl at her astute observation. He let his bent leg slide off his knee and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs.

"Laird Donaldson and I are close to finalizing our agreement. It means I will be asking him, and young Buchan, to stay until it is done. Only Clan Donaldson has the resources to help out Clan McLaren."

He watched as Scarlett pondered what he just proposed, and when her eyebrows rose and she nodded, he knew that she was clearly impressed by his plan.

"I have one request."

"Request? What is it?"

"Is there a way I can move out of me rooms and be closer to ye in the meantime? I dinnae take well to being in the guest wing with Reuben. I dinnae trust him."

Arran unclasped his fingers, letting his chin rest between his thumb and hooked index finger briefly as he considered her request. When he looked back up at her, she was biting her lip again.

"Lass, ye have to stop biting yer lip. I willnae be able to resist for much longer. Nae when whiskey is involved," he pleaded, leaning back into his chair.

A blush slowly crawled up her neck as he continued.

"I'll speak with Mrs. Cameron at dinner. She will arrange it."

Scarlett stood up suddenly and held out her hand, and Arran watched her with a playful grin, his eyes dancing with amusement at her formality. He pushed himself to his feet and watched her eyes assess him, from his broad shoulders down to his riding boots.

His hand enveloped hers, and he shook it as she said, "Agreed."

"Agreed, lass," he echoed, unable to contain his teasing smirk.

"Was that all?" she asked, downing the remaining whiskey in her glass.

I want to taste those lips again. Christ…

Arran raised a discerning eyebrow, refilling her glass before walking over to his desk and answering her.

"Nay. How do ye find Laird Irvine?" he asked with a flirtatious tone, already anticipating a wild response from her.

He burst into laughter as she rolled her eyes before responding with tempered disgust, "Felix Shepherd? Were ye nae there in the garden with me yesterday?"

"Ach! I was there. He's a fierce braither, and only concerned about his sister. Ye could have been a goddess, and he would have found issue with it."

"Sure," Scarlett muttered and slouched back into her chair.

"I do have another friend. I could invite him to stay this week?"

"Who?"

"Laird Crawford. Finn Morrison."

"Is he nae the laird who was injured?"

Injured, to say the absolute least, lass. The man is a shadow of his former self, marked by the brutality of war. We may have lost all of our money, but Finn suffered greatly. It's a wonder he survived.

"Aye, he bears the scars of war and nay longer looks like the man he once was, but he would take good care of ye. He's a war hero, greatly respected. A strong match. Allied with all of the other clans in attendance this week. Finn and I grew up together. He's a good man."

Scarlett thought about it and ultimately agreed. "I trust ye."

"Good, I'll speak with him tonight," Arran said. "Now…" He leaned his elbows on the desk. "Tell me the ways ye would like us to act so we seem like we are in love and about to be handfast."

He tilted his chin down slightly and glanced between her eyes and her lips.

Bite that lip again, Scarlett.

His words clearly stoked the fire within her. She leaned forward instinctively, and her mouth fell open slightly at his suggestive tone.

Good, just like tha?—

"Arran!" A frantic yell pierced the tension between them, and Arran's head whipped in the direction of the voice.

"Did ye—" Scarlett started to say when another wild cry echoed in the hallway, along with thundering footsteps.

"Oh me Saints! Arran! Come, quick!"

Arran grabbed his pistol and demanded that Scarlett stay put as he raced toward the door.