Chapter 27

"Did ye tell her that I am sorry?" Felix asked and waved his arms frustratedly.

Arran watched his friend pace around the study.

He is a touch indignant if I do say so meself…

"Aye," he stated plainly, to placate the seemingly frantic man in front of him. "I told her, and she accepted yer apology. Are ye sure ye only said that?"

"Of course, I only said that!"

That isnae what she told me, lad.

"Well, I'll admit that she did make it seem like there was more of an accusation in yer tone."

"Well, ye ken women well enough. They are more dramatic and exaggerate everything to make themselves look like the smarter sex. I'll tell ye, they are far from it." Felix waved his arm wildly between them to emphasize his point. "Sure, fairer, absolutely… I mean, look at us." He gestured between them. "But there is nay chance that they are smarter."

"Sure, Felix," Arran drawled and then pointed at the papers in his friend's hand. "What do ye think about all that? Did ye read through it?"

The papers that were dangerously close to the fireplace were the compilation of agreements and amendments to the deal that had been drafted with Laird Donaldson.

"Och, these?" Felix asked as he lifted the rolled-up document and smacked it down across his thigh. "It's shite, lad."

Christ…

"I ken that well enough. Doesnae set well with me, as it stands," Arran said and poured himself another glass of whiskey.

A new bottle. Nice work, Mrs. Cameron.

"He said he was going to stay through the ceilidh. So I'll have more time to sort this deal out by then."

"Good plan, Arran," Felix said and looked to his friend for permission, before tossing the paperwork into the roaring fire.

Mrs. Cameron's familiar knock sounded at the door, and she ambled into the study with a letter in her hand. "For ye, Laird McLaren."

"Thank ye, Mrs. Cameron." Arran stood up to take the letter from her and sliced it open immediately to start reading it.

It's from Finn. Good.

Arran was able to speak with Finn the previous evening while at dinner. It was the last night of the feast, the Rhenish wine was flowing, and he shared every last detail with him. This letter was his response.

"Arran, lad, congratulations again on yer fake engagement to the lovely Lady Scarlett Paton. What a thrilling adventure ye two love birds have started."

Laconic, as always.

"Regrettably, I willnae be able to stay for the ceilidh. I've just received pressing news from me tacksman this morning, and I am headed back to Crawford Castle."

Unlucky…

"Write to me when the ruse is over. I'm still interested. Finn Morrison."

Still interested?

Arran thought for a moment about what exactly Finn meant by ‘still interested,' and the tug he felt deep within him elicited a dark, almost overwhelming urge to toss the letter into the fire and pretend that he didn't receive it.

Mrs. Cameron handed it to me, he would ken well enough that I am lying.

Arran's gaze fell on Felix, who was staring at him intently.

Glaikit, I didnae remember that he was in here whilst I was reading that letter.

"Everything alright, Arran?"

"Aye, just thought about something else," he replied and smacked the letter into his palm a few times.

The door to the study opened without a knock, and it infuriated Arran until he saw the bright smiles of Scarlett, Lily, and Niamh. He tempered his frustration momentarily in the unlikely event they came with important information.

"Is everything alright?" he asked and assessed each of the women to make sure they weren't injured.

"Braither, I'm coming in," Niamh said loudly.

He sighed impatiently. "Sister," he warned, but she talked over him. Which was another thing that drove him mad.

He threw the letter into his desk drawer and reminded himself to lock it before leaving.

"We have something to say!"

"Och?" Felix said and sat down on the sofa, making himself comfortable.

"Go ahead, Scarlett! He likes ye better," Niamh urged, pushing Scarlett forward.

Arran's eyes flicked from Scarlett to Niamh and Lily, and then across the room to Felix's bemused grin.

"Everyone, out," he ordered quietly, and sternly.

Before Niamh could open her mouth, he shot her a red-hot glare.

"Woah! What's the matter?"

"I have to speak with Scarlett, alone."

"Are ye sure? Do ye need to go for a ride first, Braither?" Niamh challenged, but she still ushered Lily out and waved Felix over.

Arran gritted his teeth as Niamh led the Shepherds out of the study and closed the door behind her.

* * *

"Sit, Scarlett, please." Arran indicated the sofa she sat on the day before and then took the seat across from her. "We need to act like we're crazy about each other?—"

"Alright," Scarlett said, drawing out the word.

He was stiff and formal with his movements. No lingering glances. No tension. Nothing. He was cold.

"We will have to practice our clan dances together. How many times would ye like to practice before the actual day?"

"Ten."

Arran nodded and scribbled something on a small piece of paper he held in his hand.

It looks like he's writing on his skin. Where did that note come from? Is he taking actual notes?

"We will have to exchange small yet meaningful gifts. Things like tokens of affection or something that we could incorporate in the handfasting ceremony."

"Like an oath stone?" Scarlett quipped, trying to get him to crack even the tiniest of smiles.

Why does it feel like we're starting from square one right now?

"We'll have to go on more rides, walks through the garden, and get ye better acquainted with our kirkyard."

"We should probably meet in here, since it's safe to speak freely, and I can share with ye some of the O'Neill traditions as well?"

"Good idea," Arran said monotonously.

He's acting so standoffish, it's so irritating when he does this!

Scarlett almost snorted at how boring this conversation had turned out to be.

He looked up at her from beneath his eyelashes and waited, not so patiently, for her to crack the whip of anticipation.

Scarlett had worked herself into a frenzy, and her vision blurred before she finally broke. "Perhaps we should just cancel the engagement and cancel the ceilidh, consequences be damned, Arran Williams!"

"What?"

"Ye heard me clear enough, I ken well I didnae stutter!"

"What about the deal with Laird Donaldson? He's only staying to support us, and I havenae settled the alliance."

"I dinnae care! Ye only care about yerself! I want out of this farce."

"Ye have nay honor, Scarlett Paton. I cannae believe I got meself dragged into this ridiculous mess!"

"Excuse me? I have nay honor? Ye have to be jesting. Are ye daft?"

"Dinnae call me daft, woman! Ye're about as crazy as they come. Can ye nae see that everything I've done for ye is to protect ye from Reuben Buchan?"

"Even when ye invited them to stay longer and attend our handfasting ceremony and ceilidh? Really?"

"If ye arenae promised to me, ye ken well enough that he's dangerous and might try something again. Just like he did that night before I stepped in."

"Should I be thanking ye? Are ye looking for recognition?"

"Nay, Scarlett, I'm just?—"

"Ye're what? Say it!"

Arran shook his head as if to erase a ridiculous thought from his head, and Scarlett sighed.

Why are we even doing this anymore?

"Say it!"

"Ye drive me crazy! I'm trying to help ye!" He yelled and she winced at his outburst.

A knock on the door startled both of them, and Arran realized that they were both standing and out of breath. He held up a finger to his lips and went to answer the door, and Scarlett rolled her eyes with frustration.