Chapter 3

Arran tried to refocus on his feast by visiting with the other Lairds and their clansmen. He had an agenda to get through during this week of festivities and was determined to not be delayed or distracted by a blue-eyed, blonde-haired, porcelain-skinned, bonny lass.

He joined Niamh on the other side of the hall with their friends, Felix Shepherd, the Laird of Clan Irvine, and his sister, Lily. Unfortunately, the conversation with Felix was going to go one of two ways. Either they would be discussing the new trade arrangements, and he would help Arran make connections with the other lairds at the feast, or they would be discussing marriage—the last thing Arran wanted to discuss.

"Felix." Arran held his hand out to shake, but Felix grabbed it and pulled him into a tight embrace.

"Arran! Good to see ye, buddy," he greeted cheerfully, before pulling back.

"Lady Lily," Arran said cordially.

He tried to stand as far away from Lily as possible, but Felix had other plans and maneuvered the group into a circle. They ended up standing next to each other, and Arran made eye contact with his sister.

The latter option, it appears…

"Niamh, ye told me ye wanted to talk about something?"

"Nay, Braither. It can wa—" His glare was enough for her to change her tone. "Cannae wait."

She hiked up her skirts and walked away from the Shepherd siblings, and Arran gratefully followed.

"Our finances were affected the most from the war, Arran. An alliance is necessary. The Shepherds are great—Lily is eligible. I could help if ye cannae figure it out."

"I willnae be bullied about this. By ye or the council," Arran insisted and fought the urge to point a finger in her face. "Ye have absolutely nay idea what I've sacrificed for this clan. I will continue to do everything I can, but I willnae marry."

"Why nae?"

"I dinnae have to explain meself to anyone. I willnae. Period."

"What about Clan Donaldson? Or Clan O'Neill? Lady Scarlett is?—"

"Dinnae be ridiculous, Niamh."

"Can I help in any way? I'm of marriageable age, am I nae?"

"We wouldnae be able to pay a dowry anyway. So, until I sort it out…" he trailed off as he noticed the frustrated scowl on her face.

"I'm twenty-five, Arran."

"I ken it well, Sister. I organized this feast because these trade agreements will boost our coffers, and I can start to make arrangements for ye. After this week, the council will have other things to manage. Lord above, they're just a bunch of chickens."

"Arran, that's enough."

"Nay, Sister, ye'll have to wait. This week isnae about ye or marriage."

"There's nay dowry at all?"

"What do ye think?"

"Well, this whole week will just be pointless to me then, huh?" Niamh said coldly, finished her wine, and then she hiked up her skirts and walked away from him.

If I'm going to figure out anything this week, it's the clan's finances, or she'll hate me forever.

Eventually, the otherwise successful first night of the feast started to slow, and Castle McLaren and its guests turned in for the evening.

Still not satisfied with the progress he had made with some of the lairds in attendance, Arran frustratingly rounded the corner toward the back staircase to go up to his rooms. Suddenly, in the darkness of a tangent corridor, he heard the familiar whispers of a lovers' tryst echoing off the cold stone walls.

At least some are enjoying themselves tonight.

He started to turn in the opposite direction when he heard a low, callous voice growl, "Shut yer mouth!"

"Nay, please, sto?—"

Duty and honor led Arran's next moves when the woman's plea turned into a muffled scream.

The moonlight cast a shadow on Reuben Buchan's face as he pinned the unwilling lass against the wall.

Nae again… I'm too tired for this…

"Ye need to get to bed, young Buchan. She doesnae want ye…" Arran tried to coax him away from the woman and avoid having to horse collar him again. He saw that the dark folds of the woman's green skirts had been untied and hanging loosely from her hips.

She's fighting like a wild cat, to be sure. I'd be surprised if he didnae come out of this with one peeper.

"Reuben! Enough, lad. Leave her be," Arran ordered, loudly this time, as the woman twisted into the moonlight, and he could see that her white blouse had loosened to expose the swell of her plump breasts.

Alright, It's getting late, and I've had about enough of this. Poor lass.

Suddenly, a flash of blonde hair set his senses on edge and ignited his primal urge to protect. He knew who it was before her face came into view. It was Scarlett Paton. Furious and determined.

Arran's wide hand extended out in front of him as he lunged in their direction instinctively. Reuben let out a loud cry as Arran yanked him away from her and pushed him down the hall.

"Get off me!" Reuben growled and wrenched himself from Arran's grip. "She's mine!" he slurred and pointed at Scarlett as he took large, clunking steps to steady himself. "She needs me. She's desperate for me. Look at her!"

Arran squared off, making sure Scarlett was safely behind him, right as Reuben lunged at him. Fortunately for the young Buchan, he tripped over his own feet and toppled over headfirst. Arran caught him with ease and turned him around to walk in the opposite direction.

"Nosey prig," Reuben mumbled as he stumbled down the hall and rounded the corner.

Once Reuben was out of sight, Arran took a step away from Scarlett, and her voice pierced the silence. "Thank ye for yer help, Laird McLaren, but?—"

"Arran," he corrected her, keeping his back turned.

"Arran, then. Thank ye for yer help, but I was handling it," she stated rebelliously.

In the darkness, he smirked at her remark. "Looked like it, lass."

"I did. I can take care of meself."

"I'm sure ye can. Sorry for interrupting, then," he said coldly. "Let's hope he doesnae remember that in the mornin', or else he'll probably try to ruin yer honor and marry ye!"

Arran joked to try and ease the tension, but he noticed that Scarlett winced as she reset her blouse and buttoned it.

"Good night, Laird McLaren," she said abruptly as she sidestepped around him, tying her skirts together, and then continued down the corridor.

Arran's teeth clenched at the sound of his father's title, and he caught up to her easily.

"Lass, call me Arran. Laird McLaren is me faither."

"I see. Well, goodnight, then," Scarlett replied, but her tone was tinged with a hint of awkwardness.

"I didnae mean to offend ye. I only meant to make ye laugh. I wouldnae let him say anything about that," Arran promised as they took to the staircase together.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Scarlett seemed to choose her words carefully. "Reuben is aware that me faither is in talks with Laird Donaldson about a marriage alliance. He intends that we be engaged to marry by the end of this week."

Arran remained silent as they slowly continued up the stairs.

Scarlett continued to explain, "I've been trying to fight the match because everyone kens Reuben Buchan is a violent scoundrel and a drunk, but me faither willnae hear any argument against the match."

Arran nodded his head in the darkness, weighing his next words before he spoke. "I dinnae ken, lass. On paper, the Laird of Clan Donaldson is the wealthiest of all the clansmen here, and if yer faither wishes to form an alliance with them, then a union makes sense."

"I hoped that I had a choice. What do ye ken about it all?"

"Well, ye dinnae have to love him."

"I ken that well enough."

"I'm sure ye do." Arran stepped aside to guide her toward her rooms. "Ye're here, Lady Scarlett, safe and sound. Now, I wish ye a good night."

He turned away abruptly and stalked down the corridor. He made it about halfway back to the stairwell when he heard soft footfalls. "Wait!"

"What is it?"

A low but growing warmth buzzed in his chest as Scarlett's cobalt-blue eyes met his, and he watched her eyebrows knit and then relax as she whispered. His eyes were fixed on her mouth, but only because he was trying to hear what she was saying.

I willnae kiss her. I wouldnae be able to stop if I start.

Arran's gaze lingered on her lips until they stopped moving, and then made it up to her expectant eyes. "What?"

"Ye're going to make me ask again?"

"If ye want." He shrugged. "Or dinnae?—"

"I mean, I think we have enough reason to by now, do ye nae?"

"What do ye say now?"

"A kiss, Arran. What do ye think about a kiss?"

Why would she ask me that?

"Dinnae tempt me, lassie. I wouldnae ever dream of tarnishing yer reputation in that way."

Although he said that, he took a step toward her.

"To put me faither and Reuben off the marriage!"

Hmm…and everyone else, it seems.

Arran fought hard to keep his thoughts in check and not laugh at the idea as he took another step closer to her. Scarlett's breath hitched as he closed the space between them even more. He relished her warmth as his hands fell to her waist and his head dipped lower.

Look at her tilting up her chin… so innocent, so gorgeous…

Eyeing her plump lips, Arran breathed in sharply before leaning away from her. "Alright, Scarlett." A grin tugged at his lips. "I'll kiss ye."

Scarlett frowned, confused by how quickly he agreed. "Why?"

"I pity yer situation, lass. Everyone should have a choice."

Actually…

"That's wildly offensive, Laird—Arran."

Arran reached out and pulled her close to him again. With a devilish smile spreading across his face, he whispered, "Actually, lass, what would ye say to a marriage instead?"