Chapter 36

"Congratulations, Laird McLaren," Zachary Buchan said as he held out a hand for Arran to shake.

"Thank ye, Laird Donaldson," Arran replied cheerfully, dropping Scarlett's hand to shake the man's.

"Look, I ken that this is yer handfasting ceilidh, but do ye think ye could spare some time for me to wrap things up this evening? We'll be leaving at first light."

Dinnae dare…

Scarlett gritted her teeth, knowing full well what was about to happen.

Without checking with her, Arran emphatically agreed. "Sure! How about right now?"

Zachary chuckled and looked between Arran and Scarlett before shrugging. "Sure!"

Arran led him away from Scarlett, and they lowered their heads together on the edge of the dance floor.

"May I have this dance, Lady McLaren?" Felix asked and offered her his hand with a flourish.

"Sure," she mumbled and let him twirl her between the other dancers.

"Look, Scarlett," Felix began, and she leveled him with an unimpressed stare. "I apologize for how poorly I behaved toward ye this week and the last. Me actions were meant to be in service of me sister, Lily, of course. I was horrid," he admitted as he spun her around the dance floor.

"Ye were horrid, Felix, but I understand. I just wish we could have been civil with each other about it. I feel as if we've all just lost so much time, unnecessarily so, in getting to ken each other better."

"Aye, and it's entirely me fault," he concluded.

"Aye, it is. The good thing is, this is only the beginning, and I'm willing to let bygones be bygones if ye are?"

"I would appreciate another chance to make a better impression. Ye seem very much able to make me friend happy, which is all that matters." He smirked and spun her out and back into his waiting arms.

Felix…? Maybe Arran was right, he could be a prospective match—Wait, nay! I want Arran and only Arran.

Scarlett kept an eye on Arran as he talked to Laird Donaldson for the next two dances, which she shared with a few of her new acquaintances. Their gazes connected every so often, as if he too was making sure he knew where she was.

In a thousand lifetimes, I will ken yer face. In a thousand languages, I will ken yer voice. In a thousand depths, I will ken yer person.

Finally, Arran moved, and she knew he was headed to the study. She intercepted him on the stairwell.

"Arran," she called.

He sighed before responding. "Aye?"

Is he seriously aggravated right now?

"Where are ye going?"

"Me study. I need to draft these papers and then bring Laird Donaldson up to sign them. I need to do it quickly before the night ends."

"Well, we need to act like we're in love, but ye've been doing business half the night."

"Scarlett, ye were in yer room for the whole first part of tonight!"

"And… what exactly happens when this night ends?" She tried to mask the frustration in her voice.

"Ye ken well enough what happens when this night ends," he snapped.

She recoiled at his harsh tone, and he softened quickly. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong, lass. I'm just tired of all of this… pretending."

Pretending?

Arran turned and walked up the remaining steps, and Scarlett followed him mechanically. "Pretending?"

"Aye, this ruse will be over soon. It'll finally be over?—"

She followed him silently into his study, and she walked over to the corner to pour herself a glass of whiskey. She poured one for him as well and then set it on the desk, in the same spot she had lain in when they had been intimate with each other a week ago.

Arran watched her walk over to the fireplace and admire the portrait of his father, before downing her glass.

"Ye are right. This ruse is almost over, and then we can just be done with it," she said and sat her glass down with finality.

Her footsteps were measured and unhurried as she approached the door and closed it quietly behind her.

As she finally reached the great hall, her eyes fell on Reuben. His expression sent a jolt of warning through her, every instint screaming that something was wrong.

Ye are alone. Go find Maither and- Faither! There he is, dance with him. Go!

"Faither?" she said as she tapped her father on the shoulder. "Another?"

Mack smiled and gladly accepted her offer for another dance. "Are ye well, Daughter? Are ye happy?"

Scarlett thought back on her time with Arran—the forest, the kirkyard, the games, the horse rides, the gardens, the flirting, the study, the river, and her bedroom.

"Aye, I'm content, Faither," she replied and gave a convincing smile.

It wasnae a lie. I mean, overall, Arran has made me feel quite happy over these past few weeks. I've learned a lot about meself in ways I could have never imagined before.

"Good," Mack said softly.

Scarlett rested her head on her father's chest. Unfortunately, the moment was interrupted by Reuben, who asked to cut in ‘for old time's sake.'

In a strange way, dancing with Reuben felt different from the first time they danced that evening. It was as if he was moving with a new clarity of mind, and his smile was extremely ominous.

"Scarlett, Scarlett, Scarlett," he intoned with a sinister snicker.

Her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine as he led her through the dancing couples with a smooth and superior simplicity.

"Yes?" she asked eventually, when the silence loomed between them.

"I wonder, what drives a person to lie?" he mused knowingly, and she stiffened.

"I haven't the slightest idea?—"

"Come now," he hissed. "Thou shalt nae bear false witness against thy neighbor, Scarlett… Williams…"

He continued to lead them through the dance floor, and eventually, they were out of everyone's sight as he pushed her toward the clan banner hanging on the wall.

Scarlett wasn't going anywhere alone with him, so she stopped before the banner and turned to face him. "So, what is this all about?"

She put her hands on her hips stubbornly.

Reuben laughed confidently and reached out to touch her cheek, which she avoided by whipping her head away from him.

"Och, Scarlett, ye see, ye have been found out!" he said gleefully, with a wickedness that only the devil was capable of.

"What do ye mean?"

"I heard ye, and Laird McLaren," he said sarcastically. "The pretending. The ruse. All of it." He smiled at her deviously once again.

"Reuben, it's nae?—"

"Tut-tut, Scarlett. Ye ken that I have loved ye me whole life—and yers, for that matter."

The subtle nod to their childhood was a point that she found rather disgusting.

"Enough, I'm out?—"

"Enough, indeed. The ploy worked, lass. I'm all yers. Ye have me undivided attention," he purred, and then pressed his too-wet lips to hers.

She pushed him away and slapped him across the face. "Dinnae come anywhere near me ever again!"

Scarlett tried to push him aside to rejoin the crowd, but he cornered her. Her struggle was sloppy and clumsy, but when she saw an opening under his arm, she didn't realize his other hand had a clear shot to her temple.

Her vision turned blurry at first. Then it went completely black.

* * *

Blast it all!

Arran cursed and downed his glass before he hurled it into the fireplace. The glass shattered on impact, and he met his father's gaze.

"I'm sorry, Faither. I'll replace it," he murmured and walked back to the desk to start drafting the agreement before Laird Donaldson came upstairs.

Zachary joined him in the study a few minutes later, as planned, and they discussed what would be on the mutual defense agreement.

"Alright, Zachary. As we discussed downstairs and over this week, I've started drafting the agreement. I'll dictate what I have down so far and continue to do so with ye to amend while we go. I believe that'll be easiest, so we can get this done in one try."

"Sounds good," Zachary agreed and leaned back into his chair, reading the first page of the agreement without any murmur of complaint.

As he set the page down with approval, a sharp ringing of a bell interrupted their conversation.

"What's that?" he asked and looked toward the door to the study.

"It sounds like the fire bell…" Arran stood up quickly, suddenly worried, and raced to the door. He opened it to listen for the sound. The bell rang again, the sound echoing off the stone walls, threatening to burst his eardrums. "The fire bell…" He sucked his teeth in frustration.

We are almost done! If it rings again, we'll go downstairs. Otherwise, the clansmen have it in hand.

The silence between the ringing was long and loathsome, and just as Arran pivoted on his heel to return to the study, the bell rang once more.

"Alright," he said to Zachary, "let's go downstairs and help. We'll be back up here soon to finish up. Aye?"

"Aye." Laird Donaldson followed him back down to the great hall. "Do ye ken where it is in the castle?"

"Nae yet. I'll be met downstairs with the report."

Where's Scarlett?

Arran flew down the steps, leaving Zachary behind, and his eyes searched the crazed crowd for her, but he couldn't find her.

"Where are ye lass?" he asked aloud, but then he figured she must be with her parents outside, in safety.

Get everyone to safety and find her parents later.

The guests were all equally startled, their eyes wide and mouths agape with worry, but they were all making their way to the exits with the help of his clansmen.

"We'll get it all sorted shortly," Arran called out over the frenzied murmurs.

Niamh?

He met his sister's worried gaze from afar. She was standing next to Lily and Felix, but he still couldn't find Scarlett.

Niamh shook her head, understanding the look on his face.

"Alright, Niamh hasnae seen her. That doesnae mean she's missing…"

Focus, man! Go put out the fire!

He rushed back into the castle, his men behind him, and ran straight toward the source of the fire. It was the clan banners on the wall of the great hall.

How on God's green earth did this even happen?

Arran joined the bucket line to toss water on the fire that was quickly eating away at the banners. They were falling from the ceiling in a cloud of ash, and the sparks lit the next banner and the next, but they eventually got it all under control.

The men, with ash-smudged faces, laughed together and walked outside to clean up.

Arran found his sister again in the crowd and went to her quickly.

"Niamh…" he said, assessing her thoroughly for injuries.

"I'm fine, Arran."

"Ye sure?"

"Aye, just a bit shaken up…"

He sighed in relief. "Good."

He quickly chatted with a few of the guests around his sister. But all the while, Scarlett was on his mind.

Scarlett… Where is she? Blue eyes… Blonde hair… Blue dress…

He found her parents in the crowd, and Mack looked at him with concern. Arran knew that she wasn't with them, and now Mack knew she wasn't with him.

"Have ye seen Scarlett?" Arran asked as he kneeled beside his sister.

"Reuben!" Zachary called out into the crowd a few yards away, which drowned out what Niamh said.

"What?" Arran asked her again.

"Reuben!" Zachary called out again, distracting him once more.

Arran looked at his sister and then at Zachary, and when his eyes met Niamh's once more, he could tell she knew something.

"What do ye ken?"

Reuben is also gone? What if they're?—

Arran stood up, not waiting for his sister's answer, and moved toward Zachary. As he came up to the man, he grabbed his collar. "Ye will tell me where that slippery son of yers got off to. Where is he?!"

"I-I thought he was down here?"

Arran's next words were sharp and biting, spilling out before he could rein them in, "If I find that he had something to do with that fire and that he's with me wife, I will kill him."

Most powerful laird in all of Scotland or nae, I'll kill his son if he hurt Scarlett. Trade alliance be damned.