Chapter 6

"Sister," Arran said as Niamh joined him in his study, "feeling better, I see."

His teasing was waved off in her classically indifferent way.

Mrs. Cameron notified him that Niamh just seemed tired, a little pished, and shocked by young Buchan after leaving her rooms last night. The tea worked well, and she fell asleep quickly. Arran was happy to know his sister was well-rested after the surprising events of the evening.

He watched her ignore the slight and thumbed through some of the papers on his desk.

"Brother," she asked coolly, "how was the rest of yer night with the lovely Lady Scarlett Paton?"

He nearly choked on the tea he was drinking. "What do ye mean?"

"Was she as greatly affected by young Buchan's unfortunate accident, as she described it, or was she faking it to make me feel better?"

"Niamh, that's enough. I ken she's fine. Whatever—" Arran closed the ledger he was auditing and rested his elbows on the desk. "I have business to attend to, Sister. Was there something else ye needed?"

Niamh lingered for a moment, thinking about what he asked, and then shrugged before dropping into the large, leather chair across from him. Her feet hung over one arm of the chair and her back rested against the other.

What has gotten into her? She's acting childish.

"Sister, that chair is older than this castle, and ye ken better than to sit like that…" Arran tilted his head down and stared at her from beneath his eyelashes to emphasize his point.

He leaned back into his chair and let out a slight chuckle when Niamh crossed her arms and refused to move.

"How do ye ken that the chair doesnae want to be sat in like this?"

She was the only one who knew how to get him to laugh properly these days.

Is she drunk?

"Are ye pished, woman?" he asked, and her whole body went limp in the chair.

Arran shook his head as her hands dropped inches above the floor, her hair tumbled down over the arm of the chair as her head fell back, and her feet stopped kicking.

"I am nae drunk, Braither," she grumbled. "I guess I'm just in a good mood and trying to get me mind off last night. Can we go visit Maither and Faither today before the minstrel arrives?"

"Will it shut ye up if we go this morning?"

"Aye! I have to tell Maither something?—"

"And ye want me to be there with ye?"

"Aye," she said and lifted her head to look at him sternly. "I'll nae go alone. That place gives me the grue, Arran. I cannae go alone!"

Her act was endearing, another feeling he only experienced when she was around. Though, he knew the grue was something that Niamh had always complained of when she wanted to go visit their parents' graves.

"Alright, Sister. I'll meet ye downstairs," Arran relented and watched as she excitedly shot upright and bounded out of the room.

He gathered the ledgers strewn across his desk and stacked them atop one another before placing them into the top drawer of his desk. He placed the book he had been auditing before his sister came in on top before he closed and locked the drawer. His riding coat was hanging by the door, and he donned it before closing and locking his study.

The path from his study to the courtyard, where his sister was waiting for him, was quickest down the spiral stairs and through the guest quarters. He chanced a look at Scarlett's door when he passed it hurriedly.

I wonder if she's awake…

A shadow moved underneath her door, and he hastened his step, not wanting to face her. The events of last night were a thing of his dreams and his nightmares. Arran couldn't understand how such a beautiful stranger could vex him so easily with such a simple act as a refusal to say his name. She was as intoxicating to him as the Rhenish wine they had drunk last night.

Scarlett Paton was addicting.

"Ready?" Niamh asked cheerfully as Arran walked into the courtyard.

His sister was wearing a plain, dark cloak over her sky blue dress, and in the time it took for him to meet her, she had twisted her hair up into a knot.

"Yes, after ye," he replied tenderly and motioned for her to lead the way to the stables.

The ride to visit their parents' graves would end up taking them the entire morning, but it was customary for the morning to be slow. He knew that his sister was putting on a strong and joyful front, but sadness flickered in her eyes. Her blue dress gave it away because blue was their mother's color, and Niamh only wore blue when she was thinking about their parents.

While Arran loved the color, he knew well that it was hard for Niamh to see, so he ordered all shades of blue be stored away after the war.

"I asked Mrs. Cameron to pack us some bannocks and oatcakes with her sweet butter and honey," Niamh said as she pointed to the pouch affixed to the saddle of her cream-colored Palfrey named Seonaid.

Her horse was saddled and ready, waiting patiently next to Arran's. By contrast, his large, black Highland Pony was wearing his war saddle. Though they weren't planning for battle, Arran felt more at ease with it strapped onto Morag than any of the other saddles in the stables.

"Aye, I see she packed some for me, so ye dinnae have to fash about sharin' with yer braither." He pointed at the larger pouch buckled into his tack.

"I wonder if Morag gave her hell when she touched yer tack." Niamh turned around to try and see if Mrs. Cameron was nearby, so she could get confirmation, but the housekeeper was back in the depths of the castle.

"He kens well enough nae to mess with Mrs. Cameron. She'll turn him into glue without even blinking. A savage, that woman," Arran said as he stroked the mane of his horse.

His sister walked to the other side of her horse and did the same. They mount at the same time, but Arran couldn't help but burst into laughter when his sister faced him with a biscuit sticking out of her mouth.

"Ye ken it well, but it's nae yer dowry that concerns me, Sister. It's yer unmistakable ladylike grace," he teased between his laughter and then led Morag down the path.

* * *

Scarlett watched as the two siblings mounted their steeds and rode off. They rode through the castle grounds and out, past the walls and into the nearby woods. She wondered briefly if anyone else, aside from Niamh, had heard the sound of Arran's laughter. While she hadn't had the pleasure of hearing it that morning, she wished the leaded glass windows were made of paper, so she could have basked in that sound for the rest of the morning.

His laugh… what does that laugh sound like…

Seeing Arran acting so carefree was another secret that she would have to carry with her. The brooding Laird of the castle didn't want that side of him to be known, which is probably the explanation for the early morning departure. The soft rain had let up, and the clouds shifted slowly in the sky. Scarlett had an idea to follow them, but a rapping at her door startled her.

Jumping back into her bed to cover herself, she called out to the person knocking, "Aye?"

A stout woman with a stained apron tied around her middle marched into the chambers. "Up with ye, lass. Warm water is being brought up for ye. The minstrel will be here in naught but a few hours." She drew the curtains fiercely and then lit several candles around the room. "I'll have a girl come in to light yer fire. Will that be alright?"

"Aye, thank ye," Scarlett replied, still sitting in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin.

"Ye can call me Mrs. Cameron, lass. I'm the head housekeeper here at Castle McLaren," the woman said as she allowed six or seven maids to enter the room with large buckets of steaming water.

The last maid kneeled before the hearth and sparked a flint to make a fire behind the bathtub.

"Thank ye, Mrs. Cameron," Scarlett murmured once the woman looked at her again. "Are Lady and Laird O'Neill awake?"

"Aye, Me Lady. They're awake and eating breakfast in their rooms."

Mrs. Cameron rushed the young ladies out of the room.

Scarlett stretched her arms above her head, letting the blanket fall and pool around her hips. "Have ye heard this minstrel before, Mrs. Cameron?"

"Nay, this one is new to Castle McLaren," Mrs. Cameron replied as she tested the temperature of the water, placed a sponge and a bar of soap down on a stool, and gestured for Scarlett to get out of bed and come to her. She helped her out of her shift and into the tub before continuing, "He is coming at the special invitation of Laird McLaren. They met in the war."

"How has the Laird been since returning?" Scarlett asked, and then realized she was probably overstepping the boundaries of propriety with the housekeeper, but Mrs. Cameron did not miss a beat in her response.

"He's a changed lad. The loss has hardened both of their hearts. They're a formidable pair, lass. Ye ought to be careful when dealing with either of them. Their lack of compassion is a test of strength."

If anyone had insight into the siblings' characters, it was their housekeeper. The warning came not as much of a surprise to Scarlett as probably was intended.

Mrs. Cameron left her with the order of the day. "I'll be back when the water is cold with some breakfast. Yer maither laid out a dress for ye to wear today, so I'll bring that up as well. There's a different dress prepared for tonight, and I'll have to send another lass to help ye while I'm delivering the rest of the dresses for tonight."

"Alright. Thank ye, Mrs. Cameron," Scarlett said, and then eased herself into the tub for a wash.

Mrs. Cameron arrived once the bathwater cooled, just as she said, with a long, dark blue dress with a lighter blue bodice hanging over her arms. Scarlett towel-dried herself and then sat by the fire as Mrs. Cameron continued setting out the different parts of her ensemble. The distinct sounds of horses' hooves on cobblestone below her window made her heart flutter, but she did her best to maintain composure in front of the housekeeper.

"That'll be the Laird." Mrs. Cameron let out a gruff sigh. "I'll have to leave ye sooner than I thought. I can send a lass to help ye, just sit tight, Me Lady."

Scarlett waited for Mrs. Cameron to shut the door behind her before she stood up and walked over to the window. The curtains were still closed, but she still chanced a peek to maybe catch a glimpse of the rugged Laird McLaren.

Laird McLaren had the widest smile she had ever seen on his face, and his sister was bubbling over with laughter as Scarlett watched the two dismount their horses. Mrs. Cameron marched up to them both, and Scarlett knew they were both being scolded. She couldn't help but smile as she watched the three of them laugh together, leading their horses into the stables.

Heavens…

Her jaw dropped as Laird McLaren emerged from the darkness. His white blouse was now barely hanging over his shoulders, as if he got into a brawl with a tree branch and lost. She couldn't take her eyes off his exposed tanned and muscular chest that her hands had grazed the night before.

Scarlett was instantly reminded of how close his lips had been to hers before he walked away, and a wave of heat rushed from her cheeks down to her stomach.

Just then, his gaze locked with hers when he looked up at her window, at the same time that the latch on her door moved. It was obvious from the slight smirk on his face that he saw her, but Scarlett leaped back from the window and let the heavy curtains fall shut behind her.

"Blast it," she hissed under her breath as a maid slowly pushed the door open.

"Lady Scarlett?" the maid asked in a small voice while softly knocking on the door.

"Aye? I was just… I was just trying to get some fresh air—it's a little stuffy in here," Scarlett explained with as steady a voice as she could muster, and then exaggerated her next inhales.

"Would ye like me to crack open a window for ye?"

"I'm fine. Thank ye," she said quickly and let the maid help her into the dress her mother picked out for her.

"The color is lovely on ye, Me Lady," the maid complimented as she finished tying the bow on Scarlett's sash. "We havenae seen these colors in the hall since before the war."

"Really? Why is that?"

"Well, we dinnae ken, but Mrs. Cameron made us take down all the blue before the Laird returned. Lady Niamh was the only one to keep her colors. I do believe we dressed her in a darker shade today," the maid explained with a deep bow, before gathering the sleeping shift and towel. "Mrs. Cameron will be back to help ye with yer hair. Good day, Me Lady." Then she left.

Scarlett sat in one of the large chairs by the fireplace and let the heat of the fire seep into her cheeks until the housekeeper returned. She wondered what had happened to the Laird to nearly rip his entire shirt off and leave his sister unscathed. She wondered where they rode off to. She wondered if he was thinking about her like she was thinking about him.