Chapter 8

With the room handed back over to him, Arran faced his guests and invited them to break and carry on.

"Dinner in two hours."

With the conclusion of his announcement, several of the ladies disappeared, while the men resumed conversations about trade routes.

Arran met Graham, and the two recounted a few war stories before Laird Donaldson joined them.

"Laird McLaren, sorry to interrupt ye, but I'm interested in discussing the potential for establishing trade routes with ye. If ye have a moment to spare," Laird Donaldson requested.

"Of course, Zachary. Call me Arran, please," Arran said, clasping the man's hand, and Graham excused himself.

Arran motioned for his new acquaintance to sit in the chair Niamh had vacated.

"I thank ye, again, for keeping me son's condition private, Arran," Laird Donaldson began quickly. "Now, we are certainly interested in trade routes, especially with the goods Clan McLaren produces, but an alliance would need to be discussed first."

"Niamh isnae ready for marriage, Zachary," Arran declared, holding up a hand to halt the conversation from moving any further forward. "With the loss of our maither still fresh, the lass is still nae ready. I'm sure ye ken that feeling well. Also, young Buchan doesnae seem quite ready either."

"Of course, I agree. Reuben," Laird Donaldson sighed. "Well, I love him dearly, but without a maither's love as a bairn, me boy admittedly has some growth to do. Especially with clan matters. It will take a sturdy woman's patience to marry him as he is today," he sputtered, and then cleared his throat. "So, what do ye suggest for trade routes, and how can we guarantee they willnae fall through without a marriage alliance in place?"

"With me," Arran replied smoothly, his cold eyes never straying from his target. "Ye and I would enter into a mutual defense pact, where I would provide ye with strategic cooperation, intelligence, and support. I would pledge to come to yer aid in times of conflict or threats, and ye would do the same. It would be me."

"Arran—"

"Zachary, think on it," he said, sitting back into his chair. "What use would Niamh be to young Buchan anyway right now? It'll be me providing yer clan with protection after ye pass, anyway. Why dinnae we just cut through the formalities and get the result we are both lookin' for? Clan McLaren fighting alongside Clan Donaldson."

"And in return? Ye need me money."

"It's an alliance, Zachary—power and intelligence for power and intelligence." Arran lifted an eyebrow, steeling himself.

"We dinnae have the manpower that Clan McLaren has, and ye ken well that we are too far away to provide much of any intelligence compared to ye. So, how much?"

"I'm only interested in an alliance with ye. So, let's talk more later this week in me study, when we have more time," Arran suggested civilly.

"Aye, thank ye," Zachary said firmly, and the two shook hands before parting ways.

Right where I want ye.

* * *

"Oof! Excuse m—Christ above, Lady Scarlett! What are ye even doin' on this level?" Arran chided sharply when she ran straight into his chest.

Scarlett was still in her blue dress, and her blonde hair fell over her face in the collision. She had clearly lost her way in the castle, whether from poor directions or confusion, her intrusion only added to his frustration.

"I'm just trying to get back to me rooms and got lost. I'm sorry—" she stammered out.

"Wow, ye're sorry? Aye, well I didnae ken ye kenned the words," he said coldly and sidestepped to walk past her.

"Wait!" Scarlett called out, and the sound of her plea stopped him.

Let her say the words…

"Aye?" His back was turned to her as he waited for her to finish whatever pitiful thing she was about to say.

"Can ye help me—Can ye help me back to me rooms?"

"That depends," he replied coolly, still facing away from her.

"On?"

"What's me name?"

"Yer name?"

He exhaled loudly and rolled his eyes, giving her a pass on the question, and then turned to face her. "Yer rooms are up the stairs there"—he pointed just beyond her exposed shoulder to a dark area along the stone wall—"just one more level. Yer rooms are directly above us." He pointed his finger up at the ceiling, and her eyes followed it.

The way her lips parted as she tilted her head back to look up made his stomach flip, and he almost reached out to grasp her chin.

"Och, alright, thank ye," she said nervously.

Let this be her chance to get out of this agreement.

With a curt nod, he uttered, "Lady Scarlett," before swiftly turning away, in an effort to leave no room for further interaction or sentiment.

"Wait!"

Arran's irritation simmered, evident in his cold response as he kept his back to her. "Aye?" he asked coldly.

Her voice trembled slightly as she spoke, a hint of apology softening her tone. "I—" She paused when he turned to face her again, and then took a steadying breath before continuing, "I'm sorry for how I spoke to ye last night, Laird McLaren."

So… she remembers. Let her make the first move, Arran. Give her nothing.

His eyes rested on her subtly trembling lips, and his fists clenched at his sides to resist the urge to close the distance between them and kiss her. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, masking his surprise.

"Apology accepted, Lady Scarlett. Is that all?"

"Nay."

"Alright, what else?"

"Thank ye for helping me with Reuben last night," she added.

"Ye mean what, exactly?"

"I mean in the hallway. I wasnae grateful to ye in the moment, but I was truly scared of him last night. Ye came in and helped me, and I was wrong for nae thanking ye properly."

"Ye were certainly lucky, lass. I never let that go on in me house."

"House?"

His lips quirked up slightly, but his cold gaze remained focused on her. "Castle, then."

"Well, I was terrified, and even more so about what he might say when he wakes up."

Well then, ye might want to bring up our arrangement, lass.

"I wish ye would tell me what ye are mad about. I really do need yer help. I cannae marry Reuben. He's brutal. I willnae," Scarlett said and bit her lip to stop it from giving her emotion away.

"I'm nae mad at ye, lass."

"Nay?"

He shifted his weight unfeelingly. "What is it… exactly… that I can help ye with, Lady Scarlett?"

Her frustration and desperation were clear on her face, but she squared her shoulders anyway. She could tell that he was going to make her work for it, but she was prepared to do just that.

"Ye ken quite well what I need help with, Laird McLaren. It might have been me suggestion initially, but the handfasting agreement was yer plan, remember?" she spat out.

"Mhm, I ken well, indeed." He nodded, and she watched his body shift in the torchlight.

His cold eyes never left hers as he took a predatory step closer. He towered over her, dark and tormented.

"Well?" she prompted, with an insatiably rebellious attitude.

Arran closed the distance between them in two cat-like steps. Standing mere inches away, the charged air between them crackled with primal tension. This was a dangerous game she was playing, and Arran would make sure she knew that.

"Well, Lady Scarlett," he said, "despite yer sharp tongue, I'll still help ye. But I dinnae ken if ye can manage to pretend to fancy me through all that spite ye have for me. If ye can, then I will have fun with it, and this week will work out for us both. If ye cannae, then ye should walk away now, and I'll say nothin' more about it."

"And if I can?" she challenged, stubborn as a mule. "I still have to walk away from ye to change for dinner."

He bent his head and breathed into her neck, "If ye can, then I'll kiss ye right here in this hallway. Where anyone can see. I feel yer heart racing—I ken well enough that ye want me to."

She inhaled deeply, hopeful that her rising shoulders would graze his lips, but they didn't, and she dropped them with disappointment.

"I can pretend to be in love with ye this week, " she murmured breathlessly.

Arran hovered his mouth just above her collarbone and blew cool air onto her skin, which sent shivers down her spine. He pulled away but grasped her hand. "Well then, Lady Scarlett, ye have yerself a deal… again. I'll speak with yer faither tonight after dinner," he said, before kissing her knuckles and walking away.

He felt her watching him as he moved through the dark hallway toward his study, but he only turned around when he heard her retreating footsteps.

The way she looked in that blue dress did something to stoke the fire inside of him, and he had to figure out what it was before she did.