Here, in the laird's castle, the fires blazed with selfish extravagance.
Henry could see the wonder of it in Arabelle's face. He could see the way the flames reflected in her eyes and turned her skin to a warm shade of olive.
Despite the warm tones of the fire, the rest of the room was a pale blue. The bedsheets, the walls, even the painting that hung above the mantelpiece was a water landscape of a nearby loch.
"Will this suit you, Lady Arabelle?" Henry asked.
"Suit me?" she giggled in confusion. She was twisting and twirling her fingers amidst the warmth.
"To stay in whilst you are here?"
As she turned to look at him, her hair flipped over her shoulder. Standing before the hearth, there now seemed to be more red amongst the elflocks than there was gold.
"I'm only here a few days, right?"
"The laird has requested your presence until he passes," Henry said as if this were all that mattered. For it was. The laird was lord and master of the Henderson lands. Not to mention her sire. "But regardless, you shall need to remain here for the night at least. You will require a meal come the morn, and then I can always escort you back home if you are still determined to leave."
"I will be."
"We shall see."
He knew that she had yet to read her letter. In it would be the laird's explanation for his sudden paternal sentiments and his hopes for her becoming leader of the province in his place. Once she realized that riches and power were already within her grasp, she would change her mind. No sane individual would return to a single bed and faulty roof when all of the provincial wealth was theirs to claim.
"Why are ye standing there?" Arabelle suddenly asked, frowning.
Henry glanced down at himself. The door to her chambers was wide open, and he was hovering beside it. He had taken no more than a step inside the room.
"It is not appropriate for a man to be in a lady's private quarters without an escort."
"We were in the carriage alone," she pointed out. Her frown deepened.
"There was a driver and a footman. And the carriage was not your private chamber."
"But it was mine, huh?"
Henry blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"Ye keep saying ah'm some fancy lady now that I know who my papa is. That means, by yer rule"—she pointed at him—"that carriage is mine"—she pointed at herself—"right?"
"Um... Correct." He supposed that her logic was accurate.
"And there were no one else there but ye and me so it were private. Means that the carriage were my private place, and we were on our own. Yet, we can't be here on our own?"
Henry struggled for a moment. He had never had someone put things so simply before. In fact, given that he was a proficient counselor with a reputation for wisdom and etiquette-driven intellect, he had rarely had anyone question him before. He had stated the appropriate manner of behavior or expectations, and it had been accepted as thus. He had never had to defend so many of his teachings in so short a time. And he wasn't even formally tutoring her yet!
"I cannot explain the difference now, my lady; it is late. But be assured that it is different."
"Ugh," she snorted, startling Henry entirely. He even saw her nose wrinkle and shake with the noise! "Ye dinnae have to call me lady. Ah told ye, ah'm not gonna be a lady."
"You are the daughter of the laird of this land. What would you have me call you?"
"Belle!" she announced with a bright smile. "E'ryone calls me that!"
Henry watched her for a moment, eyes narrowed and mind assessing. He wasn't yet sure if she was joking.
"Well, I am not everyone," he argued. "And I shall call you Lady Henderson or Lady Arabelle, as is appropriate. I ask that you respect me enough to allow me this much."
