Scarlett pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Her brother stood at the head of the table, his dark hair drawn back, and his shoulders squared in his usual posture of authority. Across from him was Malcolm Reid, Aaron’s trusted advisor.
The maps on the table were weighted too carefully, corners pinned flat as though no hand had dared disturb them. That alone warned her something was wrong. Aaron only became neat when the matter before him had already been decided. The two men looked up at once.
Aaron’s expression didn’t change. “Scarlett.”
Malcolm straightened, offering a small bow. “Me Lady.” With that, he gathered his notes and slipped past her toward the door. He was always respectful, and he knew when he wasn’t needed. The latch clicked behind him, leaving her alone with Aaron and his brooding silence.
She crossed the room, resting a hand on the back of one of the chairs. “So,” she said lightly, “what urgent matter requires me presence? Have ye finally decided to let me redraw the family crest? I could make it far more impressive.”
Aaron didn’t even blink. “Sit.”
She arched a brow at his tone but humored him, sliding into the chair across from him. He looked serious as usual though she still suspected this was about something dull.
Aaron folded his arms. “I won’t waste words. Laird Robert McLaren of Gundor Castle has offered a marriage alliance.”
Scarlett froze. “A marriage alliance?”
He nodded once. “He will wed ye. It secures peace between our clans and strengthens both sides.”
For a long moment, she could only stare at him. Then she laughed, short and incredulous. “Ye can’t be serious. I’ve never even met the man.”
Aaron’s gaze stayed fixed on her. “Ye’re twenty-two, Scarlett. Most women are long married by then. It’s time.”
She pushed back from the table. “Time for what? For ye to decide me future without asking me? I’m nae ready for marriage, and I certainly willnae tie meself to a stranger.”
His mouth hardened. “Yer sketches and idle hours willnae protect ye when war comes. This alliance will. Gundor is strong, and McLaren is steady. Ye’ll be safe with him.”
Scarlett felt her face flush hot. “Safe? Ye’re bartering me like livestock, Aaron. As if me only value is the ink ye trade me for.”
For the first time, his expression wavered, just a flicker of something softer, but it was gone in an instant. “I would see ye cared for, Scarlett. Even if ye cannae see the sense in it.”
She folded her arms, holding his gaze. “I’d rather stay here. Hallow is me home. I daenae want to be sent away.”
Aaron shook his head. “What ye want doesnae change what must be done. Yer life here is sheltered, but it willnae last. Ye’ll marryMcLaren, and through ye, our people will be safer. That’s the end of it.”
Scarlett pressed her lips together, biting back the storm of words fighting to get out. He was in his usual mode, stern and immovable, already convinced he knew what was best. She could argue until her throat gave out, and he wouldn’t bend.
Her hands curled against her skirts, and her nails dug into the fabric.
“So that’s it. Me future settled in a few strokes of ink on one of yer maps.”
Aaron didn’t answer. He only looked at her, and she knew he’d already closed the matter in his mind.
Scarlett swallowed, forcing her voice to steady even as her chest tightened. “Ye’ve already decided.” “Aye,” Aaron said quietly. “I have.”
Scarlett didn’t flinch, but the word married hit her. It sat in her chest like a stone dropped into a frozen loch. Heavy, cold, and final. She felt the ripples of it vibrating through her ribs before her mind could even process the image.
A stranger’s name on her lips. A stranger’s fortress walls closing around her. A stranger’s weight in her bed.
She forced a breath into her lungs, slow and rhythmic. It was the same controlled mask she’d worn since they were children, the one she used whenever Aaron decided her life was a piece of parchment he could fold and tuck away.
Then, she pictured Edith.
The thought wasn't a panic, it was a cold, sharp clarity. She had known, in that dark, quiet place beneath her heart, that this was the only card she truly held. If she was to be sold, she would set the price herself.
She straightened her spine, the silk of her bodice whispering against her skin like a call to arms. When she spoke, her voice wasn't just steady, it was steel.
