She embraced him.
The thought settled in his mind alongside the memory of what he had seen, and his chest tightened so hard it nearly hurt.
It did not make any sense.
He did not care what Edith did or with whom. At least, that was what he had told himself when he had gone to look for her. He had not expected to find her in an embrace with the healer, with her face pressed against his shoulder. He had not meant to see it.
His body shuddered with a feeling far worse than anger as he replayed the scene in his mind.
Bloody bastard.
Martin had told her how great a healer she would be if she were not going to become his lady. As though that was what he wished for her.
“Thank ye. Truly. For everything.”
Edith’s voice had been soft and sweet, as though the lessons were the only thing worth such gratitude. As though Aaron’s money, his protection, his name shielding her from the council’s cruelty counted for nothing.
His jaw hardened as he thought of Martin. His fingers clenched, his nails digging into his palms. He imagined the many things he could have done to the lad.
But he was Aaron Gallaway. He was not the sort of Laird to reward frivolous acts with his attention. He could not become soft because of a woman.
Aye. I daenae give a damn.
Edith was only a lass. It was a privilege that she had become his fake betrothed, and he would not forget that. What she did and how she acted outside their arrangement meant nothing to him.Shemeant nothing to him.
He hissed, pushing himself upright.
It was as though the floor would give way beneath him. As though the stone walls would come crashing down under the weight of his fury. His feet carried him along the dark stone corridors of the east wing, his steps heavy.
Hell.
He groaned, cursing inwardly.
The lass means nothing.
The more he tried to convince himself of that, the more their embrace struck him unbidden.
Damn me.
His steps slowed as he reached the door to her bedchamber. His chest tightened as he remembered the kiss they had shared.
’Tis me fault for allowing it.
He had let himself get carried away in the thrill of their arrangement and her stupid lavender scent. He had allowed her to feel comfortable around him. And that was why she could ignore him in a room full of people, walk off with the healer, and do as she pleased.
He slapped his palm against the door, the heavy wood shuddering as it swung open.
He paused. He considered turning away, returning to Scarlett and her husband and telling them that he did not find her. But his feet made a decision before he could.
He stepped into her bedchamber, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
The chamber was empty. Of course, it was.
His gaze swept across the room despite himself. Her bed was neatly made as he would have expected. The notebook he had gotten for her sat open on the small table beside the window, dried herbs pressed carefully between its pages. Near the mirror, there was a ribbon he vaguely remembered seeing woven through her hair weeks ago.
He stared at it all, moving slowly as though he had no control over his body.
Every trace of her seemed impossibly present despite her absence.
