Page 129 of A Virgin for the Stone Highlander
Aaron held his gaze for a heartbeat longer before giving a single nod.
No one dies today.
The thought was steady in his mind, and he refused to entertain any other outcome.
“Go,” he said. “I will bring Edith back.”
Caelan nodded, his footsteps fading quickly as he disappeared toward the Great Hall, ordering the guards as he passed them.
Aaron turned toward the smaller side door that led through the kitchens—the quickest route toward the western gate and away from the festival.
His hand settled instinctively on his dirk, his strides lengthened, and he whispered under his breath, “Hell.”
He had almost reached the threshold when he stopped abruptly, his heel scraping across the stone floor.
That scent.
It was faint, hardly noticeable, but he could not have missed it for anything.
Wild lavender.
For one impossible moment, he thought his mind had conjured it. The scent had haunted him for nearly a week, clinging to every memory of Edith so much that he now scarcely trusted himself to be sure of it.
He drew another breath and smelled it again. Stronger.
Nay.
His heart lurched as the realization dawned on him.
She is here!
His mind raced for a moment, trying to reconcile what the messenger had said with the scent.
West of the well.
It was the most practical choice. The most reasonable.
How then could her scent be coming from within the keep? Drifting down the stairs that led up to the west wing of the castle?
’Tis a distraction. Of course.
Aaron marched up the stairs, his feet pounding on the stone floors. The scent of wild lavender was stronger in the west wing. Fresher.
He followed it all the way, turning down the corridors until he finally stopped in front of his study.
Darned bastard.
He pushed open the door at once, pulling out his dirk before he had even stepped into the room.
The sight before him made him stop in his tracks.
Edith.
She sat bound to a chair, her wrists lashed tightly to the armrests with coarse rope. A piece of cloth had been tied over her mouth and another over her eyes.
She looked hopelessly small. Vulnerable. Hopeless in a way that made his heart twist in pain.
The study itself had been ransacked. Books littered the floor, the shelves they previously occupied now empty. The surface of his desk had been stripped bare, every drawer hanging open as though someone had searched each one in desperation.
