Page 1 of A Virgin for the Stone Highlander
CHAPTER ONE
Aaron Gallaway snapped the book in front of him shut.
Bloody hell.
He released a rough breath, massaging his temples with his fingers to ease the tension that was beginning to mount within him.
He had been reviewing reports of the clan’s recent finances when the elders and councilmen let themselves into the narrow chamber, crowding the room with pressure and their unwelcome presence.
The chamber itself was little more than stone, a single long table, and the scent of old parchment. A lone fire burned low in the hearth beside the wall, its warmth doing little to soften the mood that had already settled around him.
“Me Laird,” one of the elders said quietly, as though this were anything but a simple request they had come to present. “Yer sister is wed.”
A rough sound escaped the back of Aaron’s throat, but he did not look up.
Following Scarlett’s strategic marriage to Laird McLaren, the clan gained greater access to profitable trade routes, further strengthening their position. The arrangement had pleased the council well enough. Trade had increased within only a handful of months, and more merchants passed through Hallow lands now than ever.
But Scarlett had paid dearly for that alliance.
It was an exchange she herself had bargained with him for, and the elders had no business standing over him now as though her sacrifices were a bargaining chip to be spent twice.
“And what have ye gathered over me head for?” he asked flatly, still rubbing his temples.
He listened as the elders shuffled their feet for a moment, irritation flaring in his chest.
“The alliance is secured,” another said, his quiet tone scraping against what remained of Aaron’s patience. “Now, ye must finish what duty requires.”
The words were like a piece of wood snapping in the fire. Aaron’s jaw clenched. His palms flattened loudly against the table as he rose.
“I have done me duty,” he gritted out, his chest heaving slightly as he held on to restraint.
Since becoming a Laird at eighteen, he had done little else.
At three-and-thirty, fifteen years of his life had already been swallowed by responsibility, war disputes, and trade arrangements—by the terrible winters that demanded careful rationing lest his people suffer, and by the men who looked up to him for judgment before they would even sharpen a blade.
He was their Laird. That was the burden placed upon him, and he never saw reason to complain. But still, it was never enough.
“Nae fully,” the eldest of them replied quietly. His overgrown white beard framed his mouth so heavily that his lips scarcely seemed to move when he spoke. “The clan needs an heir, me Laird. There will be nay more delay.”
“An heir,” Aaron hissed.
His green eyes narrowed as he looked across their faces, half expecting the majority of them to avoid his gaze.
They did not.
They mean to force me hand.
A humorless scoff escaped his lips as the realization dawned on him.
“Go on,” he said, waving his hand slightly as he straightened.
“We have already arranged a match,” the eldest continued. “Laird MacFaris’s daughter will arrive within the week.”
Aaron’s expression hardened instantly.
“MacFaris.” The name rolled off his tongue like a curse.
Aaron had met enough bastards to recognize one when they stood before him, and Laird MacFaris was a man he neither trusted nor respected. Men like MacFaris never offered anything without first measuring what it might offer in return.
