Page 64 of A Virgin for the Stone Highlander
Aaron’s hand stilled on the edge of the desk. She had only confirmed his initial assumption. And yet it felt as though she had just punched him in the gut.
“’Tis good to hear,” he murmured.
Edith did not seem to notice the change in his tone.
“’Tis truly wonderful to learn how to help people,” she continued. “I took several notes today…”
Her voice carried easily now, animated in a way he had never heard it before.
He realized distantly that he was no longer hearing the words so much as watching her speak them. The shape of her mouth. The ease in her expression. The way she looked entirely unaware of the effect she was having on him.
He had seen Edith in many states over the past weeks. He had seen her composed during the announcement of their engagement. He had seen her sharp and argumentative in his study, in the corridors, and on the stairwell. He had seen her guarded in the mornings, exhausted before dawn, brave in the face of backlash against their betrothal.
But never like this.
’Tis the healer.
The thought came uninvited.
Martin.
Aaron’s jaw tightened. It occurred to him, with a discomfort he could not immediately locate, that the smile on her face had nothing to do with him.
He reached for the report and looked at it without reading it—a new habit that only surfaced whenever Edith was involved.
Edith paused, and only then did he realize that he had barely heard a word of what she had said.
“What?” The word came out sharper than he had intended.
“I said I daenae suppose ye ken.”
Aaron blinked, confused. “Ken what?”
Edith hesitated for a moment.
“Forget it, me Laird,” she said, raising her chin slightly. “Someone was kind enough to leave a notebook in me chamber, and I thought it might be…” She stopped.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. Then she shook her head once, as if dismissing the thought.
“Actually, I daenae ken why I thought that,” she said.
Aaron’s fingers stilled.
He had left her the notebook. He had had it made specially for her, with lavender colored twine to bind the sheets of parchment. But it was nothing more than a courtesy—a polite gesture after his reaction to her first lesson. Or at least, that was what he told himself.
He cleared his throat, steepling his fingers on the desk.
“There is a matter I need ye to be aware of.” His voice came out sharper than he had intended as he steered the conversation in a different direction.
Edith straightened at once. “What matter?” she asked.
His fingers curled at the shift in her tone, as though he had not been curt first.
“The harvest festival,” he replied. “’Tis in two weeks.”
Edith nodded slowly.
“There will be more people than usual in the keep and the surrounding fields,” he continued. “Merchants. Travelers. Clansfolk.”
