Page 5 of Heart of the Highlands: The Rose (Protectors of the Crown #6)

Aiden walked the grounds of his home; the crunching of his boots on the frosted-covered grass echoed in the morning's quiet stillness. He breathed in the crisp, cold air, feeling it fill his lungs and clear his mind. Despite the stunning beauty of his surroundings, his thoughts were troubled.

As he approached the castle, he noticed a group of people gathered at the entrance. His heart sank as he realized that it was another group of men hoping to gain his favor and offer their daughters as potential wives.

Aiden sighed heavily, feeling the weight of his responsibilities as the laird of his clan. He knew he needed to find a wife soon to secure the future of his people, but the thought of choosing someone based solely on her family’s wealth or status left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Kilvarock Castle had never buzzed with such fervor as it had in the past three days. The news had rippled through the surrounding valleys and hills like wildfire; the clan’s laird, Aiden, was looking for a bride. In response, fathers from every corner of the realm eagerly paraded their daughters to the imposing fortress, their hopes hanging heavily in the air. Although Aiden had reluctantly agreed to this pursuit of partnership, he found himself troubled by the notion of uniting his clan amid such desperate fervor.

The great hall, usually filled with the warm glow of firelight and the rich scent of roasted meats, now echoed with the soft shuffle of gowns and whispered conversations. Young women entered an endless procession, each appearing more like cattle being herded for sale than potential partners. Their eyes darted nervously around the room, scanning the faces of the curious onlookers as they awaited the judgment of the laird. Aiden stood at the head of the hall, his brow furrowed, contemplating the weight of the tradition that obligated him to choose from among them, even as his heart yearned for something more profound than mere obligation.

Aiden reclined in his high-backed, intricately carved chair, its plush cushions enveloping him in comfort as he surveyed the array of young women before him. Each one stepped forward with a mix of trepidation and formality, their eyes downcast as they barely dared to meet his gaze. He couldn’t help but feel a flicker of disappointment; the knowledge that many of these young women were here only at the behest of their fathers weighed heavily on his heart. He was beginning to lose hope of discovering a true partner—someone who would stand by his side as an equal rather than simply serving as a pawn in the relentless means of political alliance.

Beside him, Trey leaned forward, his sharp eyes scanning each newcomer with keen evaluation, assisting Aiden in gauging whether their clans shared the moral and ethical values that he so deeply cherished. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of polished wood and the faint aroma of blooming flowers from the garden outside, starkly contrasting Aiden's internal turmoil.

To him, morals and values weren’t merely admirable traits but the cornerstone of his leadership. He sought allies who embodied integrity and shared vision, knowing that every choice he made would reverberate through the fabric of his people’s lives. Finding a suitable wife was not simply a personal pursuit—it was a mission that bore the weight of his clan’s future on his shoulders. Each decision held significant implications, and he yearned for a companion who would navigate that tumultuous path with him, sharing in the challenges and triumphs that lay ahead.

“Laird McKiernan, may I have the honor of introducing my daughter, Beatrice Hamilton,” the chieftain announced, gracefully stepping aside to allow his daughter to take center stage.

Before him stood a young woman who appeared no older than fifteen. She possessed a pallid complexion, contrasting sharply with her long, slender arms that lacked the robust strength of youth. Beatrice peered up at him from beneath a curtain of unkempt brown hair, her wide eyes flickering with a blend of curiosity and shyness reminiscent of a timid mouse peering from its burrow.

“It is a pleasure to meet ye, my laird. Do ye have a fondness for music?” she inquired, her voice soft and tentative, yet the question carried an unexpected depth that piqued his interest.

“Aye, I believe that music carries the soul,” he responded, his heart stirred by the sincerity in her gaze.

“I would love to play a song fer ye. As of recent, I have found a passion for playing the lute.”

“Have ye? Well, I would love to hear it,” Aiden remarked.

Her father handed her the instrument, the worn lute glimmering dimly in the light of the flickering candles that adorned the walls. As she began to strum the strings, the unmistakable truth settled in the air: she was no musician. The notes that spilled forth from the lute were harsh and discordant, sending ripples of discomfort to everyone in the room. Aiden caught a glimpse of Trey’s face contorting in a grimace, his eyes crinkling in disbelief.

Lady Beatrice, undeterred by the sound that could only be described as noise and nothing more, pressed on with her playing. With every attempt to hit the right notes, the music grew increasingly chaotic, as though the lute itself was mocking her efforts, joyfully relishing in her lack of talent. The sharp twangs of the strings echoed around the chamber, twisting the atmosphere into one of palpable tension.

Aiden leaned closer to Trey, his voice barely above a whisper yet filled with urgency. “Do we have anything—anything at all—that could drown out this noise left in the castle?”

Trey shook his head slowly, a look of genuine pain etched across his features. “I’m afraid no’, my laird,” he replied, his voice a hushed lament. “We used all of them during Lady Matilda's rather… unique bagpipe performance yesterday.”

Aiden sighed, the weight of their predicament settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Well,” he said, a hint of dark humor creeping into his voice, “it seems we must brace ourselves for the Symphony of Discord. Perhaps it would be wise to send word to the villagers to evacuate for their own safety.”

Trey nodded in agreement. “A wise precaution, my laird. We wouldn't want any shattered windows or fleeing livestock on our hands,” he said, his voice tinged with mock seriousness.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of torturous playing, Lady Beatrice gave up.

“That was very interesting music,” Aiden said, trying to be kind. However, the look of distaste on his face made her put down the lute and run out the door, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I apologize for my daughter’s rudeness, my Laird,” her father replied as he chased after her.

“Perhaps the next one will be better?” Trey said, his tone carrying little hope.

“And how many more are we to expect?” asked Aiden, with clenched teeth, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Only a few, my laird. But there are more tomorrow.”

Aiden's eyes widened in horror, and he desperately tried to maintain a polite facade. “More? Tomorrow?” he muttered, his mind racing with images of a daunting future.

Aiden waited anxiously for the next arrival. The loud, pounding footfalls outside the great hall door sounded like a bear had entered the castle. When the door swung open, a heavy-set woman appeared, her wide hips and round face giving her a striking presence. She carried herself with confidence and grace, dressed in a simple, homespun gown. Her hair was pinned tightly in a bun on top of her head, reminiscent of one of the nuns from his youth during lessons at the church in Edinburgh.

“Good day, my laird. I am Lady Julia of Clan Fergusson,” she said, bowing.

When she spoke, her voice was more profound than any man he had ever known.

“Lady Julia,” Aiden replied, bowing his head.

He could not take his eyes off her muscular arms, reminiscent of tree trunks.

“Dinner is served, my laird,” Eira, the housemaid, announced.

Aiden forced an awkward smile as they sat down for dinner. Julia helped herself to a hearty meal, tearing meat off the bone with her teeth. Juice from the chicken dripped down her chin. Instinctively, Aiden reached for a cloth napkin, shooting a look at Trey, who giggled like a young lass. At least one of them found some amusement.

“Yer sure a scrawny one, my laird,” Julia said playfully. “But dinna ye worry. As yer wife, I will make sure ye eat like a king.” With that, she passed him a plate of chicken legs.

While he was not one to judge based on appearance, he wondered if marrying her would leave him feeling as flat as a slice of bread.

Hurrying through dinner, Aiden concocted an excuse to leave early, complaining that his head hurt. He felt relieved to retire to his chamber, leaving Trey to escort Lady Julia out. He couldn't ignore the look of disdain Trey shot him as he went.

The following day was not much better. Two more women came and went with disappointment. Aiden was beginning to lose hope. He could meet every woman in the land, and none of them could make him feel the way his mystery woman had. He knew she was out there, somewhere, but he had given up hope of ever finding her.

That morning, the castle woke up to a light blanket of snow, a reminder of how close winter was and the new year would follow. He needed to make his decision quickly.

“My laird, you have a visitor,” announced his steward, Nigel.

“Send them in,” Aiden replied, finishing his mug of ale as he braced himself for another wave of women eager to impress him.

Through the doorway, Nigel announced the arrival of Laird Sorley Munro and his eldest daughter, Josephine. She was said to be the wealthiest woman in all of Scotland, possessing a fortune in gold and jewels that would make any man’s eyes water.

As Aiden was introduced to Lady Josephine, he couldn’t help but notice her air of superiority and greed. Her conversation revolved solely around her wealth, and she seemed more interested in his fortune than his character.

“You’re a laird, are ye no’?” she said, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “Surely, ye must have a decent fortune of your own.”

Aiden was taken aback by her audacity. He had never met anyone so fixated on wealth before.

“We are a humble clan, my lady,” he replied cautiously, “but I believe that love and companionship hold greater value in a marriage than material possessions.”

Lady Josephine sniffed dismissively, clearly unimpressed.

“That’s easy for ye to say. Ye have a castle and lands to yer name. I have only my fortune to rely on.”

Aiden studied Lady Josephine, his thoughts stirring in a mix of disbelief and disdain. She sat, poised and immaculate, yet he could sense the material hunger beneath her delicate facade. The woman was a creature of luxury, molded by wealth and social status, and that was not the kind of woman he desired to stand beside him.

With a half-smile that could scarcely be called sincere, he leaned forward. “Well, Lady Josephine,” he began, his voice smooth yet laced with a cutting edge. “I can only assume ye have a taste for finer things. Perhaps we could discuss a marriage contract with a generous allowance and lavish gifts to satisfy such…refined desires.”

Her lips curved in a coy smile, eyes twinkling with greed, she tried to mask her interest but failed miserably. “Oh, I would be most intrigued by such an arrangement, my Laird,”

Aiden’s gaze flicked to Trey, who sat beside him, barely suppressing a smirk. Aiden leaned back in his chair, casting a sideways glance toward the woman who was all too eager to bargain for his wealth.

“Aye,” Aiden replied with a casual tilt of his head, speaking now more to Trey than to Josephine. “We may need to have the master blacksmith forge a shovel.”

Lady Josephine’s brows furrowed. “A shovel, my laird?”

“Aye,” Aiden said with a dry smile, his voice as sharp as the steel he’d just mentioned. “A heavy one, for when the quantity of horse manure pouring from your lips becomes too great to manage.”

Josephine’s jaw fell open, taken aback, but Aiden’s eyes remained cold, and he had become quite bothered with their interaction, though he tried to make light of it. He had decided the moment she entered the room; this was not the woman for him.

“Ye-ye dare speak to me so?” she hissed, her voice trembling with fury.

“How dare you insult my daughter in such a manner,” her father added.

“Perhaps ye shall teach yer daughter the value of integrity, Laird Munro.”

Without another word, Josephine turned sharply on her heel, her silken skirts swirling behind her as she marched toward the great hall doors, her father following closely behind. Lord Munro paused momentarily on the threshold as the heavy wooden doors swung open with a resounding thud. He cast a final glance over his shoulder. “Ye will regret this, Aiden McKiernan. Ye will ne’er be as great of a mon as yer grandfather.”

A silence fell between them, and Aiden’s mind was already moving on. There were more important matters to tend to than the fleeting tantrums of a woman who valued silver more than sincerity. He knew his heart was still reserved for someone far more worthy, someone who understood the value of honesty, loyalty, and love.

With that, they stormed out of the hall. The door slammed shut behind them. Aiden shook his head, his gaze lingering on the door. He hoped what Laird Munro said was true. He wanted to be nothing like his grandfather. He wouldn’t be great. He would be better than great. He would be the laird this clan needs and deserves.

Aiden rose from his chair.

“This is pointless, and I’ve had enough. I will no’ meet another woman on that list,” Aiden said to Trey.

“But my laird, there is only one name left.”

“I dinna care who she is. I will marry Lady De LaCroix. We only need to be married in name. Hopefully, she will no’ drive me to insanity like the others.”

Aiden stormed from the room, wishing he could rid himself of women for good.

Eira stepped into the room where Trey stood near the fire, his arm resting on the mantle.

“Laird Aiden dinna seem so happy today. I take it he has yet to find a love match.”

Trey shook his head.

“How many women are left?”

“Only one, but he refuses to meet anyone else. He has decided upon Lady De LaCroix at our grandfather’s request. We will travel to Inverness tomorrow, where he will make his intentions known.”

“Well, at least he’s made his decision.”

Trey’s eyes swept across the letter before crumpling it in his hand and setting it on the mantle.

“Ye can toss the invite away for Lady Abigail Sinclair. We shall no’ longer need it.”