Page 12 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
Aileen watched as the Laird’s expression fell at the mere mention of her brother’s name. She exhaled softly, taking a few steps closer as she set the bucket on the ground beside her. “I … greatly appreciate all ye’ve done for us so far, Gerald. It doesnae even come close to repayin’ ye, but … I would like to do this kindness for ye. Even if ye only allow it for me own ease mind.”
In reply, Gerald simply shrugged, rolling up his sleeve and setting his fairly bruised arm out across his desk. “Have at it, lass. I willnae stop ye.”
He probably should have stopped her. It was wholly unnecessary—a waste of medicine and hot water, especially when he’d already told her the bite hadn’t broken skin. Perhaps his willingness would be seen as a weakness, one his new bride-to-be would see as his willingness to bend to even more of her foolish wishes. He didn’t need another of Marcus’ ilk to see him in such a weakened state, but …
Gerald exhaled through his nose as Aileen began to gently wipe his arm with a wetted cloth. This woman could hardly be considered a proper member of the Hughes family, anyway. She and Mollie had clearly been unwanted, likely seen ashnefataflpieces for the unseen game Marcus played in pursuit of overtaking the Highlands.
The sins of her older brother shouldn’t be held against her, and Gerald knew that well. Still, it was difficult to envision himself ever fully being open with Aileen, his soon-to-be wife, notwithstanding.
As she dropped the cloth back into the bucket and prepared the poultice, Aileen initiated conversation between them once more. “Ah, Gerald …?”
Gerald eyed her curiously, quietly waiting for her to continue.
“I … I would like to bring up the terms of our arrangement,” Aileen began nervously. “About … what ye’d receive from meself.”
Gerald raised his brow, his nose wrinkling slightly at the strong, sharp scent of medicine being applied to his arm. “I will be in command of yer brither’s territory, to divide and rule as I see fit.”
“Yes, but I daenae think that’s quite enough,” Aileen insisted. “Ye’ve promised Mollie the perfect life—land alone cannae express me gratitude for that. And …” She paused, her hands lingering across his forearm as her face flushed a brilliant crimson. “I … I havenae seen nor heard of an heir to continue yer clan’s legacy.”
Oh, the lass was certainly bold, that was for certain.
“I ken ye said ye daenae need me to perform such duties for ye, but …”
She was positively flushed. Gerald could feel the heat radiating from her face.
“But, I ken why a laird takes a wife to begin with. And … and … Laird Carswell was certainly …” Her voice trailed off, and she quickly removed her hands from his arm. Which was quite the pity. Gerald was beginning to enjoy her touch against his skin.
He watched as she quickly washed her hands in the bucket and stood upright, her arms clasped to her side as if she were standing at attention to her captain. “So, though I appreciate yer concern for me, giving ye an heir is … is the very least I can do for ye!”
As she stood before him, trembling and attempting to appear firm, Gerald fought against the urge to laugh. She was certain to take it negatively, but the mere fact that she had presented such a sensual act as a business proposition was almost too much to handle.
The little deer certainly knew how to take a stand before her hunter, that was for certain. Gerald wouldn’t have been surprised if she had practiced the speech in her head multiple times before entering his study. “When Marcus gave yer hand to Laird Carswell,” he began. “Was that his way of trying to get yer status as a lady proper recognition?”
The question took Aileen entirely by surprise. Intentionally so, as Gerald hadn’t really wanted to give her an answer just yet. Her shoulders relaxed somewhat, her hand brushing across the wood of his work desk absentmindedly. “Honestly … I think he was tired of seeing me face around his keep,” she replied in barely a whisper.
“Ye believe that?”
Aileen nodded. “He went as far as to ensure me sister and Bannock accompanied me. At first, I saw it as a kindness, but now?” She shrugged lightly, her fingers tracing the grooves of the desk’s wood. “I think he didnae want to be reminded of his family’s greatest embarrassment.”
Gerald shifted forward in his chair, causing Aileen to take a startled step away. He folded his hands against his desk, his arm still reeking with fresh poultice. He’d have to find bandages for it later.
“I want ye to understand, lass, that I daenae see ye as an embarrassment. I hardly ken ye to pass such judgement.” He sighed, shifting his stiffened shoulders. “So, when I say we should remain passin’ strangers durin’ our time as laird and lady, I daenae say it for that reason.”
It was the first time he saw a spark of anger flash behind Aileen’s doe-like eyes. “I daenae understand! How could ye nae want an heir from me? It’s what every laird wants—it’s what Marcus expected of me when I went away!”
“I am nae Marcus,” Gerald growled, fighting to keep his temper in check. “And ye best remember that.”
Aileen immediately fell silent, her lips pressed tightly together as her body stiffened once more.
Gerald took a deep breath. It was not her that his anger should be directed at. “I am nae yer brither, and I am nae Laird Carswell. I willnae force meself upon a lass who doesnae truly want it.” He suddenly stood from his chair, the smallest hint of a smirk crossing his face. “Of course, with ye being as insistent as ye are … perhaps I’m mistaken?”
Wait, what?
Aileen had barely registered what he’d said when Gerald suddenly rounded his desk and stood towering before her. The way he looked down at her sent a shiver across her skin, though it wasn’t the same disgusted reaction she felt when Laird Carswell leered at her.
This was … enticing, like finding a lone stag on the forest’s path. There was a chance he could attack with his horns, yet there was still a level of openness, an invitation to approach closer. Aileen wasn’t certain when it’d happened, but she found herself staring into the vast, forested gaze of the Laird of MacLiddel, lost in the surprising flecks of gold she found hidden beneath.
“Laird MacLiddel?”
