Page 14 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
A dramatic, disappointed groan escaped Mollie’s throat, and she turned to Aileen with a desperate whine. “Leelee, I daenae want another bath! I had one last night!”
“Ye should have thought of that before takin’ breakfast like a wild dog,” Ms. Blair replied curtly. “Me Lady, if ye have nay objections …”
“Oh, nay, Ms. Blair,” Aileen agreed. “Mollie should have her own clothes, first and foremost. Thank ye for offerin’ time out of yer busy schedule.”
“Nay bother, love,” Ms. Blair assured. “The Laird has instructed me that me new task is to care for yer sister, and I gladly do so with a smile.”
Aileen noted a lack of said smile as Ms. Blair escorted both the maid and poor Mollie out the opposite side, Bannock whining and following in protest. Soon, the dining room was left in a quiet state, with only herself and Gerald left at the table.
“What was that about her makin’ ye a dress?” Gerald asked.
Aileen’s face flushed slightly, and she poked her fork at her uneaten pile of eggs. “Oh … daenae mind her. She wants me to wear somethin’ other than that horrible red dress Laird Carswell forced me into. I told her it werenae a problem?—”
“It certainly is a problem,” Gerald insisted. “No bride of mine will wear what her previous betrothed demanded. Ye should go with Ms. Blair to town and find a new gown.”
“That’s very generous of ye, but I daenae need?—”
“It’s nae for ye, then,” Gerald interrupted, lifting his goblet as he swirled the contents within. “It’s for me own sake. I wouldnae look the part of a good husband, lettin’ me wife wear a hand-me-down. This keep looks to me for order, and havin’ ye dressing as a proper Lady is part of that.”
Aileen sighed, realizing this was a fight she wouldn’t win. With a submissive nod, she did her best to finish the rest of her breakfast, her appetite not entirely back to its proper state.
Once more, Gerald found himself back in his study, staring at his desk as if a task would suddenly make itself known. It’d been less than an hour since he’d sent the Hughes sisters off to town, and already, the castle sounded entirely too quiet for his liking. “They’ve hardly been here a day,” he chastised himself. “And ye’ve already grown feelings for them?”
It seemed impossiblenotto feel something toward Mollie. A young lassie given a terrible lot in life, one she had no say or control over, and yet still somehow found the joy and beauty of it all. She was a special gift amidst the bleak Highlands, a single snow flower growing through the harsh ground of the cold north.
Gerald could easily see himself adopting her as his own, and he would gladly give up everything he had to ensure she lived the life she dreamed of. And then, there was Aileen …
Gerald suddenly stood upright, moving toward his bookcase as he fixated on the chunks of wood he’d taken out of it last night. It was rough, ugly, and splintered—a chaotic mess that anotherman might’ve simply broken down further and used for scrap or firewood.
Instead, Gerald took his woodcarving tool and began to shape the harsher edges, a vague image reaching out through his mind and waiting to be released on the wood itself. It was about time he brought his inner sanctum back to order.
A gentle knock sounded at his door, but given how it immediately swung open, Gerald didn’t even bother looking away from his new project. “Did ye send a group off already, Rory?”
“Aye, sir,” Rory said. “They’ll be back in two days, just as ye asked. Hopefully, with this Sarah lass in tow.”
Gerald could feel the eyes of his man-at-arms staring over his shoulder, but he continued to carve through the chunks of wood. “Good. I daenae want the wedding delayed any longer than necessary.
Silence hung in the room for a beat, filled soon after by the patter of footsteps as Rory drew closer. “So, about that screamin’ fit I heard earlier this mornin’ …?”
A slight chuckle escaped Gerald’s throat. “That would’ve been Mollie. Ms. Blair demanded she bathed, and the wee one didnae take it well.”
“Ah.”
Another beat of silence, occasionally broken up by the sound of Gerald’s knife carving out curling strips of wood. His eye trailed one as it drifted toward the ground, only to raise and meet the uncharacteristically concerned face of his man-at-arms. “What is it, Rory?”
Rory’s arms crossed loosely over his chest. “I hate to admit it, but I’m concerned about Laird Carswell.”
“In what way?”
Rory’s frown deepened further. “We daenae ken the reason for Aileen’s departure from Carswell’s side. She speaks as if the marriage were set in stone, yet she was found with one foot in a grave at Marcus’ main castle.” He shook his head, letting out a frustrated huff. “I cannae escape the feelin’ that it’s a loose end in need of tyin’ up.”
“Ye wish to cut Carswell down?” Gerald asked.
“Nay. He daenae has the same forces as we do, but his territory is on a key piece of farmin’ land.” Again, Rory shook his head. “Anythin’ short of a full-scale war would be necessary to overthrow him, and his castle’s nestled in the hills. He could easily hold a siege far longer than our men could last.”
It was moments like these that reminded Gerald why he’d chosen Rory as his man-at-arms. He straightened himself, inspecting his work with a subtle frown. At the very least, the gashes in the bookshelf weren’t as jagged, but they still needed work.
“Go to Carswell’s Castle yerself, Rory. See if he’s perhaps received word of Marcus’ plans. If I were him, and I’d heard me bride-to-be was involved in the greatest feat of betrayal the Highlands have ever seen, I wouldnae want any association.”
