Page 44 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
Aileen bit back a startled squeal, glancing nonchalantly over her shoulder as he caught Gerald leaning beneath a door’s frame, opposite from the one Mollie had just crossed through.
He actuallylookedtired for once, heavy bags hanging beneath his eyes as worried lines seemed permanently etched into his forehead. Even so, his smile suggested an attempt at lighthearted conversation, and Aileen sensed that—as desperate as she was to speak to him—this was hardly the time or place.
Instead, she offered her husband a wry smile, deciding to keep the mood pleasant between them. “Ye didnae see the bits of scone stuck to the side of her head.”
That got a good chuckle out of Gerald. “She’s as messy an eater as that dog of hers.”
“Aye, I wouldnae change it for the world.” Aileen turned to face her husband fully, surprised to find he’d stepped into the room and was currently crossing it to meet her. Her heart jumped in her chest, her mind racing to try to find a subject that wouldn’t lead the conversation to her inevitable badgering. “How … are the preparations for Carswell goin’?”
Gerald offered a light shrug. “Tedious, but manageable. It’s more of a bother to deal with him, but I suppose this clash was inevitable.”
Thanks to me, Aileen finished in her head. “Then, ye’re nae worried?”
Laughter erupted from Gerald’s chest; a full, resonating sound that caused Aileen’s heart to tremble longingly. “About him? Oh, nay lass. It will be like felling a spring sapling. Carswell is a fool for challenging the MacLiddel clan at all.”
He was, Aileen realized. Her banishment had entirely stemmed from the fear of war, and yet here Carswell was, doing just that. “What … do ye think he means to accomplish? Surely, if there’s nae a chance of beating ye, why risk this fight at all?”
Gerald gestured toward the settee, with Aileen obliging. She took her knitting into her lap as her husband sat beside her, her fingers purling and winding to try to release some of her nervous energy. Gracious, he was certainly setting the proper mood for her to talk about her role as Lady. Maybe he himself would bring it up?
Or—and this would truly be a miraculous turn of events—perhaps Gerald would finally invite her into his world, fully accept her as not just his lady, but his wife. His lover.
She pushed such thoughts away, continuing her knitting as she gave her full attention to Gerald.
“I daenae ken Laird Carswell personally,” Gerald admitted. “Though he didnae offer any aid when the major clans went to war. Some may say it was wise of him to keep away from the conflict. He was only thinking of the safety of his clan, one far too small to do much damage to either side.”
He shook his head lightly, a bitter smile taking over his face. “Me brither had a different way of looking at it, though. If ye werenae willing to fight for a better future, ye didnae deserve to hold the title of laird. We have to think beyond our own walls, nae be afraid of getting our hand bitten while offerin’ it.”
Aileen blinked, the phrase ringing with a sense of familiarity. “Is … that why ye were so willing to give me a chance?”
He chuckled lightly once more, his tired eyes meeting Aileen’s. “I admit that seeing Mollie in that state influenced me greatly. And yer own appearance … well, let’s just say I didnae fear for me safety. But, aye, that personal saying had a hand in it.”
It was the first time he’d so willingly offered information about himself. Personal information. Aileen was certain she’d never heard a word about his brother until this moment. “And … yer brither …” She didn’t bother finishing the question, as Gerald’s somber expression was all the answer she needed. “I’m sorry.”
Gerald shook his head with more force this time. “It was a long time ago. And, it was nae yer fault, unless yer infant self were an expert in combat.”
Aileen couldn’t stop a humorous snort from escaping; the mental image of a baby trying to pick up a sword was simply too much. She quickly covered her mouth, her eyes wide and another apology fresh on her tongue, only for Gerald’s new expression to give her pause. No longer was he blankly staring at the hearth, but he was sporting a small smile of amusement entirely her way.
It didn’t reach his eyes, and it certainly wasn’t as bright or all-encompassing as the other looks he’d given her. Yet, Aileen found herself appreciating it all the same; in a strange way, this underwhelming expression was one of the greatest ones she’d received from him. Perhaps because it was from such a place of … honesty. Vulnerability.
“How isMollie doing?” Gerald suddenly asked, that smile flickering away into something more practiced.
Aileen sighed lightly, finishing her last pull before setting her knitting aside once more. For now, she was content having that smile kept as a fleeting memory.
“I cannae say for certain. It’s almost as if she’s nae aware of Carswell’s arrival. I daenae ken if she’s truly at such ease, or if she’s hiding her fear from me. From us,” she added, offering a glance Gerald’s way. “She looks to ye quite highly, dear husband.”
Gerald nodded, stroking his beard thoughtfully as his mind immediately went to work. “I’ll see if I cannae do something about it.”
“Ye have so much else to worry about, though,” Aileen insisted, though she was startled to find Gerald’s hands suddenly grasping her own. She looked into his gaze, that beautiful forest glimmering against the hearth’s firelight; it was like seeing the very personification of the man’s endless determination.
“Mollie will always come first in this keep,” Gerald promised. “Ye have me word on that, sweet wife. Why daenae I have her watch the men practice sparring tomorrow after lunch? She can see firsthand how skilled they are, and it may put her at ease to ken such talented folk are protecting her.”
Aileen blinked, uncertain how to react. The offer was … he really did have entirely too much to take care of, yet he was putting it all aside to ensure Mollie was all right.
Her eyes flickered to his hands, his callouses brushing roughly against her skin with a pleasant roughness. Before she could properly reply, Gerald suddenly released her hands and stood, brushing his tunic and offering a slight grunt.
“Ah. Apologies. Ye’d asked me nae to touch ye without asking.” Before Aileen could say otherwise, Gerald suddenly excused himself, leaving the same way Mollie had. Aileen remained on the settee, her mind whirling from the conversation.
She glanced back at her knitting, her fingers still trembling from his not-unwelcomed touch, and she found herself picking it up once more, desperate to collect herself before her imagination spun out of control.
