Page 11 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
“They willnae have any choice in the matter,” Gerald said, though he knew his man-at-arms was right. He’d been uninvolved in the situation for too long. Simply swooping in and taking everything wouldn’t end well for any of the clans.
“I hear what ye’re saying, though. We’ll send our council to the Marsdens—that seems to be where the other lairds have been holdin’ meetings over the matter. They can inform the others what’s been happening on our end and draft up a reasonable map that divides Marcus’ territories equally between us.”
Rory’s brow rose in surprise. “Ye’re certain, me Laird? Nae one of them would stop ye if ye gave yerself a wee bit more.”
“It was land that drove Marcus to madness in the first place,” Gerald replied curtly. “I willnae follow him down a similar path. The greater lairds will share the territories equally. This time of violence and war needs to come to an end.”
6
The thought had … certainly come to Aileen’s mind. It was a brief, passing idea, one she really shouldn’t have put too much consideration into. As she and Mollie enjoyed the warm bathwater drawn by the maids, it occurred to her that, perhaps, Bannock’s bite on the Laird’s arm had been a bit more forceful than first anticipated.
Maybe he’d underplayed the injury so as not to worry them, or lay guilt upon Aileen’s already heavy mind. He certainly hadn’t shown any further discomfort during their journey, but she’d seen firsthand what happened to those who didn’t keep a close eye on injuries that seemingly meant nothing.
And thus, after Mollie and Bannock fell asleep in their brand-new bed, tucked under layers of heavy furs and handstitched quilts, Aileen asked Ms. Blair for a few supplies to bring to Laird MacLiddel.Gerald, she reminded herself as the housekeeper led her through the castle halls.
He was to be her husband, after all. Though that concept hadn’t fully taken root in her mind just yet. She’d been the unwanted daughter or the betrothed to Laird Carswell for so long. Even her time as a wanderer felt more real than this newest title.
“His study is just down the corridor,” Ms. Blair gestured, Aileen’s gaze following down the row of doors toward the very end of the hall. “If ye need anything further, just ask.”
“Aye. Thank ye again, Ms. Blair,” Aileen said.
Ms. Blair simply nodded in reply, turning to tend to whatever tasks she had left to handle for the evening. That left Aileen to make the rest of the walk on her own, a warm water bucket in one hand and a small jar of poultice in the other. Assumedly—hopefully—Laird MacLiddel would have some sort of bandages tucked away in his study. Somewhere.
“It’s Gerald, ye silly lass,”Aileen corrected herself under her breath. Gerald. This was going to take some getting used to. As she gently rapped against the study’s door, she suddenly found it swing open with little resistance, leaving her to stare, wide-eyed, into the room.
The Laird sat at his desk, seemingly unfazed to see his betrothed having entered his sanctum with little respect. The other man managed a bit more of a reaction, grimacing slightly as the scar against his chin wrinkled.
“Ah. Miss Hughes!” The second man—Rory, Aileen faintly recalled—stood from his chair and offered a nod of respect.
“The title isnae necessary. Aileen will work just fine.”
Rory offered her a grin. “Nay, nae for me Laird’s soon-to-be bride! I insist on at least addressin’ ye as, ‘me Lady’.”
Aileen could feel her face begin to heat. It was obvious that he and the Laird—Gerald—were speaking of business she had no say in. “I’m … sorry for inturruptin’ ye.”
“Nay bother, me Lady!” Rory insisted. “We have just finished up. He’s all yers.”
Aileen caught a distinct frown cross the Laird’s lips, but he didn’t argue against his man-at-arms. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Rory made his way across the study and toward the entrance, giving Aileen a moment to realize she needed to step out of the doorframe. “Ah, sorry.”
“Nay bother,” Rory repeated, offering another reassuring smile before rounding down the hallway. Before he left, his hand gently pressed against the door, ensuring it clicked shut before his footsteps shuffled away. Leaving Aileen inside the Laird’s study … with only the Laird himself as company.
She stood awkwardly in place, watching the Laird—Gerald—finish up a letter before setting his quill back into his inkwell. Then, he gently set the paper aside to dry, his hands folding on top of his desk as he gave his full attention to Aileen. “I see ye’ve had a chance to clean and warm yerself?”
Aileen nodded, glancing down at the silk-white nightgown the maids had offered to her. “The … material feels as if I were wearing the air itself. It’d been quite some time since I’ve worn such finery, me Laird.”
Gerald raised an eyebrow.
“Ah—Gerald, I mean,” Aileen hastily corrected herself. “Forgive me. I was betrothed to Laird Carswell for so long … I didnae call him by his first name, so this is a bit strange fer me.” She swallowed hard, aware at how pathetic an excuse that may have sounded.
Gerald gestured to her bucket and poultice, curiosity sparking behind his verdant eyes. “Are ye in need of more of that supply? I wasnae aware that either of ye were sufferin’ wounds.”
“Oh, nay, me—ah, nay, Gerald.” Aileen inhaled slowly, trying to catch her skittering nerves. “I was … hoping to offer these to ye.”
Again, Gerald’s brow rose. “I wasnae awareIwas sufferin’ with wounds.”
“Well, nay, but …” Aileen took a hesitant step forward, gesturing toward the Laird’s rolled-down sleeve. “I ken Bannock’s bite may be awfully painful. And, I ken ye said it broke nay skin,” she added hastily. “But I’ve seen plenty of men say similar, and they ended up havin’ said arm put to the blade.”
A low, dry chuckle escaped Gerald’s throat. “Is yer beast some sort ofCù Sìth,lass? I must admit, taming a harbinger of death would be quite the feat for Marcus.”
