Page 22 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
“Crazy woman, with her crazy wee sister and her crazy dog.” He jabbed and sliced away at the wood while channeling his feelings through his fingers. How dare she speak back to him in such a way? And to demand he take back a direct order?
“Fairy indeed,” Gerald snorted. “Only a being completely foreign to our world would think that an appropriate thing.” He forcefully slowed his pace the closer he got to the wood carving’s eyes, knowing full well he’d get even angrier if he made a mistake. “You’re an awful liar,” he chided himself. “Especially to yourself.”
Truthfully, this had been what he wanted all along. It had been his wish for Aileen to speak her mind more openly, and whether he liked it or not, she was doing just that. “And … if I’m being honest …” Gerald’s musing trailed off as he carefully twisted his wrist, beginning to shape the figure’s pupil. The angle suggested she was staring out the window, watching the tangible snow while the wooden replica flowed out behind her.
He gingerly followed the grain of the wood, ensuring his sour mood didn’t translate into his work. The very personification of winter shouldn’t represent anger. She should be tranquil, soft, perhaps even a touch somber against the endless quiet of a snow-covered forest. But underneath was a bite, a slightfrigidity, that made her just as much a danger as it did a beauty. “Just like Aileen.”
Gerald paused, fully taking in what he’d just said; what he’d justthoughtabout the woman he was so desperate to keep at arm’s length. If he were being honest … if he were being honest, he hadthoroughlyliked her show of force. Her emotion, her truth; there was something utterly attractive in how foreign it was. Gerald hadn’t known many women who would speak so blatantly to their husbands, much less a laird.
And the world had certainly come down hard upon his wife; it showed in her mannerisms, the force it seemed to take for her to look him in the eye. And yet, if she could show such fire, suchpassion?—?
He chuckled quietly, musing on his sudden philosophical mood. Gerald leaned back to inspect his work, noting the slight nicks in the face’s eye to denote shading. He’d gone darker than expected, mimicking a familiar pair of doe-brown eyes that’d stared him down not moments ago.
He let out a heavy sigh, setting the woodcarving knife back onto the shelf while lingering on his work. The soft curve of her face, the swirl of her long hair, and now her eyes. There was no denying who it was meant to be now.
“Divine hag be damned,” Gerald grumbled, rolling his neck with a loud, irritated sigh.
It was—and always had been—Aileen’s face carved within the face of that wood. And now, that face would stare over his shoulder as he worked, mocking him for handling their most recent interaction so poorly.
Nobody seemed to have slept well last night. Aileen certainly knew she hadn’t, still bubbling with unresolved anger over the Laird’s attempts to push her away. Though—and it pleased her somewhat to see—Gerald himself looked rather groggy as he stirred a spoon through his porridge. Her gaze lingered on him a bit longer than she expected, though; in fact, she dared to think that, perhaps, she was admiring a bit.
No longer did he stand over her behind a seemingly impassible wall. With that brief interaction—with that kiss—something briefly shook his imposing figure. He didn’t look so much an imposing laird as he now did … a man. A man doing the best he could for his people—and a man Aileen couldn’t help but catch herself staring at more often.
The only one who seemed well-rested was Mollie, holding a conversation practically with herself as she shoveled her own bowl of oats into her mouth. “Gerald said me handwriting is really good,” Mollie bragged after swallowing. “And he hardly had to help me with spelling! Except for Laird MacDonnell’s name, but Ireallydidnae want to mess that up.”
She then set her bowl on the ground, allowing Bannock to hastily lap up the remnants of her sticky honey porridge.
“Gerald said Mister Nathan will probably say yes, but that’s because he cannae say nay to ‘wee darlings’ like me.” She beamed, turning toward Aileen with a delighted squeal. “Isnae that exciting, Leelee?”
Aileen nodded warmly, having hardly touched her own small portion of breakfast. “I’m … thrilled ye have something fun to look forward to. And did ye do a good job with cleaning Gerald’s study?”
Mollie’s smile turned to a dramatic scowl, glancing Gerald’s way next with a huff. “Gerald got distracted really easily, so I pretty much didallthe cleaning.”
“As ye should have,” Gerald pointed out lightly, lifting his spoon to gesture toward Mollie. “It wasyermess, after all.”
“Aye, but I didnae ken where to put anything!” Mollie insisted. “I asked ye a bunch of times, but ye kept staring at some lady on yer bookshelf.”
Aileen raised a brow, only for Gerald to return to his bowl of food with renewed interest.
“Oh! Ms. Blair says Sarah’s goin’ to come sometime today,” Mollie continued, her sour mood immediately brightening. “So that means Leelee’s goin’ to get married soon!”
Gerald choked on a mouthful of porridge, loudly clearing his throat while taking a hearty swig of ale. Aileen’s second browrose, resulting in quite the expression. Had he completely forgotten his own decree?
It wouldnae surprise me, given the confusing signals he gave last night,Aileen thought darkly.
“That’s if Sarah makes it today,” she replied coolly, staring directly at Gerald while she spoke. “I’m certain Gerald wouldnae force the celebration.”
Gerald set his cup aside, cleaning his face with a linen and making one more attempt to clear his throat. Aileen could visibly see him fighting to control his temper. It felt good, getting under his skin a touch. Especially after last night.
“That reminds me. I’ll need to discuss with me council to see if clan MacGunn will be making an appearance. It willnae do to have too few chairs at the ceremony, or have the alcohol run dry halfway through the feast.”
Aileen’s breath caught in her throat, now causing her to begin choking slightly. She let out a stream of sputtering coughs, taking a drink from her own mug as Mollie—as Gerald—stared on in concern. In fact, the Laird looked ready to leap from his chair and help, if need be.
“I … I’m all right,” Aileen insisted, her hand against her now-aching chest. “I was just … surprised to hear about this.”
“About yer old clan coming?” Gerald asked.
Aileen nodded nervously.
