Page 17 of A Wife for the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #3)

The fireplace was growing dimmer by the second, and Lily had instructed Daisy not to throw in any more logs.

The day had drained her just as the previous one had, but she couldn’t complain. It was all good work, and while she wouldn’t directly admit this to Alasdair, she had felt far more fulfilled doing this than she had in a while.

Her eyes settled on the dying fire as it cast long shadows on the stone walls. She pulled her nightshift over her head and folded it away while Daisy stood close with a fresh gown.

“I thought the council meeting went well, daenae ye think so?” Lily asked as she raised her arms.

Daisy’s hands moved quickly, tugging and tying the fabric into place. “It did, me Lady.”

“If I am being honest with ye, a part of me thought the men would despise me and send me back to me village. Now that I say it out loud, I realize how ridiculous it sounds.”

Daisy laughed. “Ye were right to be worried, me Lady. But it all turned out well, did it nae? The council liked ye. I saw it in their eyes, though none of them would admit it so easily.”

A smile pulled faintly at Lily’s lips. “If only me parents were here,” she whispered.

The words ached, and she looked down at her hands as if they could carry the weight of her thoughts.

Uncomfortable silence stretched until she lifted her head again. “Tell me, Daisy. What of yer parents? What do they do?”

Daisy ran a hand over a crease in her sleeve. “Me ma died of a fever when I was seven. Me da works as a farmhand in Inverness.”

Lily’s brow softened. “Do ye see him often, yer da?”

Daisy shook her head. “Nay. I rarely see him, if at all.”

Lily frowned at her words.

“Ye daenae have to worry, me Lady. ‘Tis easier that way.”

“Easier?”

“Aye.” Daisy’s voice lowered. “After me ma passed, grief overtook him. He loved her too much, I think, and I reminded him of her—too much, maybe. Even the sight of me dragged him into despair, so I thought it best to do him a kindness and move away. Clan MacRay gave me a place. The former Lady MacRay took me into her service, and it steadied me. It did him quite a lot of good as well.”

Lily touched the maid’s wrist lightly. “Grief is illogical, Daisy. When tragedy strikes, folks seek someone to blame, and most times when they find nay one, they turn on themselves.”

Daisy smiled faintly, though her eyes glimmered. “I think he blames himself more than he ever blamed me. He always said there was nothing more he could have done to save her. Yet he never believed it.”

Lily’s gaze drifted to the fire. “I ken the feeling. ‘Tis the helplessness of watching someone ye love slip away while ye stand powerless. Me ma passed away some years ago as well. Grief shapes us all in different ways. But we must learn how to carry it, ye ken? Or else it will carry us.”

“Thank ye, me Lady,” Daisy said softly.

“Give him me regards when ye visit him.”

“I will. And… may I confess something?”

Lily arched an eyebrow at her. “Daisy, if this is about those dresses again?—”

Daisy laughed, shaking her head. “Nay. Nae this time. I only meant… I am surprised by yer kindness. Ye have shown me more of it in one week than I’d received in all the years I served here.

The former Lady MacRay wasnae cruel, but she was indifferent.

Ye are different. Ye look at me, and sometimes it feels like ye see through me. ”

Lily exhaled, her mouth curving slightly. “That is what growing up with sisters will do to ye. One learns to read moods without words.”

She paused, remembering something.

“Speaking of which, I will need paper. I should write to me sisters and invite them to the cèilidh.”

Daisy’s face brightened. “That is a wonderful idea. The clan needs as much cheer as it can find. The wounded soldiers will be heartened by it, and their spirits will be lifted. The council hasnae stopped talkin’ about it?—”

Lily’s head turned sharply. “When did the Laird hear about it?”

Daisy blinked. “Just a few days ago, me Lady.”

Lily’s eyes hardened. “Did he now?”

Daisy faltered, her hands frozen mid-task. “Did I say something wrong, me Lady?”

“On the contrary,” Lily said, her voice quiet but edged with steel. “Ye said something right. Fetch me one of those dresses. I need a word with the Laird.”

Daisy hesitated. “At this hour? He may be asleep.”

Lily rose to her feet, the green folds of her gown brushing the floor. She turned to Daisy with a smile that did not touch her eyes. “Good thing he is me husband, is it nae? Our marriage allows me to wake him.”

The chamber fell silent as Daisy obeyed. She lifted one of the gowns from the chest and held it out. Lily slipped into it, squared her shoulders, and faced the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her with a mix of calm and fury.

She drew in a breath, jutted her chin, and stepped out of her chamber. She walked down the passage, her steps quick and her hands clenched into her skirt. The torches along the walls lit her path, and at last, she reached his chamber and forced herself to knock gently.

His voice came from the other side. “Enter.”

She pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air caught in her throat.

Alasdair stood near the fire, wearing nothing but a pair of transparent white trousers that hung low on his hips. She briefly studied the strong lines of his stomach and the way they cut down into his trousers, leaving almost little to the imagination.

She tried to speak, to find the words, but for some reason, they wouldn’t come. Her eyes remained almost unashamedly fixed on him. Lower still, his member seemed to strain against his trousers.

“Lily.” His voice pulled her out of her reverie.

Warmth bloomed in her cheeks, but she straightened her back almost immediately, pushing all thoughts away. “Why did ye nae tell me about the cèilidh?”

His eyes narrowed a little. “As I said at the council meeting, I was going to?—”

“Tonight?” she cut in. “Aye, tonight. But ye failed to tell me that the whole clan already kent about it, while I alone was left in the dark.”

He leaned one shoulder against the mantelpiece, unbothered. “I didnae tell ye earlier because I kent ye may nae want to stay for it. Ye’re still on the fence about the whole lady of the clan thing, are ye nae?”

“And ye didnae think that was a decision I could have made on me own?”

He moved a step closer, the light shifting across his chest. “So it isnae the cèilidh that angers ye?”

“Nay. It is the fact that ye refused to tell me,” she fired back. “Ye kept it from me.”

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting. “Well, ye want to come, do ye nae? Plus, there are still dozens of men who need treatment. I am certain ye will still be here by then anyway.”

“If ye truly believed that, ye would have told me sooner.”

He stepped closer, his bare feet soundless on the floor. She lifted her chin, but her pulse quickened as he neared. The heat of him reached her even before he stopped.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “ye are only angry because the cèilidh means ye’ll have to fully come to terms with yer duty.”

“I daenae ken how many times I have to say this. I am only here for a month to heal the wounded men. Nothing more, nothing less. What else do I need to say for ye to believe that?”

He smiled faintly. “I ken ye have said that a lot of times. ‘Tis just that, for some reason, I still daenae believe ye.”

Another step. He was close now, far too close. The fire threw golden light down his chest and into the lines that disappeared beneath his trousers.

“Ye cannae tell me that the clan… the castle… the people… Ye cannae say they arenae beginnin’ to grow on ye already.”

Her gaze flicked down despite herself, and the sight of the bulge in his trousers made her breath hitch once again. She tore her eyes back up, but he had caught her.

“Ah,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “did ye really come here to fight me about the cèilidh, or did ye come for something else?”

Her cheeks burned. This playful side of him always made her heart beat faster; that hadn’t changed. Not that she’d ever admit it.

“Ye are insufferable.”

“If ye came for something else.” He moved closer still, until she was forced back a step. “I am afraid ye will have to beg for it.”

Lily swallowed and narrowed her eyes at him. “Ye are quite insufferable, do ye ken that?”

“Ye keep tellin’ me. And yet,” Alasdair purred, “ye’re still here.”

“Aye. Because I came for answers.”

He closed the gap between them, and her back hit the wall behind her. He raised his arms and pressed his palms flat against the stone on either side of her head. She was caged beneath him, and the heat of his body seared her skin.

“Then ask,” he said, his face so near that she could see the fire dancing in his eyes.

Her heart pounded. “Why hide it? Why wait?”

“I told ye,” he said softly. “I thought ye wouldnae want to stay.”

“Is that really why?”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing her ear. “Do ye want there to be another reason, Lily?”

Her chest rose and fell, each breath sharp. “I daenae ken what ye’re talkin’ about.”

He smirked. “Oh, I am certain ye do. And if I’m to agree, ye have to say the magic word.”

She glared at him. “What magic word?”

His eyes searched hers as he took a brief pause before responding. “Please.”

Her lips parted. She wanted to tell him to step back, to let her go, yet her body betrayed her. She remembered the kiss they had shared the night before, the feel of his hands on her body. The memory tore through her, raw and all-consuming.

He lowered his head a little, so close that she could feel the brush of his breath. “What about now? Are ye still angry?”

Her body screamed to answer him not with words, but with touch. She almost rose to meet him, almost placed her hands on his chest, almost let herself be lost again.

But thunder cracked outside, deep and sudden. The sound shook the glass windowpane and snapped her back to herself.

She gasped, pushing hard against his arms. He let her slip past, though he lingered too close for too long.

Her skirts swayed as she straightened, her breathing ragged. “Since I will be here, perhaps longer than I first thought, it may serve me to get to ken the people who work in this place.” She lifted her chin. “I assume ye agree to that, husband ?”

For a long moment, he only watched her. His jaw was set, his eyes darker than the storm outside.

At last, he spoke, his voice clear. “Of course.”

She turned and made for the door, though her legs felt weak beneath her. She could feel his gaze on her back, hot and heavy. She did not look back, but she knew he was still standing there, bare-chested and unshaken.

The thunder rolled again as she walked down the passageway, her pulse still wild. She pressed her hand to her chest, willing herself to calm down, but the fire in her would not die down.

Her self-control was slipping, and a part of her hoped—no, feared. A part of her feared that she might not be able to stop herself next time.