Page 16 of Claimed by the Obsessed Laird (Highland Bride Hunt #1)
Chapter Twelve
“Take it slowly,” Camron chided her gently as he held on to the reins and guided the gray mare out of the archway of the Keep.
Isla narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll go at any pace I want, thank you very much!” she retorted, and he chuckled.
“Should have known there'd be no taking ye in hand.”
She grinned back at him and rested her hands on the leather nub on the saddle before her. Camron had invited her to join him on a trip to the nearby village of Duntilloch, and she had been glad to take him up on it, excited to squeeze in any more time learning to ride that she could.
It had been a few days since he had first taken her out, when they had made love on the banks of that small pool deep in the Glen, and it felt as though everything between them had changed from that moment on.
Their minds had been clashing against one another since the moment she had arrived, but their bodies seemed to fit together as though they had been made for one another.
She had never imagined that she could feel so much pleasure lying with a man like that, but he was her husband. If it felt right with anyone, it only made sense that it felt right with him.
She had softened with the rest of the Keep, too, much to the apparent relief of the staff who had to deal with her.
She had ceased trying to reorganize the place, reminding herself that it had run perfectly well before she had arrived there and likely would if she just kept her mouth shut.
Besides, she had been spending most of her time tangled up in the sheets with her husband, and she had no intention of missing out on a moment of that by making silly arguments with the rest of the people who lived here.
For the first time, she was riding her own horse, though Camron was still careful to guide her.
She had grown used to the feel of the saddle beneath her, and he had taken her out riding a few times in the last few days, though most of them had ended with rather too many distractions for her to take in much about the skill of it. Not that she minded.
They had plenty of time to make up for, after all, given how reticent she had been for so long, and she didn’t blame him for seeming so glad that she had finally started to see things from his point of view.
It was a bright day with a slight breeze in the air, carrying the perfume of the hilltop flowers along with it.
As they approached the village along a well-trodden dirt path, she caught the scent of smoke, ale, and something delicious cooking.
Her mouth began to water, but she reminded herself that she was not just like any other resident of this place, who could come and go as they pleased.
No, she was the Lady of this area, and she must act accordingly.
“What exactly are we to do here?” she asked Camron, as a helpful young lad tied their horses in exchange for a few coins from Camron’s pocket.
“Nothing in particular,” he replied. “I’ve to pick up some weapons from the blacksmith, he was repairing them for us.”
“Ye couldnae send one of yer men down here to do it?” she asked, surprised.
He shrugged. “I could,” he replied. “But I like to see that everyone is taken care of for myself.”
She couldn’t help but smile. He might have put up the front of being this tough, demanding man, but there was a softness to him that he could not deny, and she found it rather charming. Not that she did not like his roughness in bed, though.
She followed him along the small central lane that ran through Duntilloch, uneven stone houses with thatched roofs on either side, and people bobbing this way and that as they went about their days.
She had expected some measure of discomfort, having the Laird wandering through the town like this; he was, after all, the most powerful man in the county, and she could only imagine that everyone wanted to make the best impression they could.
But the children waved cheerfully at him, the women bobbing down into quick curtsies before they inquired about the state of the Keep, the men chatted to him about the weather and the yields of the crops that surrounded them.
It was obvious he made the effort to come down here often, and he had developed strong relationships as a result.
Finally, they reached the blacksmith’s workshop, which belched black smoke into the air through a well-worn chimney.
He opened the door for her and gestured for her to step inside, and she did as she was told.
Two women sat on a long wooden bench close to the door, and, when they saw her step inside, they bowed their heads respectfully.
Once she had done the same, they turned to each other and exchanged a look that she could not quite make sense of.
Was it judgment? Doubt? She supposed there must have been plenty in this place who took issue with her newfound status as lady, even if she had not been the one to choose it.
“My Laird,” the blacksmith called out in greeting as he strode over to Camron and shook his hand in greeting.
“Camron, please,” he corrected him with a grin.
The smithy’s gaze turned to Isla, and he nodded to her in acknowledgement. “And this must be yer new wife,” he remarked. “A pleasure to meet ye, my Lady.”
“I’m glad to meet ye too, sir,” Isla replied, hoping that everyone greeted her with this much kindness.
After she had been so difficult with the staff at the Keep, she wouldn’t have been surprised if some stories about her had reached the village, stories that made her look rather less charming than she would have liked. Camron’s approving smile seemed to confirm her feelings.
“Ye’re here to pick up the swords?”
“Aye, if ye’ve finished wi’ them,” Camron replied, as the man led them into his workshop.
A few anvils sat at the far corners, along with forges burning white-hot with coals that filled the room with an almost uncomfortable heat.
“Of course I have,” the smithy replied, as he went to gather the goods from a small steel container at the far side of the room. “For the Laird, I’d be a fool to keep ye waiting.”
The two of them chatted back and forth, and it was clear they had a strong rapport.
Though the blacksmith looked to be almost twice his age, his face lined and his eyes set deep into his face, he clearly enjoyed the conversation, bantering away with Camron as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
“They’ll be as good as new by now,” he remarked proudly as he bundled the swords with a leather strap and sealed them in a satchel to make their transport a little easier. “I cannae imagine ye’ll need them tended to again soon, but if ye do, ye ken where I am.”
“I do,” Camron replied as he hefted the satchel over his shoulder. Glancing towards her, he raised his eyebrows. “And if I’m in need of any jewels for my wife, too,” he added.
She couldn’t help but smile. There was something about being referred to in such intimate terms that made her heart warm, as though she was finally accepting her place at his side, as strange as it was to be there.
“Aye, of course, my Laird,” the smithy replied, and he cast a glance at her. “And if ye’re looking for something for a younger member of the clan…”
He let his words hang in the air pointedly, and Isla’s heart twisted in her chest. She knew that it was only normal for people to have questions about their heir, but she had not yet considered it.
Well, she had, and she had decided that it was anything but what she wanted for herself, especially with a man she was only just beginning to understand.
She stole a glance at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to make sense of where he stood on this, but he just chuckled, shaking his head.
She noticed that he did not look at her, as though he had little to say on the matter, and she wasn’t sure whether she should take that as a good thing or not.
He would expect children eventually, she knew that much, but she hoped that he would not push for anything so soon.
She wasn’t sure she would have been able to resist him, nor did she know if she would have been capable of denying him something he wanted so badly.
When it came to Camron, it seemed harder for her than it had ever been to keep her wits about her. But she knew she could not give in to his glances nor the curl of a smile on his lips. Not quite so easily, at least.
Even if all she could think of in that moment was the press of his hands against her body and the warmth of his skin pressed into her own.