Page 25 of The Laird’s Unwanted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #5)

T he afternoon turned quickly into evening, with Aileen keeping to her friend’s suggestion. She spent the rest of her day alongside Mollie, helping train Bannock with the ‘sit’ command while occasionally taking a break for a snack.

As her sister chomped down on a plate of scones, Aileen continued to busy herself with some knitting, hoping to produce a scarf and hat for her sister once the truly bitter winter hit their new home. Even with so many distractions, she found herself entirely distracted by all the wrong things.

Whenever footsteps passed by the sitting room, Aileen immediately perked up, eagerly checking faces to see if her husband was among them. And, when he wasn’t, disappointment filled the void that persisted in her chest.

She did her best to remember Sarah’s words, to simply wait for the opportunity to present itself. But every part of her wanted nothing more than to jump to her feet and track that ridiculous man down. “And what would ye say that ye havenae already, Aileen?” she scolded herself.

“What was that, Leelee?” Mollie asked, her face sticky and covered in crumbs.

Aileen offered a quick smile and a chuckle, abandoning her work to cross the room toward her sister. “I was commenting on how ye’d need a bath after yer snack.”

“Aww, it’s nae fair!” Mollie whined, immediately pulling Bannock’s attention from underneath her chair. “I already had one after dinner!”

“Well, I’m nae the one who smeared jam all over her face,” Aileen pointed out, tapping her sister’s sticky nose with her finger. “Come on, now; ye can have Bannock join ye. I fear she’s become quite musty over the last few days.”

Bannock’s head tilted, acutely aware she was being spoken of, but uncertain of the context surrounding it.

In response, Mollie gave the dog a gentle pat on the head, begrudgingly hopping down from her chair before making her way toward the tub.

Aileen couldn’t help but chuckle further at the sight.

It was as if she’d condemned the poor girl to sleep outside for the night.

“Ye could have used a wet rag, ye ken.”

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 actually looked tired 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 is Mollie 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.

Gerald made his way down the hall, doing his best to keep himself calm. Even that brief moment of contact had drawn out such a ferocious urge, one that wanted to take Aileen into his arms and do far more than simply caress her.

Something within him desired to fully understand her, explore every inch of her, and more. Just the touch of her soft hands was enough to make him hard; thankfully, he’d managed to leave the room quickly enough.

He took the corner a bit too quickly, nearly crashing headlong into Ms. Blair.

The older woman let out a disgruntled breath, an armful of dirtied laundry tumbling out from her arms as she just managed to catch her balance against the wall.

“Oh, me Laird. I do wish ye’d nae rush about the castle like that.

I’m far too old to keep meself upright against ye. ”

Gerald managed a mumble of an apology, bending on his knee to quickly collect the clothes.

He held Aileen’s gown upright, unable to stop himself from staring a touch longer than he probably should have.

But, eventually, he gave it a neat fold and returned it to his housekeeper, alongside the rest of the laundry he’d knocked out of her hand.

“If I may, me Laird?” Ms. Blair asked.

To this, Gerald simply chuckled. “I daenae think even I could stop ye from speakin’ yer piece.”

Ms. Blair shifted the folded clothes back into her arm, something gentle managing to slip through decades of hardened lines.

“The new lady seems very eager to please ye. Traditionally, it would fall to her to manage the keep as I have for all these years. Yet, I havenae had the pleasure of meeting with her to discuss the transition of responsibility.”

Gerald blinked, genuinely surprised. Had Aileen really not taken up the mantle as lady of the house?

“I suspect, perhaps, that she doesnae wish to step on yer rule, as it were,” Ms. Blair went on. “It may be in yer best interest to sit her down and speak with her. Clarify what ye’d like her to be contributing to yer … relationship.”

She might as well have waved a massive flag in his face. “Why does it nae surprise me that ye’re so keenly in tune with me personal business?” Gerald asked.

“It’s the makings of a good housekeeper to ken what occurs in her domicile,” Ms. Blair replied matter-of-factly. “And to ken when a valuable asset isnae being utilized. I’m sure the new lady would appreciate yer blessing, me Laird. For clarification.”

She added the last of her sentence with such a knowing look. Gerald shook his head with a sigh, rubbing the back of his stiffened neck. “I daenae ken when the opportunity will arrive to do so, admittedly. The defense of the castle is the top priority right now. I’m certain ye understand that.”

Ms. Blair offered a somewhat apologetic curtsy. “Of course, me Laird, and we all are grateful to yer dedication. I ask only that, perhaps, if an opportunity arises, that ye take it.”

Again with the knowing look. “I’ll take it under consideration, Ms. Blair.”

Another curtsy from Ms. Blair. “That’s all I can ever ask for, me Laird.”