Page 33 of The Laird’s Unwanted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #5)

I t took entirely too much willpower for Gerald to finally lift him and his wife out of the tub. He helped strip her of the soaked nightgown, wrapping her in his heavy robes before exiting into their shared bedroom.

A neat basket of medical supplies had been left on a nearby table, with the hearth freshly stoked and creating a warm, pleasant atmosphere. He smiled slightly, muttering something about Ms. Blair under his breath before carrying Aileen toward the flames. “Ye all right to stand?”

Aileen nodded, her toes gingerly brushing against the floor as a small puddle formed around her. Gerald then took his robe and began to pat-dry her skin, lingering across her more sensitive areas and smirking at her startled gasp. “Too far?” he asked.

“Nay,” Aileen stammered sheepishly. “I just … I didnae expect this to continue once we left the bath.”

He finished drying her body, hanging the damp robe on the back of a nearby chair as Aileen began to braid her hair. It was a thick, loose ponytail that ran past her shoulders and brushed against her chest. Gerald couldn’t help but smile warmly.

“Ye really do think I’m womanly,” Aileen marveled.

“Beauty it’s in the eye of the beholder,” Gerald mused. “And ye hadnae met the right audience.” He moved to grasp her waist, hesitating for a moment before her hands guided him.

“It’s all right,” she assured.

It still burned him to think about what she’d been through. About Carswell so casually grabbing his wife, throwing her over his shoulder, and abandoning her to the wilds. Gods, but he should have made Carswell’s death slower.

“Gerald?”

He blinked, realizing Aileen had suddenly closed the distance between them. Her naked body pressed against his, and he could feel his member stiffen at her bare touch. Gerald caught her in a sudden kiss, scooping her up into his arms before starting toward their bed.

“Gerald!” Aileen laughed. “I daenae think I can handle another ride, husband.”

He maneuvered her weight to one of his arms, the other pulling their covers back before both tucked into bed. Gerald ensured his grasp remained gentle around Aileen’s waist, kissing her forehead as she snuggled up closer to him. “I’m sorry for breakin’ yer rule,” he whispered softly.

Aileen giggled lightly. “I think we’re a touch past that, now.” Her finger traced his bare chest, twirling strands of thick hair. “I’m … sorry I couldnae perform properly. Ye finally gave me the opportunity, and I just …” She sighed lightly, voice tinged with regret.

“It’s nae yer fault, Aileen.” It was time, Gerald realized; the topic couldn’t be avoided anymore.

He inhaled slowly, focusing on her presence, the lingering scent of herbs against her skin.

They were more than strangers, more than simply political partners.

He could no longer pretend to have any sort of distance from Aileen, which meant … she deserved the truth.

“I purposefully put a wall between us.”

That wasn’t a shocking revelation, but Aileen’s eyes were entirely on him now.

“When … before yer brither’s betrayal, Marcus helped to organize a skirmish alongside me own brither. The previous Laird of MacLiddel.” Another breath. Another push forward. “He ended up perishing in that fight, and … when I first met ye, I was searchin’ for evidence against Marcus.

“Some further proof that showed, without a doubt, that me closest friend had played us all. And, when I found the map of that battlefield, with notes about the enemy’s tactics and positioning …” He couldn’t. Gerald bit his tongue, unable to continue further.

Aileen lifted her head slightly, using her folded arm to support it. “Then, yer reasoning is …” Her eyes widened slightly, her voice beginning to wobble. “Of course. Of course, ye saw me as the enemy. If someone orchestrated Mollie’s death …Gods, I couldnae imagine even being in the same room?—”

Gerald sat upright, taking Aileen with him as he placed his hands against her shoulders firmly. “Nay, lass. That never had anything to do with it.”

“But—”

“If that were the case, I would have left ye to yer fate back at MacGunn’s castle,” Gerald stated with a note of finality. “As far as I’m concerned, ye have nay any ties with the Hughes family. Ye are, and always have been, part of the MacLiddel clan.”

Aileen’s eyes filled with tears, her body trembling under his grasp. “Then … why?”

“Because it shouldnae be me who’s in bed with ye.

” Gerald exhaled curtly; it was finally fully out in the open.

“Because I was me brither’s man-at-arms. Nay, I should have protected him that day, regardless of me rank or title.

It should have been him who found a lass as wonderful as ye, it should’ve been him continuing the lineage.

He—” he swallowed, coming to a conclusion he’d hidden in his subconscious since that day.

“I should have died that day, Aileen. We shouldnae have had the chance to meet.”

Aileen could only stare at him. She had stopped trembling, the tears in her eyes drying immediately. Something cold captured Gerald’s heart, and he did everything to shake it away.

“I made a vow that day,” Gerald insisted. “I promised me brither I wouldnae disgrace his legacy—take the life he should have had.”

Aileen remained motionless, silent; it was almost as if her spirit had left her body entirely.

“Aileen, say something.” Gerald didn’t beg—the Beast of Braeriach begged for nothing—but he’d willingly fall to his knees, just to hear something from his wife.

Finally, she did something. She pushed herself gently from Gerald’s embrace, her expression still as blank as before.

And before Gerald could speak, she posed a question to him.

“Are ye sayin’ a vow to the dead is more important to ye than the one ye made to me?”

Now it was Gerald’s turn to stare. To process the weight of Aileen’s question. His once-growing panic began to twist into something uglier, and he couldn’t help but verbally lash out toward her. “Ye wouldnae understand. Yer brither was but a monster nay one of us will care to remember.”

He realized his mistake too soon, realized the cutting harshness of his words far too late. Before he could speak, Aileen fully removed herself, her legs slipping over the side of the bed as she crossed the room wordlessly.

“Aileen—”

She grasped her own robe from the closet, tying the silken belt as it fell against her form. Her beautiful, slender form was like watching a fairy of the snow drift across the way.

“Aileen!”

His more demanding voice stopped Aileen, but only briefly. Only enough for her eyes—cold, empty, the golden glint now razor-sharp—to find his. “I’m sorry for forcing me presence upon ye. I willnae do it again.”

This was worse than either arrow he took that day. “Aileen!”

“Please, rest well, husband.” The door swung closed behind her, yet it hardly made a sound.

It was as if she’d never been there in the first place, like their moment of intimacy had been nothing more than a dream.

Only the lingering scent of herbs reminded Gerald of their encounter, and it only proved to turn his stomach sour.

“Ye as well … sweet wife,” he managed under his breath.

Somehow, Aileen made it down the hall without issue. Somehow, with each servant and maid she passed, her expression remained pleasantly neutral, managing a brief expression of relief that the staff within the castle had not been harmed.

Somehow, she entered Mollie’s room without much fanfare, gently thanked Sarah for watching over her sleeping sister, and dismissed her for the evening.

And, somehow, even after Sarah began to inquire about her extended absence with a knowing smirk, Aileen managed a gentle smile and reassurance that all would be spoken of tomorrow.

And even then, when the door closed behind her and she was left alone at last, Aileen found herself unable to cry.

Perhaps it was because she didn’t want to wake Mollie or Bannock.

Perhaps she felt it inappropriate to unload her sorrows in such proximity to her little sister, knowing full well that such negativity would be noticed.

More than anything, Aileen simply felt empty inside. Her tears had already been shed for Gerald, and she realized now that it had not been from joy, but to mourn something that hadn’t yet happened.

Somehow, deep within her subconscious, Aileen had known. She had known their moment would not last, that the sweet, intimate moment between them could not be her future. He had told her from the start that they had to remain strangers, and now, Aileen knew why.

She wanted to feel something—anger, desperation, anything but the aching void that now lingered in her core where warmth once spread freely—but she simply couldn’t.

She was tired, she was worn out, and tomorrow, she would have to go on as if that moment in the tub had not happened.

As if she hadn’t been fully vulnerable with a man for the first time in her life.

Aileen stood in the center of Mollie’s room for a good, long while.

Eventually, she moved toward one of the armchairs settled next to the hearth, sinking into the cushion and the empty malaise that had spread now throughout her mind.

She felt nothing staring into the flickering firelight; an empty, listless nothing that eventually tricked her into a dreamless sleep.