Page 6 of The Laird’s Unwanted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #5)

T he weather turned quickly the farther the party traveled north. Gerald was already accustomed to the chill, though he found himself having concerns about the Hughes sisters. As the first dusting of snow covered the land, he found himself stopping more and more frequently to check up on the pair.

“If she werenae the spittin’ image of Marcus,” Rory marveled. “I would’ve assumed Mollie was born and raised in these parts.”

It certainly seemed the case. Little Mollie seemed entirely at home amidst the snow banks, wearing her found-in clothes and a modified fur cloak to keep the chill at bay.

Quite often, the camp would be filled with shrieks of laughter as the girl tromped through the snow, her big, black shadow of a deerhound always by her side.

More than once, he’d see his men occasionally crack a smile at the child’s antics, going as far as to shake snow from the lower limbs of trees for her to dance beneath, or packing tight balls of snow for her to throw over the hillside.

Aileen, meanwhile, seemed to shiver at the slightest suggestion of cold.

She’d been bundled up in so many layers that Gerald hardly recognized her anymore.

More often than not, she stayed close to the fire and warmed herself with more portions of broth, though it was obvious that whenever Mollie came close and begged her to play, it broke her heart to say no.

“I’m nae as young as ye are, Mollie,” Aileen grinned weakly. “Riding takes a lot out of me.”

“It’s fun, though, right?” Mollie asked, clearly worried.

Aileen’s gaze drifted toward Gerald, and a slight nod sent his way as she spoke next. “Aye. I’m … having a good time, love.”

As Mollie would scamper away, Gerald found his gaze lingering on Aileen far longer than expected.

Fair folk indeed; with all the fur around her shoulder and her hair uncombed, she was reminiscent of a red deer having taken on her winter coat.

“A fairy’s cattle,” Gerald chuckled under his breath.

“And Mollie makes for the perfect fair folk.” Yes, the pair were certainly otherworldly.

A wee pixie and her familiar, protecting a rare miracle found within the harshness of the Highlands.

Finally, the group’s journey came to an end at the peak of a winter’s storm. As wind whipped snow about like tiny daggers, the flickering light of torches broke through the grey dim, bringing some relief to Gerald.

The icy stone of MacLiddel keep soon etched its way into view, the warmth of firelight calling out its comfort to the chilled travelers. Aileen seemed especially relieved, an audible sigh escaping her lips as she pressed herself closer to Gerald’s chest.

They passed beneath the creaking main gate, Gerald immediately dismounting and taking Aileen into his arms. She let out a slight squeak of protest, but didn’t seem keen on fighting against his hold.

Though she’d managed to regain a bit of her balance during their travels, she certainly wasn’t back to full health just yet. Mollie, meanwhile, wasted no time darting up the stairs to the castle proper, Bannock close behind as Rory greeted his laird halfway across.

“Take care of the horses and men,” Gerald ordered. “Then find me in me study.”

His man-at-arms gave a curt nod, immediately attending to his duties as Gerald entered his castle. Several maids had already found their way to the main hall, having heard Mollie’s delighted squeals.

“It’s so big!” She marveled, spinning around on her heel in an attempt to take everything in at once.

A sweet crooning came from the maids, each eagerly approaching the child to offer their aid. Bannock let out a brief growl of warning, but a sharp grunt from Gerald settled the deerhound immediately.

“Please do yer best to find our wee guest something to wear,” Gerald ordered. “And have a bath drawn for her and for me new bride.”

Once more, the maids let out delighted gasps and squeals, having already removed Mollie’s coat and partially begun a messy braid to contain her mess of platinum hair.

A loud clearing of someone’s throat immediately caused the maids to step away, lining up in order and sheepishly clasping their hands in respect, heads bowed low to the ground.

An older woman approached Gerald next, her salt-and-pepper hair tightly tied back as a prominent burn scar covered the upper left side of her forehead.

“Forgive the women for their childish antics, me Laird.” She spoke with an unusual gravel to her tone, a perfectly harsh voice for the harsher landscape her home encompassed. “It has been some time since they’ve seen a wee one traverse these halls.”

The maids all seemed to collectively squirm in place, obviously ashamed of their actions.

“Nay bother, Ms. Blair,” Gerald assured. “I would hope each and every one of ye will treat Mollie as if she were ye own.”

“Of course, me Laird. As a housekeeper, I will ensure the child is given proper care.” She held a wrinkled hand out toward Mollie, who, in turn, gave a nervous glance at Aileen’s way.

“I willnae be separating ye from yer sister,” Gerald assured, gently setting Aileen back onto the ground.

Her balance was, predictably, still weak, and he kept his hand around her waist to ensure she didn’t fall over.

Much to his surprise, Aileen immediately stepped away, looking at him as if he’d just struck her.

“Let’s follow Ms. Blair, love.” Aileen grasped Mollie’s hand, gesturing to her to take the housekeeper’s hand as well.

“Can Bannock come, too?” Mollie asked nervously.

Ms. Blair’s gaze turned to Gerald for an answer. Aileen followed suit.

“I daenae think we could keep her away from ye, Mollie,” Gerald chuckled lightly.

It wasn’t long before a knock sounded outside Gerald’s study. He glanced up from his desk, a half-composed letter beneath his hand. “That ye, Rory?”

“Aye, me Laird!”

Gerald nodded, attention back on his letter. “Door’s open, lad.”

The door swung open immediately, revealing a smirking Rory who stepped quickly into the room.

“I just passed by Mollie. Poor thing was trippin’ over an extra frock one of the maids had.

Saw one of them trying to chase her with a needle and thread to try to hem the bottom.

We really should remind them nae to run with sharp things in hand. ”

Gerald half-nodded, still focused on his letter as his quill scratched against the parchment.

“Seems the wee one’s adjusting quickly,” Rory went on. “I thought she may be a bit more shy around the staff, but the lass seems a natural around other folk.”

Gerald finished his sentence, tapping the nib against his desk as he tried to form the finishing lines for the letter.

“I daenae ken how yer bride is takin’ to all this,” Rory added, sliding a chair his way and taking a seat. “Not sure she appreciates being taken to spite her dead brither.”

Gerald’s eyes swiveled upright, his quill snapping in two within his clenched fists. “That isnae the reason I took them in.”

“Aye?” Rory’s brow rose, shifting his chair closer to the laird’s desk. “Well, ye could’ve fooled me, sir.”

“It’s me Laird, ye smart-mouthed brat,” Gerald warned.

Rory lifted his hands defensively, his smirk playing down to a nervous grin.

“All right, all right. It’s a sensitive subject, I understand.

” His expression settled further, a harder look taking his gaze as he added, “Had a few of our men root around for information while ye were in Marcus’ study.

Seems the traitorous laird had sold his sister’s hand to Laird Carswell. ”

Carswell. Of all the lairds to choose, Marcus chose him?

“Her clan seemed more than happy to see the pair of them go,” Rory continued, a note of bitterness ringing in his voice. “And yet, they seemed more than willin’ to take her back, given she played part of a political puppet.”

Gerald stared down at his half-finished letter, his hand shaking with rage. He should have let that keep burn to the ground and fall into self-inflicted chaos.

“Seems the apple doesnae fall far from the tree, aye, sir?”

Gerald stood up from his desk, grasping a small knife before throwing it with an angry snarl.

It stuck into the wooden side of his bookshelf, and he stormed across his room to rip it out and gouge it a few more times.

An impressively deep set of gashes resulted from his fit, and as he managed to steady his breath, Gerald threw the knife to the ground with a resounding clatter.

Rory remained silent during the Laird’s outrage, carefully eyeing him as Gerald stormed back to his seat. “If ye need to let yer anger out, ye can do it with me and a sword, me Laird. Daenae take it out on yer woodcarvin’ tools.”

Gerald exhaled loudly, dropping back into his chair as his hands folded across his desk.

His man-at-arms was right, of course—infuriatingly so—but he didn’t care.

More than anything, he wished that bookshelf had been Marcus’ face, that simple woodcarver’s knife his proper sword.

He wished it had been him to strike that traitor down. He wished … he wished…

“Well, we cannae simply let Marcus’ territories burn to the ground anymore,” Rory said. “And the other major lairds seem to agree.”

Another long, tired exhale, and Gerald settled his anger back into the depths of his chest. He leaned back in his seat, glancing over at the mess he’d made out of his bookshelf. A small pile of wood chunks was scattered across the floor, and the gashes across its surface unsettled him greatly.

He wanted nothing more than to take his tools and fix it there and then, but there was far too much to do.

A small sliver of chaos had found its way into his inner sanctum, and it revolved around his new association with Aileen and Mollie.

“I’ve drafted copies of this missive for the other lairds,” he began, trying to push the thoughts from his mind.

“To let them ken I’ve taken Marcus’ sister as me bride. ”

Rory chuckled darkly. “They’ll love that, I’m sure. We’ve been absent from proceedings, then we send a letter lettin’ them ken we’ve simply taken over. Torn apart whatever agreements they’ve made.”

“They willnae have any choice in the matter,” Gerald said, though he knew his man-at-arms was right. He’d been uninvolved in the situation for too long. Simply swooping in and taking everything wouldn’t end well for any of the clans.

“I hear what ye’re saying, though. We’ll send our council to the Marsdens—that seems to be where the other lairds have been holdin’ meetings over the matter.

They can inform the others what’s been happening on our end and draft up a reasonable map that divides Marcus’ territories equally between us. ”

Rory’s brow rose in surprise. “Ye’re certain, me Laird? Nae one of them would stop ye if ye gave yerself a wee bit more.”

“It was land that drove Marcus to madness in the first place,” Gerald replied curtly. “I willnae follow him down a similar path. The greater lairds will share the territories equally. This time of violence and war needs to come to an end.”