Page 7 of The Laird’s Unwanted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #5)

T he thought had … certainly come to Aileen’s mind.

It was a brief, passing idea, one she really shouldn’t have put too much consideration into.

As she and Mollie enjoyed the warm bathwater drawn by the maids, it occurred to her that, perhaps, Bannock’s bite on the Laird’s arm had been a bit more forceful than first anticipated.

Maybe he’d underplayed the injury so as not to worry them, or lay guilt upon Aileen’s already heavy mind. He certainly hadn’t shown any further discomfort during their journey, but she’d seen firsthand what happened to those who didn’t keep a close eye on injuries that seemingly meant nothing.

And thus, after Mollie and Bannock fell asleep in their brand-new bed, tucked under layers of heavy furs and handstitched quilts, Aileen asked Ms. Blair for a few supplies to bring to Laird MacLiddel. Gerald , she reminded herself as the housekeeper led her through the castle halls.

He was to be her husband, after all. Though that concept hadn’t fully taken root in her mind just yet. She’d been the unwanted daughter or the betrothed to Laird Carswell for so long. Even her time as a wanderer felt more real than this newest title.

“His study is just down the corridor,” Ms. Blair gestured, Aileen’s gaze following down the row of doors toward the very end of the hall. “If ye need anything further, just ask.”

“Aye. Thank ye again, Ms. Blair,” Aileen said.

Ms. Blair simply nodded in reply, turning to tend to whatever tasks she had left to handle for the evening.

That left Aileen to make the rest of the walk on her own, a warm water bucket in one hand and a small jar of poultice in the other.

Assumedly—hopefully—Laird MacLiddel would have some sort of bandages tucked away in his study. Somewhere.

“It’s Gerald, ye silly lass,” Aileen corrected herself under her breath. Gerald. This was going to take some getting used to. As she gently rapped against the study’s door, she suddenly found it swing open with little resistance, leaving her to stare, wide-eyed, into the room.

The Laird sat at his desk, seemingly unfazed to see his betrothed having entered his sanctum with little respect. The other man managed a bit more of a reaction, grimacing slightly as the scar against his chin wrinkled.

“Ah. Miss Hughes!” The second man—Rory, Aileen faintly recalled—stood from his chair and offered a nod of respect.

“The title isnae necessary. Aileen will work just fine.”

Rory offered her a grin. “Nay, nae for me Laird’s soon-to-be bride! I insist on at least addressin’ ye as, ‘me Lady’.”

Aileen could feel her face begin to heat. It was obvious that he and the Laird—Gerald—were speaking of business she had no say in. “I’m … sorry for inturruptin’ ye.”

“Nay bother, me Lady!” Rory insisted. “We have just finished up. He’s all yers.”

Aileen caught a distinct frown cross the Laird’s lips, but he didn’t argue against his man-at-arms. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Rory made his way across the study and toward the entrance, giving Aileen a moment to realize she needed to step out of the doorframe. “Ah, sorry.”

“Nay bother,” Rory repeated, offering another reassuring smile before rounding down the hallway. Before he left, his hand gently pressed against the door, ensuring it clicked shut before his footsteps shuffled away. Leaving Aileen inside the Laird’s study … with only the Laird himself as company.

She stood awkwardly in place, watching the Laird— Gerald —finish up a letter before setting his quill back into his inkwell.

Then, he gently set the paper aside to dry, his hands folding on top of his desk as he gave his full attention to Aileen.

“I see ye’ve had a chance to clean and warm yerself? ”

Aileen nodded, glancing down at the silk-white nightgown the maids had offered to her. “The … material feels as if I were wearing the air itself. It’d been quite some time since I’ve worn such finery, me Laird.”

Gerald raised an eyebrow.

“Ah—Gerald, I mean,” Aileen hastily corrected herself. “Forgive me. I was betrothed to Laird Carswell for so long … I didnae call him by his first name, so this is a bit strange fer me.” She swallowed hard, aware at how pathetic an excuse that may have sounded.

Gerald gestured to her bucket and poultice, curiosity sparking behind his verdant eyes. “Are ye in need of more of that supply? I wasnae aware that either of ye were sufferin’ wounds.”

“Oh, nay, me—ah, nay, Gerald.” Aileen inhaled slowly, trying to catch her skittering nerves. “I was … hoping to offer these to ye.”

Again, Gerald’s brow rose. “I wasnae aware I was sufferin’ with wounds.”

“Well, nay, but …” Aileen took a hesitant step forward, gesturing toward the Laird’s rolled-down sleeve.

“I ken Bannock’s bite may be awfully painful.

And, I ken ye said it broke nay skin,” she added hastily.

“But I’ve seen plenty of men say similar, and they ended up havin’ said arm put to the blade. ”

A low, dry chuckle escaped Gerald’s throat. “Is yer beast some sort of Cù Sìth, lass? I must admit, taming a harbinger of death would be quite the feat for Marcus.”

Aileen watched as the Laird’s expression fell at the mere mention of her brother’s name.

She exhaled softly, taking a few steps closer as she set the bucket on the ground beside her.

“I … greatly appreciate all ye’ve done for us so far, Gerald.

It doesnae even come close to repayin’ ye, but …

I would like to do this kindness for ye.

Even if ye only allow it for me own ease mind. ”

In reply, Gerald simply shrugged, rolling up his sleeve and setting his fairly bruised arm out across his desk. “Have at it, lass. I willnae stop ye.”

He probably should have stopped her. It was wholly unnecessary—a waste of medicine and hot water, especially when he’d already told her the bite hadn’t broken skin.

Perhaps his willingness would be seen as a weakness, one his new bride-to-be would see as his willingness to bend to even more of her foolish wishes.

He didn’t need another of Marcus’ ilk to see him in such a weakened state, but …

Gerald exhaled through his nose as Aileen began to gently wipe his arm with a wetted cloth.

This woman could hardly be considered a proper member of the Hughes family, anyway.

She and Mollie had clearly been unwanted, likely seen as hnefatafl pieces for the unseen game Marcus played in pursuit of overtaking the Highlands.

The sins of her older brother shouldn’t be held against her, and Gerald knew that well. Still, it was difficult to envision himself ever fully being open with Aileen, his soon-to-be wife, notwithstanding.

As she dropped the cloth back into the bucket and prepared the poultice, Aileen initiated conversation between them once more. “Ah, Gerald …?”

Gerald eyed her curiously, quietly waiting for her to continue.

“I … I would like to bring up the terms of our arrangement,” Aileen began nervously. “About … what ye’d receive from meself.”

Gerald raised his brow, his nose wrinkling slightly at the strong, sharp scent of medicine being applied to his arm. “I will be in command of yer brither’s territory, to divide and rule as I see fit.”

“Yes, but I daenae think that’s quite enough,” Aileen insisted.

“Ye’ve promised Mollie the perfect life—land alone cannae express me gratitude for that.

And …” She paused, her hands lingering across his forearm as her face flushed a brilliant crimson.

“I … I havenae seen nor heard of an heir to continue yer clan’s legacy. ”

Oh, the lass was certainly bold, that was for certain.

“I ken ye said ye daenae need me to perform such duties for ye, but …”

She was positively flushed. Gerald could feel the heat radiating from her face.

“But, I ken why a laird takes a wife to begin with. And … and … Laird Carswell was certainly …” Her voice trailed off, and she quickly removed her hands from his arm. Which was quite the pity. Gerald was beginning to enjoy her touch against his skin.

He watched as she quickly washed her hands in the bucket and stood upright, her arms clasped to her side as if she were standing at attention to her captain. “So, though I appreciate yer concern for me, giving ye an heir is … is the very least I can do for ye!”

As she stood before him, trembling and attempting to appear firm, Gerald fought against the urge to laugh. She was certain to take it negatively, but the mere fact that she had presented such a sensual act as a business proposition was almost too much to handle.

The little deer certainly knew how to take a stand before her hunter, that was for certain.

Gerald wouldn’t have been surprised if she had practiced the speech in her head multiple times before entering his study.

“When Marcus gave yer hand to Laird Carswell,” he began.

“Was that his way of trying to get yer status as a lady proper recognition?”

The question took Aileen entirely by surprise.

Intentionally so, as Gerald hadn’t really wanted to give her an answer just yet.

Her shoulders relaxed somewhat, her hand brushing across the wood of his work desk absentmindedly.

“Honestly … I think he was tired of seeing me face around his keep,” she replied in barely a whisper.

“Ye believe that?”

Aileen nodded. “He went as far as to ensure me sister and Bannock accompanied me. At first, I saw it as a kindness, but now?” She shrugged lightly, her fingers tracing the grooves of the desk’s wood. “I think he didnae want to be reminded of his family’s greatest embarrassment.”

Gerald shifted forward in his chair, causing Aileen to take a startled step away. He folded his hands against his desk, his arm still reeking with fresh poultice. He’d have to find bandages for it later.

“I want ye to understand, lass, that I daenae see ye as an embarrassment. I hardly ken ye to pass such judgement.” He sighed, shifting his stiffened shoulders. “So, when I say we should remain passin’ strangers durin’ our time as laird and lady, I daenae say it for that reason.”

It was the first time he saw a spark of anger flash behind Aileen’s doe-like eyes. “I daenae understand! How could ye nae want an heir from me? It’s what every laird wants—it’s what Marcus expected of me when I went away!”

“I am nae Marcus,” Gerald growled, fighting to keep his temper in check. “And ye best remember that.”

Aileen immediately fell silent, her lips pressed tightly together as her body stiffened once more.

Gerald took a deep breath. It was not her that his anger should be directed at.

“I am nae yer brither, and I am nae Laird Carswell. I willnae force meself upon a lass who doesnae truly want it.” He suddenly stood from his chair, the smallest hint of a smirk crossing his face.

“Of course, with ye being as insistent as ye are … perhaps I’m mistaken? ”

Wait, what?

Aileen had barely registered what he’d said when Gerald suddenly rounded his desk and stood towering before her. The way he looked down at her sent a shiver across her skin, though it wasn’t the same disgusted reaction she felt when Laird Carswell leered at her.

This was … enticing, like finding a lone stag on the forest’s path.

There was a chance he could attack with his horns, yet there was still a level of openness, an invitation to approach closer.

Aileen wasn’t certain when it’d happened, but she found herself staring into the vast, forested gaze of the Laird of MacLiddel, lost in the surprising flecks of gold she found hidden beneath.

“Laird MacLiddel?”

His finger pressed delicately against her lips, sending a wave of heat throughout her body. Aileen was about to lose all feeling in her legs, forcing Gerald’s arm to once more find its way around her hip.

She still wanted to lurch away, fight free as she had when Carswell had practically ripped her away from his sister. Blinking furiously, Aileen found Gerald’s gaze once more, the soft flecks of gold bringing some calm to her rising panic.

“It’s Gerald,” he reminded her, easing her into a nearby chair.

“Ye havin’ great trouble rememberin’ that.

But it has been a long journey to get here.

When ye’ve regained the sense in yer legs, go and take yerself to yer room.

We have to discuss wedding details for tomorrow’s ceremony, and I daenae need ye groggy. ”

As Gerald made his way back to his desk, Aileen did her best to process everything—the touch of his finger against her lips, the protective grasp around her waist. Even now, her skin tingled at the absence of his touch, and she found herself unable to raise her gaze to meet him.

The glances she managed revealed he’d sat back down at his desk and dug around the drawers, producing a roll of linen that he began to wrap around his arm. The sharp scent of poultice still lingered in the air, and Aileen couldn’t help but squirm slightly in her seat.

It was only a few minutes later, when she’d found her legs and managed to close the study’s door behind her, that the rest of Gerald’s sentence finally hit her.

“Wait! Did he just say we’re to be wed tomorrow?”