Page 9 of The Laird’s Unwanted Wife (Legacy of Highland Lairds #5)

A ileen was certain that Laird MacLiddel’s study door was simply broken. She had knocked so gingerly this time, and yet, it still swung open on its own, much to her distress.

All she had wanted to do was let the Laird know they had come back from town, that she’d chosen a few gowns and wanted his opinion. And, of course, Mollie was desperate to show off her new wardrobe, having already brought in a small audience of servants to one of the reading rooms to show off.

But instead, the door seemingly swung open on its own, almost forcing her to look inside and marvel at the sight within. The Laird stood beside his bookshelf, the outer layer of his tunic draped against his desk chair, with his linen shirt sleeves rolled well past his forearm.

His muscles strained as he continued to carve into the bookshelf with a woodcarver’s knife, the makings of what appeared to be a woman’s face with long, swirling hair running vertically against the shelves.

In between strands of hair were detailed carvings of snowflakes, with a massive flurry condensing around the corners.

“Gracious,” she gasped softly.

This finally seemed to catch the Laird’s attention, and he turned to face Aileen, looking equally surprised to see her.

“Ah, sorry, me Laird!” Aileen bowed her head in apology, her chest fluttering as the image of his toned arms remained in her mind.

“I … I mean, Gerald. I think yer door’s latch is broken, I promised I knocked first!

” She heard him cross the study as her heart skipped a beat, only for his hand to gently settle against her chin and tilt her gaze to meet his.

“Ye ken, I’m used to me orders being followed,” Gerald said.

Now it was Aileen’s turn to look surprised.

“For someone who promised to stay out of me hair,” Gerald continued. “Ye’ve certainly made it yer goal to bother me as often as possible.”

“I’m … sorry, me Laird.”

“Gerald,” he reminded her.

“Gerald … aye.” Aileen swallowed nervously, watching as Gerald made his way back to his desk. He shifted his tunic aside, using it to clean his face of wood shavings and sweat. It was almost as if his own visage had been carved from wood, expertly crafted by the Gods themselves.

“What is it ye wanted to show me, Aileen?”

Aileen blinked, having completely forgotten why she’d come.

Her eyes darted around the study, as if hoping something in there would jog her memory.

Instead, she found herself staring at the bookshelf, the half-carved visage of a woman’s face, and the incredibly detailed snowflakes.

“Um … that’s a beautiful piece of work, Gerald. ”

Gerald’s gaze followed hers, letting out a gruff grunt as he shook his head.

“It would be better if I had started properly. There were …” he paused, seemingly contemplating his next words more carefully than Aileen expected.

“It was an older piece of wood. Some of the sides were startin’ to chip. Couldnae leave the surface splintered.”

“I suppose nae,” Aileen agreed. She continued to stare at the carving, wanting nothing more than to run her fingers between the grooves of the snowflakes.

“Yer brow looks like it’s tryin’ to knit a sweater,” Gerald said.

Aileen gave him a bewildered look.

“It’s very furrowed,” he explained. “Ye look like ye’re concentrating awfully hard.”

“Nay, it’s just …” Aileen’s attention turned back to the bookshelf, her face flushing warm for having looked so ridiculous in front of her soon-to-be husband. “The woman’s face … is she meant to be the winter goddess, Cailleach?”

“Aye.”

She took a step closer toward the bookshelf, frowning slightly. “She looks quite young to be the face of the divine hag.”

“Quite the art critic, are ye?”

Immediately, Aileen’s attention snapped back to Gerald, who had since risen from his chair and propped himself against his desk.

“Ah, nay, me Laird! I mean, Gerald! It’s still a beautiful piece, and ye’re quite talented for shaping all of this from simple slabs of wood!”

Her panicked smile felt more like a grimace, and she found it hard to stop herself from talking.

He didn’t want to hear it—nobody wanted to hear it, it wasn’t proper of a lady to go on and on about such inane things, Marcus said—but she found herself unable to stop.

Something about the way Gerald looked at her …

and with such genuine curiosity … it was the first time someone had seemed to enjoy her ramblings.

“I mean, the detailing with the snowflakes would have been enough, and the mere fact that they’re all different shapes and patterns is incredible.

It takes a steady hand to do such careful work, and …

and …” Aileen finally ran out of steam, taken aback that, not once, had Gerald interrupted her.

Did he actually care to hear what she thought?

“I’m sorry. I … I daenae even remember why I came here in the first place. Please excuse me. Mollie wished for me to help her with her new gowns, so I’ll …”

She’d only taken one step toward the door when the Laird held up his hand.

He wasn’t sure why he raised his hand the way he did. The woman was intruding on his inner sanctum, interrupting his work and going on and on with frivolous compliments. She should have left—he should have let her leave—and yet, Gerald found himself wanting for her company.

His brow furrowed, not quite understanding it himself. But the way she’d gone on just now, so clearly enamored with his woodcarving, it sparked a peculiar warmth in his chest. For once, it wasn’t anger that fueled him. It was intrigue.

“Do ye have a fascination with woodcarvin’, Aileen?”

Her shoe scuffed sheepishly across the study floor, her hands folded behind her back as her face remained flushed with embarrassment. Gods, but she looked so humbled by his inquiry; had no one ever asked her about her interests? How could they not, when she was obviously so passionate about it?

“Ever since I was young, it’s just been fascinating to me,” Aileen explained. “Woodcarving, metalworking—the idea of working an image into a flat surface, carving out the picture that’s hidin’ beneath—it just all seems so …” She looked as if she were searching for the right word. “So … magical.”

Gerald couldn’t help but chuckle lightly. “Magical?”

“Aye!” Aileen insisted. “Ye’re takin’ somethin from nature and addin’ to it! Wooden bowls with beautiful scenery carved in, or blade faces carved in runes—it’s like shapin’ the natural world in yer image.”

She straightened slightly, her fists balled and trembling with excitement. “Does that nae sound like magic from storybooks? Of the fair folk shaping water from rivers, or creating beautiful gardens with a touch of their hands?”

Gods, but her enthusiasm was infectious. He could listen to her talk all day. “I cannae say I ever saw meself as making magic.”

“Ye should! Woodcarvin’ is such a wonderful talent, and to feel the work one’s done beneath me own fingers…” Aileen’s expression faltered slightly, her burning joy visibly smoldering. “Ah, but … I’m sorry. That must sound rather childish to ye.”

It did, admittedly. But Gerald realized that wasn’t entirely a bad thing. “Ye have been raising a child on yer own for quite some time. I imagine her views of the world rub off on yerself quite a bit.”

A shy smile crossed Aileen’s lips. “I … I suppose they do. Mollie has such a way of seeing the world … I hope ye’ll get to see it for yerself, soon.”

She paused, a startled gasp suddenly escaping her lips. “Oh, Mollie! That’s right. I came to ask about gowns for the wedding, but Mollie wanted ye to visit her room and see her new gowns as well. I told her ye might be busy, but I got so distracted by the bookshelf?—”

“It’s all right, Aileen.” Gerald pushed himself off his desk, stretching his arms up toward the ceiling with a groan. “I should step away from me work for a while. Helps gain a new perspective.” He paused, an offer dancing along the tip of his tongue.

He knew he shouldn’t say it—he’d explicitly stated the two of them should live separate lives—but he couldn’t help himself.

There was something about her, something …

enticing. Perhaps it was the way she held herself, how she swayed like a willow while speaking in such an enthusiastic manner.

If she was this passionate about woodcarving …

what else would she find excitement in? If he approached her, set his arms against the slight curve of her hip … would she be just as excited?

Gerald cleared his throat loudly, trying to brush the mental image away.

“If ye’d like, I daenae mind ye coming to me study again.

To check on the bookshelf’s progress,” he clarified, though mostly for himself.

He had let his imagination run a bit too far, just then.

There was no need to romanticize something that would never happen; not as long as he had a say in it.

“Ye seemed rather interested in the snowflakes, and I could use a second pair of eyes while I carve out the rest of Cailleach.”

Aileen looked as if she could’ve fallen over there and then. “Truly? Ye wouldnae mind?”

Gerald shook his head, surprised at how much he meant it. He truly didn’t mind her watching his work. “I’ve enjoyed yer perspective greatly. I wouldnae mind hearing more from ye.”

She rose her brow slightly; it was the first time he’d seen her look so … bemused. “Are ye sure ye arenae lookin’ fer yer ego to be stroked?” Aileen’s face immediately fell, obviously worried Gerald would take offense. But it was the farthest from the truth.

“Ah, then ye do have some bite to yeh,” Gerald chuckled lightly.

“Good; I was worried t’was only Bannock I’d had to be concerned with.

” He blinked, taken aback by the phrasing as he felt his member stiffen against his trousers.

Gods; he’d have to lay out in the snow after this.

“Ye ken,” he began hastily. “If ye’d like to learn, I could teach ye how to carve wood fer yerself? ”

“Truly?”

It was like he’d just promised her the whole of the Highlands to rule over. “Ye can make somethin’ for Mollie, or just fer yerself. Whatever ye desire; I’d be happy to fuel that passion o’yers.”

“O-Oh! I’d very much like that, Gerald!” Aileen blinked, clearly surprised she’d so enthusiastically used his name.

It sounded right, though. It made Gerald feel good to hear his name come out of her lips.

Those plump, rubescent lips, somewhat flushed from the cold environment.

Something she’d grow used to, he reasoned.

Though, he wouldn’t be against keeping her warm.

“But we should really get going,” Aileen interrupted his thoughts before they could go any farther. “I’m sure Mollie’s been waiting this entire time for us.”

Gerald nodded curtly, crossing the room as both he and Aileen started for the door. “Do ye really think Cailleach looks too young?” he asked.

A nervous giggle escaped from Aileen. “Well, she is meant to be a wintry crone. Though an artist is entitled to their own creative interpretation. And I cannae imagine any man would like to have a wrinkled old woman’s face starin’ at them within their study.”

Gerald nodded lightly, glancing over his shoulder at the half-carved visage. Creative interpretation … yes. Perhaps that’s why, as he held the door open for Aileen, he opted to keep the true inspiration for the face to himself.

A wintry goddess that looked over his collection of knowledge … if he told Aileen whose face he’d actually based the piece on, his command of living separate lives would lose all its power.