Page 117 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

She wondered if he even saw her. Ailis remained where she was until they disappeared around the corner.

They are still searchin’ for Laird Kerr.

The name made her uneasy.

She turned to continue down the corridor then noticed some servants carrying a wooden box, brushes, small pots of pigments, and a fresh roll of cloth.

Ailis stopped in her tracks. “What are those for?”

The young servant looked at her and smiled. “The Laird is paintin’ again, Me Lady. He sent for these things.”

Ailis stared. “He is?”

“Aye.” The girl adjusted the box against her hip. “Me mother worked here before me. She told me the Laird used to paint when he was a wee lad.”

Ailis’ heart gave a strange little pull.

“And he hasnae done it since he was a child,” the servant added with delight.

Ailis’ throat tightened, but she managed a smile at the girl. “Go along then.”

She curtsied, and so did the other servants following her before they continued down the hallway. Ailis watched her walk away, her heart fluttering with a rush of adrenaline. Curiosity was what it was. The thought of Gordon picking up a brush again after all these years left her wondering what he would paint.

Before she could reason herself out of it, Ailis found herself standing before his study. The door was not fully closed, so she pushed it open, knowing he would not be in there.

The room smelled faintly of paint when she stepped inside, and her eyes widened when she saw the paintings everywhere. Some rested against the walls, others across the floor. Several were scattered over his desk, still unfinished.

Ailis slowly crossed the room then she stopped.

Her heart seemed to forget how to beat when she realized she was in all of the paintings. She stood in the garden in one and laughed in another. There was one of her bent over a flower and another of Lileas sitting with her with Brochan.

Every painting was vivid. They captured the curve of her face, every angle of it.

She reached down and lifted one carefully. It was unfinished, and yet somehow it was unmistakably her. The tilt of her head, the softness around her eyes, even the little curve of her mouth.

Ailis stared as the ache in her chest changed into a delicious throb that melted her insides. Warmth threaded through her as she picked another painting then another.

Each one showed her differently, as though Gordon had been watching when she had never realized.

Her fingers trembled against the edge of the canvas.

Why?

He had told her he did not want this marriage. He had told her he would release her. He had barely spoken to her since bringing her home. And yet here, in the quiet of his study, she was everywhere.

Ailis turned slowly and took it all in. Soon, she forgot even that she stood in Gordon’s private study, surrounded by pieces of himself he had apparently never allowed anyone to see.

She simply stood there, admiring each one. And with every painting she discovered, a quiet question grew inside her.

If he truly doesnae want me…

Her fingers traced the edge of the painting in her hands.

Then why does it seem like he thinks of me?

Ailis had spent enough of her life with a long list of things she could not do. She could not ride or wander around alone.

I cannae decide me own future or marry a man of me own choosin’.