Page 12 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

Ailis’ skin prickled with awareness as they walked because she knew Gordon was following behind them. She also sensed the intensity of his gaze. Her fingers tightened in her skirts at her sides, but she kept her smile on so Marion could not see the tension sloping through her.

When they reached the foot of the stairs, Gordon finally cleared his throat.

“Ma’am,” he said, his voice rough and low enough to settle oddly beneath her skin.

Ailis turned and gave him her sweetest smile. “Me Laird.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction. “I will show ye to yer chamber,” Gordon said.

Ailis’ stomach fluttered at the mention of chamber.

“Lead on,” she said lightly.

He turned without offering his arm. Ailis gathered her skirts and followed him through the keep. The entrance hall was wide and dim, lit by narrow windows and wall torches that smoked faintly against the stone. The scent of peat fire, beeswax, damp wool, and old stone wrapped around her.

Their footsteps echoed. Somewhere below, she heard the clatter of pots and women’s voices from the kitchens.

They passed a grand staircase, but Gordon did not climb it. Ailis glanced toward it, slowing in her strides a little. Then she looked back at him.

He led her past the hall, down a side passage, then another. The air changed as they walked. It grew warmer, thicker. The scent of the kitchens deepened: bread, meat stock, onions, herbs, smoke.

They descended a narrow stair then another, smaller one tucked behind a carved screen.

Ailis’s smile began to ache.

Is he takin’ me to the dungeons?

Surely not.

Gordon stopped at a low door near the end of a passage where the stone floor sweated faintly with kitchen heat. The walls were close here. Too close. There was no window save a narrow slit set high in the stone.

Then he pushed the door open. Ailis stepped forward and looked inside. For a moment, she did not speak.

The room was small. Lower than any lady’s chamber she’d seen with a low-beamed ceiling and a narrow bed pushed against one wall.

A plain chest sat at the foot of it. A little table stood crooked near the hearth though there was no proper hearth, only a small iron brazier set into a soot-darkened corner. The air was humid with the lingering warmth of the kitchens below, carrying with it the smell of boiled herbs, bread, and smoke trapped in stone.

It was not a lady’s chamber.

Nae even close.

It was like a storage chamber someone had swept and dressed in a clean coverlet, hoping dignity might not notice the insult.

Ailis’ fingers tightened in her skirts, but this time, it was anger that he ridiculed her. It was both cold and hot, and it moved through her at once, bright enough to burn through her restraint.

Her heart gave one hard, wounded beat as she realized, He is more of a beast than I had thought.

But she was not ready to let him see just how irritated she was. Ailis dragged in a steady breath, reminding herself that this alliance was not only for the sake of their clan but also for Sorcha, who had already saved her once.

She stepped into the chamber and turned once, her gaze taking in the low ceiling, the narrow bed, the meager little table, and the damp corner where she suspected every gown she owned would smell of stew by Michaelmas. Then she smiled.

“It is small,” she said lightly. “Nae what a lady would typically dwell in.”

Gordon said nothing. Ailis ran her fingers over the plain coverlet then flicked a glance toward him. “But it could be cozy. I will see to it.”

His expression did not change, but something shifted in his eyes. Surprise, perhaps. Irritation. A shadow of regret so quick, she might have imagined it.

That made the ache in her chest worse.