Page 17 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

Not quite humor but the ghost of it. Something dry and reluctant, as if his wit lived behind locked doors and slipped out only when no one was watching closely enough.

Ailis studied him for a second, but he looked away first as servants trooped into the hall with more platters of roasted venison, pottage, and even trout. All those food scents should have comforted her. Instead, Ailis found herself too aware of the man beside her.

She noticed Gordon ate little, but he listened closely to the conversation around the table. Guards came to speak with him between courses, lowering their heads as they brought concerns about fields, patrols, and stores.

Gordon answered each one in a few words, and when a young servant nearly dropped a jug of ale beside him, he reached out and steadied it before it could spill then returned it without rebuke.

The lad’s face went pale as milk anyway.

Gordon noticed. A shadow crossed his eyes, swift and well-hidden.

Ailis saw it. Her fingers stilled over her bread as she realized, They fear him.

It had been easy to think him a beast when she was the one being prodded and challenged and placed in that small chamber. It was less easy when she saw the way he bore their fear as if it were a cloak he had never wanted but could not remove.

A scar near his temple caught her attention when he turned to her again, and this time, her pulse thumped with another question.

How did he get that?

It reminded Ailis of the scars she had seen on his chest that night in his study. Heat unfurled through her, and she worried it would color her cheeks while she was seated in front of everyone.

She reached for her water a little too quickly and gulped from it, hoping to quench the sudden thirst plaguing her. Thankfully, Marion drew Ailis back to reality with a question about her journey next, and soon, they were speaking of Sorcha, the road, the chamber, and whether heather might be gathered fresh before the week’s end.

“I would have more heather in the chamber,” Ailis said. “I would love the room to smell of the hills; it would definitely… keep the place fresh.”

Marion laughed outright. “I like ye.”

Ailis smiled. “That is fortunate. I like ye too, Marion.”

Gordon’s cup paused halfway to his mouth.

Ailis saw it from the corner of her eye. She did not look at him directly.

Marion patted Ailis’ hand. “Good. This keep has needed a woman so desperately, and me nephew needs ye too.”

The words warmed Ailis more than she expected.

Then Gordon set his cup down too hard, the dull thud cutting through their chuckles as his ale spilled on the wood. He pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the stone. His face had gone cold, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits that made them even greener and stern. As if some door had slammed behind his eyes.

“Malcolm,” Gordon said.

His man-at-arms rose at once from the lower table. Gordon did not look at Ailis or Marion. He turned and strode from the hall, each step clipped and hard, his plaid swinging behind him.

Malcolm followed after that, and silence trailed in Gordon’s wake for three breaths.

Then the hall resumed, leaving her wondering exactly what a man like Gordon was all about.

CHAPTER SIX

The training ground lay beyond the inner bailey where the castle wall cut the wind but did not soften it.

Gordon trained under the gray early-morning sky, his boots muddy from the rain that had fallen during the night.

He was used to sleepless nights. There were many when he lay awake and plotted his uncle’s battles. Many times, he stared at the ceiling boards in his cramped chamber, inhaling the damp smell and enjoying the heat because he did not think he deserved more. Gordon had grown accustomed to them early on, when training with his uncle allowed little to no sleep. He had survived all of that.

So why did last night feel like torture?

Knowing Miss Ailis was nearby in his old chamber—maybe asleep or overwhelmed by her soon-to-be role as his wife—disturbed him. The very idea unsettled him, and Ailis’ presence had somehow embedded itself in his thoughts, yet he could not bring himself to stop.