Page 21 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

“This chamber remains mine until the vows are spoken,” he said in a stern voice now. “Return it all to the way it was.”

She glanced about the room, innocent as a saint in a painted window. “But I have more…”

“I will only say this once.” His jaw gritted shut as he rasped that final tone.

“But…”

“Daenae forget yerself, Miss Ailis. This is me keep and me chamber, and it will remain so until I say otherwise. I shall head to me study now, and by the time I return, I want everythin’ back to the way it was.”

He stormed out of the chamber right after that, slamming the door after him before finally letting out the breath he held.

Gordon braced one hand against the stone and bowed his head. Every part of him trembled with the wave of sensations she stirred alive in him.

For the first time ever, Gordon feared no battle or enemy.

He feared going back inside his own chamber.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The following morning, Ailis expected to be left alone.

After all, if a man placed his betrothed in a chamber fit for linen trunks only to find his own chamber conquered by candles, hortensias, and embroidered sheep, surely he would require a day to recover his dignity.

She had imagined a peaceful morning without him because he was either too mad at her or too busy scowling at someone like he always did.

Maybe she would wander the castle with a little book in hand, discover a forgotten corner where the sun touched the stones sweetly, sketch the shape of the hills beyond the wall, or sit by a window and think grand thoughts about clear skies, traveling roads, and fairy-tale princes.

Instead, she found Gordon waiting for her in the courtyard.

Ailis stopped beneath the archway.

He stood near the stables, already dressed for the day, talking with Malcolm. His red hair was tied loosely at his nape, his plaid pinned over one broad shoulder, his sleeves rolled to his forearms as though the morning had offended him, and he meant to wrestle it into obedience. The pale light caught the strong lines of his arms, the calluses on his hands, and the old scar near his temple.

Ailis’ stomach gave an irritating little dip.

Ach, he is annoyingly handsome.

She pressed her lips together and refused to show any signs of being impressed though the idea kept circling in her mind, causing her to look at him a little longer.

The courtyard smelled of wet stone, hay, horse, and peat smoke drifting from the kitchens. Stable lads hurried with buckets. Hens scratched near the far wall. A cart stood by the gate, its wheels sunk into mud from the night’s rain. Men moved along the wall-walk above, and every few moments, someone glanced toward her with open curiosity before remembering themselves and looking away.

Gordon turned, and their gazes met. For one foolish breath, Ailis remembered him standing in his chamber the night before, surrounded by flowers and sheep.

A dangerous color threatened her cheeks. She banished it by force.

Gordon’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if he had seen too much.

“Good mornin’, Ma’am,” he said. His voice was rough from the early hour. It should not have sounded intimate, but it did. That only vexed her more.

Ailis smiled with all the sweetness she could gather. “Good mornin’, Me Laird.”

Malcolm’s mouth twitched as he watched their exchange.

Gordon ignored him. “Ye slept well?”

“Wonderfully,” Ailis said. “The servants sing lullabies at dawn. Did ye ken?”

Malcolm coughed into his fist.