Page 6 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

Gordon stared out at the yard below where torches were being lit one by one.

Comfort. What comfort can Ailis Sinclair take from me? What comfort can I give any woman?

“A marriage for appearances,” Gordon said.

Rowan’s voice dropped. “An heir would do that too.” The word struck the room like a bell. “It will give the folk hope. They will believe in the future of yer house.”

Gordon’s hand tightened on his cup.

He did not turn. “All in good time.”

“Gordon.”

“Nay.” He faced his brother then, and the look in Rowan’s eyes nearly made him bare his teeth.

Was it pity? Worry? Or mere brotherly concern? Gordon had no use for any of it.

“Daenae look at me as though I am a horse ye mean to tame.”

“I look at ye as me brother.”

“That has never stopped ye from meddlin’ in me affairs.”

Rowan’s jaw flexed. “I ken what ye think of yourself.”

“Do ye?”

“Aye, ye think because our uncle made ye hard, that is all ye can be. Ye think because men fear ye, nae woman could want ye. Ye think because ye have blood on yer hands, ye have nae right to build anythin’, but ye are wrong.” Rowan walked to him and planted a hand on his shoulder. “This marriage will prove that.”

Gordon said nothing. He feared that if he spoke, the wrong truth would come out. He looked away from his brother and swallowed hard to push the lump in his throat down. In his mind, he recalled the one night Ailis walked into his study and the way she had looked at him. He could not forget the flush on her cheeks.

Gordon knew he should not think of her, yet that image was clear in his head. He took another drink as he recalled asking her to leave that night.

I certainly terrified her.

He knew it from how she paled.

“I daenae need a wife,” he insisted, shoving aside the sensations welling up inside him.

Feelings were a weakness he could not afford. He had learned that early enough to know when to stop the foolishness from seeping into his heart. Weakness would make him an unfit laird, and he had fought too hard to get here.

“I care for the clan. That is all. All me efforts and affections are for me clan and me people.”

“But still, brother… ye deserve a life and happiness and…”

“I daenae wish for it,” he countered in a colder tone now, the note of finality loud enough to make Rowan sigh.

That is all I can be trusted with. And I daenae even deserve that.

Not after the years he spent fighting his brother and believing Rowan was the enemy because their uncle made him believe so.

Gordon set the cup down hard enough that whisky sloshed over his fingers. Rowan’s gaze flicked to the movement, and Gordon wiped his hand on a cloth and cursed inwardly.

He could still remember her scent from that first ride they shared when he brought her home. She smelled like rain, crushed heather, and something sweet beneath it, like apple blossom warmed by skin. Remembering made his insides stiffen. Gordon pinched himself to stop the train his thoughts had taken.

Rowan pressed his lips together at that.

“I willnae be able to give her anythin’ but bairns. She ought to nay expect more from a man like me.”