Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
“Sweet Maither of God.”
Iris pressed her face to the carriage window, her breath fogging the glass as Castle McMurphy came into view. She’d expected a fortress, something brutal and intimidating like its laird. Instead, she found herself staring at something that belonged in a fairy tale.
The castle rose from an island in the middle of a rushing river, its gray stone towers reaching toward the clouded sky like fingers grasping for heaven.
Ancient bridges connected it to the mainland, arching gracefully over the swirling water that served as both moat and guardian.
Mist clung to the castle, making the whole structure seem to float between earth and sky.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered to herself.
How can somethin’ so stunning belong to someone as cold as ye?
The thought came unbidden as the carriage rumbled across the main bridge. Below them, the river roared with springtime snowmelt, white foam dancing around the ancient stone pillars that had stood for centuries.
“We’re here,” she whispered, more to herself.
Iris gazed at the courtyard ahead, where servants, guards, and clan members had gathered. There was at least a dozen, all of them waiting to catch a glimpse of their laird’s new bride, the woman who would be their lady.
No pressure at all.
The carriage rolled to a stop with a final jolt, and almost immediately, the door opened. Elijah stood there, looking down at her with those unreadable dark eyes.
“Come,” he said simply. “We’re expected.”
Iris climbed out of the carriage. The moment her feet touched the cobblestones, she felt the weight of dozens of stares. She could practically hear their thoughts.
Will she be kind? Will she be fair? Will she make the Laird happy?
That last one almost made her laugh. Make Elijah Craig happy? The man who’d forced her into marriage? She doubted he was capable of happiness.
“Aliana!” Elijah’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Come here, lass.”
A young woman stepped forward from the crowd, perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four, with auburn hair and intelligent green eyes. She wore a simple brown dress but carried herself with quiet confidence.
“Aye, me laird?”
“This is Lady McMurphy,” Elijah said, his tone formal and distant. “Take her to our chambers, so she can freshen up. There’s a ceilidh tonight in honor of our marriage.”
Our chambers.
The words sent a flutter of panic through her chest. Of course, they’d share chambers—they were married. But somehow, in all her anger and fear, she hadn’t truly considered the practical reality of that fact.
“Of course, me laird.” Aliana stepped forward with a respectful curtsy. “Me lady, if ye’d follow me?”
“Go on,” Elijah said to Iris, already turning away. “I’ll see ye at the celebration.”
And just like that, he had dismissed her, like she was a package to be delivered or a task to be completed.
Not his wife, not even a person worth acknowledging beyond the bare minimum courtesy.
Heat flooded her cheeks as she realized the entire courtyard had witnessed the snub—her first moments as Lady McMurphy, and her husband had made it clear she was nothing more than an obligation to him.
“This way, me lady,” Aliana said gently, seeming to sense her humiliation.
Iris lifted her chin and followed the maid toward the castle entrance. She could feel the eyes of the clan on her back, could imagine their whispered conversations.
Poor lass, the Laird clearly has no feelings for her.
Nae much of a welcome for a new bride.
“Ye do realize ye’ll drive her to hatin’ ye within the week if ye keep on so?”
Henry’s voice carried across the empty armory where Elijah was inspecting weapons with unnecessary intensity. The man-at-arms leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his friend with obvious amusement.
Elijah’s jaw tightened, and he watched Henry’s posture change instantly—the slight shift of weight, the careful change from the amused expression.
Good. Let him remember who he’s speakin' to.
Elijah’s answer came low and hard. “Better she hates me than hopes for more than I can give.”
“More than ye can give? Or more than ye’re willin’ to give?” Henry pushed off from the wall, moving closer. “There’s a difference, ye ken.”
“Is there?” Elijah’s tone was clipped, dismissive. “The result is the same.”
“Nay, it’s nae. One’s about capability, the other’s about choice.” Henry picked up a dagger from the table, testing its weight. “Which one are we talkin’ about here?”
“Does it matter?”
Henry chuckled. “Ye’ve a tongue as sour as buttermilk, but mark me, Elijah, nay marriage lasts on cold shoulders and dismissals. Ye’ll see soon enough.”
“I expect nothin’ else,” Elijah said, his tone clipped. “This was never about affection. I needed a mother for Codie—that is all. If she hates me, so be it. She’ll still serve her purpose.”
Henry arched a brow. “Ye think so little of yerself or so little of her? Which is it?”
The Laird’s eyes darkened. “Neither. I think of the boy. His needs outweigh the rest. She’ll serve her place, and that will do.” Elijah turned sharply, ending the conversation as he strode toward the hall.
“A man cannae wall out his own heart. Ye’ll see.” Henry smiled wider, calling after him. “And when ye do, I’ll be the first to remind ye I warned ye!”
The great hall they passed through was magnificent with soaring ceilings, tapestries depicting clan battles, and a massive fireplace that could probably roast an entire stag. But Iris barely noticed the grandeur—she was too busy boiling over her husband’s casual dismissal.
“The stairs are just here, me lady,” Aliana said, leading them up a wide stone staircase. “The chambers are on the second floor.”
“How long have ye worked here?” Iris asked, needing the distraction of conversation.
“Nearly five years now. I started as a kitchen maid and worked me way up to lady’s maid for the previous... well.” She paused awkwardly. “For the Laird’s first wife.”
“And now, ye’ll be me maid?”
“If ye’ll have me, me lady. I ken these halls better than anyone, and I, well, I ken how things work around here.”
Something in her tone made Iris solar her more closely. “What do ye mean by that?”
Aliana glanced around, then leaned closer. “I mean, the Laird isnae exactly... easy to understand, but once ye figure him out, things make more sense.”
They reached a heavy wooden door bound with iron. Aliana pushed it open, revealing a spacious chamber with tall windows overlooking the river. The furnishings were rich but masculine—dark wood, heavy fabrics, everything built for durability rather than comfort.
“This was his first wife’s room?” Iris asked, stepping inside.
“Nay, me lady. This is the Laird’s chamber. Ye’ll be sharin’ it with him.”
Of course, I will.
“The washin’ basin is over there,” Aliana continued, unaware of Iris’s distress. “And there’s fresh water in the pitcher. Shall I help ye out of that travelin’ dress?”
“Please.” Iris began unpinning her hair, letting the elaborate wedding style fall into loose waves around her shoulders. “Aliana, can I ask ye somethin’?”
“Of course, me lady.”
“What was he like with his first wife? The Laird, I mean.”
Aliana paused in her work with the dress fastenings. “That’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“Well...” Aliana seemed to choose her words carefully. “Lady Margaret was a gentle soul. She was sweet, quiet, never raised her voice or caused trouble. The kind of woman most men would be grateful to have.”
“But?”
“But the Laird… I could see he needs more than gentle. He needs someone who can match him, challenge him, someone with fire.” Aliana’s eyes met hers in the looking glass. “Lady Margaret was afraid of him, and I think that made him angry though he never showed it directly.”
“Angry enough that she killed herself rather than stay married to him?”
“I daenae ken about that,” Aliana said quietly. “What I do ken is that the Laird blamed himself for her death. He has blamed himself every day since.”
That gave Iris pause. She’d assumed Elijah was simply a brute who’d driven his wife to desperation through cruelty. But guilt? Self-blame? Those words suggested a more complex man than she’d imagined.
“What’s he like as a laird?” she asked. “With his people, I mean.”
Aliana’s face brightened immediately. “Och, he’s wonderful.
Fair, generous, protective. He’s doubled our harvest yields, negotiated better trade agreements, and keeps us safe from raids.
” She leaned closer conspiratorially. “There was a fever two winters past that killed dozens in neighborin’ clans, but nae a single McMurphy died because the Laird brought in healers from Edinburgh and made sure everyone had medicine. ”
“That doesnae sound like the actions of a cruel man.”
“Because he isnae cruel, me lady. He’s guarded, careful with his trust, but cruel?
Never. Nae to his people, anyway. To his enemies, aye, he can be as ruthless as winter, but that’s what keeps us safe.
” Aliana helped her step out of the traveling dress.
“He just doesnae ken how to be soft, doesnae ken how to show kindness without seemin’ weak. ”
Interesting.
So, the Beast of McMurphy was more complex than his reputation suggested. The question was: which version was the real Elijah Craig? The threatening man who’d forced her into marriage or the fair Laird who protected his people?
“There’s somethin’ else,” Aliana said, lowering her voice. “About ye.”
“What about me?”
“It’s the way he looks at ye.” Aliana’s eyes sparkled with something that might have been mischief.
Iris froze. “What do ye mean?”
“I saw it in the courtyard when ye arrived. It’s nae the way he looked at Lady Margaret. I mean, he’s interested, me lady. Whether he wants to be or nae.”
Iris felt the heat creep up her neck. “That’s ridiculous. He made it clear I’m nothin’ more than a broodmare to him.”
“Did he? Or did he make it clear that he doesnae want to care about ye?” Aliana selected a fresh gown from the wardrobe, a deep blue silk that would complement Iris’ coloring. “Because those are two very different things.”
“I think ye’re readin’ too much into things,” Iris said firmly. “The man threatened me family to get me to marry him—that’s nae the action of someone who cares.”
“Nay,” Aliana agreed. “It’s the action of someone desperate.”
The word hung in the air between them. Desperate—not cruel, not calculating, desperate.
“Desperate for what?”
“For a lady for his clan,” Aliana ventured. “Or for a mother for young Codie. Now, me lady, let me help ye finish getting’ ready. If the Laird doesnae see ye soon, he will send someone to fetch ye.”
Codie. Iris had almost forgotten that the Laird had mentioned his son. She smoothed her gown, feeling more interested than she had since arriving. “What about this ceilidh...”
“It’s traditional when the Laird takes a new wife. The entire clan comes to celebrate. There’s music and dancin’ and enough food to feed an army.” Aliana grinned. “And everyone will be watchin’ to see how ye and the Laird get along.”
Wonderful. Another performance, another test. Which we will very likely fail.
But as Iris caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror and saw the way her hair gleamed, how her gown flattered her figure, and the warm color of her cheeks, she felt ready for whatever came next.
“Tell me,” she said to Aliana as they put the finishing touches on her appearance, “what exactly does everyone expect from their new lady?”
“Everythin’,” Aliana replied honestly. “They want ye to be kind but strong, gentle but fierce, welcomin’ but protective. They want ye to make the Laird happy and give him more sons and somehow fix whatever’s been broken in this castle since Lady Margaret died.”
“Nay pressure at all,” she grimaced.
“None whatsoever,” Aliana agreed with a grin.
A horn sounded from somewhere in the castle, deep and resonant, calling the clan to gather.
“That’s the signal,” Aliana said. “Time to go face the music, me lady.”
Iris took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and lifted her chin. She’d survived her parents’ cruelty, a forced marriage, and a bandit attack all in the span of two days. She could certainly handle a Highland celebration.
But as she prepared to leave the chamber and face her new clan as their lady for the first time, one thought echoed in her mind:
Everything hinges on this moment. How Elijah treats me, how his people accept me, and whether this marriage has any hope of bein’ more than a business arrangement.
The horn sounded again, more insistent this time.
“Ready, me lady?”
Iris squared her shoulders. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”