Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elijah strode through the castle corridors, his boots echoing off the stone walls with each angry step. The confrontation in the garden replayed in his mind—Iris’ defiant chin, the fire in her brown eyes, the way she’d stood her ground even when he’d towered over her like some brute.
I wouldnae have to argue with ye at all if ye’d just fulfill yer duties as a faither! If ye’d spend five minutes tryin’ to understand yer own son instead of treatin’ him like an inconvenience!
Her words followed him like ghosts, no matter how fast he walked. He climbed the stairs two at a time, desperate to reach the solitude of his solar where he could think clearly and where he wouldn’t hear the echo of his son’s laughter or see the hurt in his wife’s eyes.
But as he reached the landing, he heard rapid footsteps behind him. Light, determined steps that could only belong to one person.
“Elijah!”
He didn’t stop. If anything, he walked faster.
“Elijah, stop!” Her voice was breathless from chasing him through the castle. “We need to talk about what just happened!”
“There’s nothin’ to discuss,” he called back without turning around. “Ye made yer position clear, and I made mine.”
“Did I? Because I think ye are too busy runnin’ to even listen to me!”
That stopped him dead. He spun around to find her at the bottom of the stairs leading to their chambers, covered in mud, her hair wild around her shoulders, looking like some fierce Highland goddess. Even disheveled, even furious, she was magnificent.
“I daenae run from anythin’, lass.”
“Daenae ye?” She began climbing the stairs toward him, her chin set at that stubborn angle he was beginning to know too well. “Because that’s exactly what it looks like to me.”
“What it looks like,” he said through gritted teeth, “is a man who’s tired of arguin’ with a woman who doesnae understand the first thing about raisin’ a future laird.”
By now, she had reached the top of the stairs. “Then explain it to me,” she whispered, desperation making her pitch higher. “Help me understand why showin’ affection to yer son is such a terrible thing.”
“Because affection makes ye weak.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended. “It makes ye vulnerable. And vulnerable leaders get their people killed.”
“Who told ye that? Yer faither?”
Of course, it was me faither.
James Craig, the previous laird, who’d ruled through fear and iron discipline, who’d never shown his only son a moment’s tenderness without following it immediately with harsh criticism.
A laird cannae afford to be soft, boy. Weakness invites challenge, and challenge leads to death.
“It doesnae matter who told me,” he said instead. “It’s the truth.”
“Is it? Because the only weak thing I see is a man too afraid to love his own son.”
Without answering her, he pushed past her, heading straight for their chamber door. She hurried after him, rushing around to face him just as he reached for the door.
“Where do ye think ye’re goin’?”
“Somewhere we can have this conversation without the entire castle hearin’ us shout at each other,” he gritted. “Unless ye’d prefer to air our personal business in the corridors?”
He saw the way she adjusted herself when his point hit home.
She glanced around, likely noticing for the first time the curious faces peering around corners and a couple of servants pretending to dust furniture that didn’t need another cleaning.
The last thing he needed was gossip about his marriage spreading through the clan.
“Fine,” she bit out, stepping out of the way. “But this changes nothin’.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He pushed open the chamber door and marched inside, watching from the corner of his eyes as she marched in behind him. The moment the door closed behind them, she whirled to face him, and he saw something in her expression that made his chest tighten.
Not anger because he could have handled anger. This was worse. This was disappointment, mixed with hurt that she was trying very hard to hide.
“Why?” she asked quietly. “Why is it so hard for ye to simply spend time with yer son? To let him ken that ye care about his happiness?”
“Because caring about someone’s happiness is a luxury I cannae afford.” He moved to the window, needing distance between them. “Every moment I spend worryin’ about whether Codie is happy is a moment I’m nae focused on keepin’ him alive.”
“That’s the biggest load of nonsense I’ve ever heard.”
He turned sharply. “Is it? Tell me, Iris, what happens when enemies threaten this clan? When raiders come over the hills lookin’ for weakness? Do ye think they’ll be impressed by how well-loved our future laird is?”
“I think they’ll be terrified of a man whose people would die for him because they ken he cares about them.” She stepped closer, her voice growing stronger. “Love isnae weakness, Elijah. It’s the strongest force in the world.”
“Love gets ye killed,” he said flatly. “It makes ye hesitate when ye should strike, makes ye merciful when ye should be ruthless. I’ve seen it happen.”
“When? When have ye seen love destroy someone?”
The question hung in the air between them, and suddenly, he was seventeen again, standing over his father’s grave with dry eyes while the clan mourned around him.
He’d felt nothing that day. Not grief, not loss, just the cold weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders like a mantle he’d never asked for.
“Me faither,” he said quietly. “He was... he was a hard man. Never showed me affection, never told me he was proud, never let me see him as anythin’ but a laird. And when he died in that battle, I realized I’d spent me entire life tryin’ to earn the love of a man who dinnae ken how to give it.”
He turned from the window to face her, his expression raw with old pain. “I never had me maither to soften his edges. She died when I was just a bairn, so all I knew was his coldness, his distance. He taught me that carin’ makes ye weak, that showin’ emotion is dangerous for a leader.”
Understanding dawned in Iris’ eyes, soft and terrible. “Oh, Elijah.”
“Daenae,” he warned, seeing pity beginning to form in her expression. “I daenae want yer sympathy.”
“It’s nae sympathy. It’s understandin’.” She moved closer still, close enough that he could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes.
“It’s the same.”
“Is it? Because ye survived, dinnae ye? Ye became a leader, a protector.”
“What it gave me was a lesson about the price of carin’ too much.”
“And what about Margaret?” The question came out soft, almost gentle, but it hit him like a physical blow. “Was that about love too?”
He went very still. “What about Margaret?”
“Ye blame yerself for her death. I can see it in yer eyes every time someone mentions her.” Iris’ voice was careful now, as if she were approaching a wounded animal. “What happened, Elijah? What really happened to yer first wife?”
For a moment, he considered lying. Telling her the same story everyone else had heard about fever and complications from childbirth. But something in her eyes, some combination of strength and compassion, made the truth come spilling out.
“She was terrified of me,” he said roughly. “From the day we married until the day she died, she looked at me like I was some monster who might devour her at any moment.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what I am.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue.
“The Beast of McMurphy, remember? I tried to be gentle with her, tried to be patient, but she just... she couldnae bear me touch, couldnae stand to be in the same room with me. After Codie was born, it got worse. She started talkin’ about voices, about things that werenae there. ”
“She was ill.”
“Aye, she was ill, and I made it worse by existin’.
” He turned back to the window, unable to look at Iris as he continued.
“The night she died, she came to me in me solar. She was... different. Calmer than she’d been in months.
She told me she was sorry, that she kent she’d been a disappointment as a wife. ”
“What did ye say?”
“I told her she wasnae a disappointment. That she’d given me a son, and that was enough.” His voice broke slightly. “I thought I was bein’ kind. I thought I was givin’ her permission to stop tryin’ so hard.”
“Oh, Elijah.”
“She smiled at me, the first real smile I’d seen from her since she became me wife, and said goodnight. The next mornin’, they found her outside.” He pressed his forehead against the cool glass. “She’d thrown herself from the window rather than spend another day married to me.”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with pain and understanding. When Iris finally spoke, her voice was thick with unshed tears.
“That wasnae yer fault.”
“Wasnae it?”
He turned to face her, and what he saw in her eyes made his breath catch. Not pity, not fear, but something that looked dangerously like understanding. Like acceptance.
“Ye should be afraid of me,” he said quietly. “Everyone else is.”
“I am afraid,” she admitted. “But nae of ye. I’m afraid of how ye make me feel. How much I want things I’ve never wanted before.”
“What things?”
“Partnership. Companionship. Someone who sees me as more than just a convenience or a burden.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Someone who might actually care if I were happy.”
“Iris...”
“I ken this marriage wasnae what either of us chose. I ken ye still see it as an arrangement, nothin’ more. But I also ken I cannae go back to me parents, and me sister has disappeared. I have nowhere else to go. And for Codie’s sake, I want this marriage to work.”
The admission hung between them like a challenge. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes, the way she’d laid her heart bare despite knowing he might crush it.
She was close enough to kiss now, close enough that he could see the way her pulse fluttered at her throat, could smell the scent of her skin beneath the garden mud. It would be so easy to close the distance between them, to let himself fall into whatever this was between them.
But caring about someone meant risking their loss. And he’d lost enough.
“I cannae,” he said roughly, stepping back. “I cannae be what ye need, Iris.”
“What if I just need ye to try?”
The question pierced through his defenses like an arrow finding its mark. Because that was the real terror, wasn’t it? Not that he might fail her but that he might succeed. That he might actually be worthy of the faith he saw in her eyes.
“And Codie?” she pressed, seeming to sense his wavering resolve. “What about him? Does he nae deserve a faither who’s willin’ to risk carin’ about his happiness?”
He deserves better than me. I daenae even ken how to love him properly.
As though piercing into his thoughts, Iris pressed on, “Ye’re what he has, and he loves ye despite yer flaws. The question is, what are ye goin’ to do about it?”
Before he could answer, she was moving toward the door.
“Where are ye goin’?”
“To clean meself up. And then I’m goin’ to find yer son and make sure he kens that what happened in the garden wasnae his fault.
” She paused with her hand on the latch.
“Think about what I said, Elijah. About what kind of man ye want to be and what kind of father. Because Codie is watchin’, and he’s learnin’ from everythin’ ye do. ”
The door closed behind her with a soft click, leaving him alone with his thoughts and the terrible possibility that his new, meddling, annoying wife may be right.