Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“But ye make it sound so simple.”
Elijah pulled away from Iris, moving to the window where moonlight spilled across the library floor. His reflection stared back at him, dark, brooding, every inch the Beast of McMurphy people whispered about.
“It’s nae simple. But it’s nae impossible either.” Iris’s voice was soft behind him.
“Isnae it?” He turned to face her. “Ye say I should spend more time with Codie, that I should show him I care. But ye daenae understand—nay one would want to spend time with someone as cold as me. I daenae even ken how to express me feelin’s correctly.
I open me mouth, and the wrong things come out, or I say nothin’ at all, and either way I end up hurtin’ people. ”
“That’s nae true.”
“It is true!” The words burst from him, sharper than he’d intended.
“Look at what happened this mornin’. Ye were tryin’ to be kind, and I threw it back in yer face.
Margaret tried to reach out to me for years, and I drove her to such despair that she…
” He stopped, unable to finish the sentence.
“Codie deserves better than a faither who cannae even manage a simple conversation without makin’ everythin’ worse. ”
Iris crossed to him, her footsteps quiet on the wooden floor. “Ye’re wrong.”
“Am I? Because the evidence suggests otherwise.”
“The evidence suggests ye’re scared and therefore actin’ defensively.” She stopped close enough that he could smell lavender on her skin. “But Codie would love to spend time with ye, Elijah. I see it in his face every time ye’re near. And as for me, I can understand ye most of the time.”
“Most of the time isnae good enough when it comes to a bairn.”
“Then we’ll work on the rest.” A smile tugged at her mouth. “Ye just have to be less of a beast, and ye can communicate just fine.”
Despite everything, he felt his lips twitch. “Less of a beast?”
“Aye. Maybe try smilin’ occasionally. Speakin’ in full sentences instead of growls. Nae glowerin’ at people like ye’re plannin’ their demise.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Simple things, really.”
“Ye’re mockin’ me.”
“I’m teasin’ ye. There’s a difference.” She reached out, her fingers brushing his arm. “Elijah, ye’re nae nearly as terrible at communication as ye think ye are. Ye’re just terrible at lettin’ people see ye’re tryin’.”
He stared at her, this woman who somehow managed to see past all his defenses. “I daenae ken how to be different. This is all I’ve known—this distance, this control. Me faither taught me that showin’ emotion was a weakness, and I believed him for so long that I daenae ken how to undo it.”
“Then let me help ye.” Her voice was gentle but firm. “Let me teach ye how to reach Codie. How to show him ye care without it feelin’ like ye’re exposin’ yer throat.”
“And if I fail? If I try and still make things worse?”
“Then we’ll figure it out together. But Elijah…” She moved even closer, her hand settling over his heart. “… ye cannae keep shuttin’ yer son out. He’s already losin’ faith that ye care about him. If ye keep this up, eventually he’ll stop tryin’ to reach ye altogether, and then it’ll be too late.”
The words hit like a physical blow. The thought of Codie giving up on him, of his son looking at him with indifference instead of that desperate hope, made something twist painfully in his chest.
“I daenae want that.”
“Then change it. Ye have the power to change it.” Her fingers pressed against his chest, right above his racing heart. “Start small. Spend time with him, ask about his day. Tell him stories. Let him see ye’re nae just the Laird but also his da.”
“What kind of stories would I tell? I daenae have happy childhood memories to share.”
“Then tell him about yer horse, about battles ye’ve fought, about the clan’s history.” Iris’s expression softened. “Or better yet, ask him to tell ye stories. Let him show ye his imagination. Ye’d be surprised what ye can learn about yer own son if ye just listen.”
Elijah was quiet for a long moment, turning her words over in his mind. It sounded so simple when she said it. Just spend time with Codie. Just talk to him, just be present.
But the execution felt impossible.
“What if he doesnae want me there? What if I’ve pushed him away so much that he’d rather have just ye?”
“That boy worships ye, Elijah. He’d be thrilled if ye showed even the smallest interest in spendin’ time with him.” She paused. “In fact, when he’s better, I promised to teach him how to ride a horse. Ye should be there.”
“Ye want me to help teach him to ride?”
“I want ye to be part of his life. And ridin’ lessons are a perfect opportunity.” She smiled. “Besides, ye ken far more about horses than I do. Ye could teach him things I cannae.”
“Like what?”
“Like how to care for a horse properly. How to check hooves for stones. How to adjust stirrups and saddles.” Her eyes sparkled. “All the practical things a Highland warrior needs to ken.”
“And ye’d want me there? Even though ye’re perfectly capable of teachin’ him yerself?”
“I’d want ye there because ye’re his Da, and he needs ye there.” Her voice was firm. “And because I think it would be good for both of ye. Give ye time together doin’ somethin’ active instead of just sittin’ and starin’ at each other awkwardly.”
The image made something warm unfold in his chest. He and Codie in the paddock, teaching the boy the same skills Elijah’s own father had taught him, except better. Kinder. With encouragement instead of criticism, with patience instead of demands for immediate perfection.
“Ye really think it would work? That I could do this without ruinin’ it?”
“I think ye willnae ken unless ye try.” She squeezed his arm. “And I’ll be right there to help. If ye start growlin’ or glowerin’ too much, I’ll step in.”
“I daenae growl.”
“Ye do. Like a bear wakin’ from winter sleep.” Her smile was teasing. “But we’ll work on that.”
Despite the heaviness of their conversation, despite the fear still churning in his gut, Elijah felt his mouth curve into something that might have been a smile. “Ye’re very confident in yer ability to reform me.”
“Someone has to be, since ye’ve given up on yerself entirely.” She moved away from him, heading toward one of the library chairs. “Now, all this serious conversation has left me parched. Where do ye keep the whisky in this place?”
The abrupt change of subject caught him off guard. “The whisky?”
“Aye. I want a drink.” She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Unless ye’re one of those men who thinks women shouldnae partake?”
“I daenae care what ye drink. I’m just surprised ye want whisky instead of wine or ale.”
“I like whisky. Me faither used to sneak me drams when Maither wasnae lookin’—said a proper Highland lass should ken how to hold her drink.” Her expression grew wistful. “It was one of the few things we did together that felt like he actually enjoyed me company.”
Elijah heard the pain beneath the casual words. “Yer faither sounds like he had moments of sense, even if he was mostly terrible.”
“He had his moments. Few and far between but they existed.” She moved back toward him. “So? Are ye goin’ to show me where the whisky is, or do I have to search the entire castle?”
“The good whisky’s in the kitchens. I have some here, but it’s nae as fine.”
“Then take me to the kitchens.” She held out her hand. “Unless it’s too scandalous to be seen wanderin’ the halls with yer own wife at night?”
He stared at her outstretched hand, at the invitation in her eyes. Every instinct told him to refuse, to maintain his distance, to not give her any more ammunition to use against him.
But hadn’t he just promised to try? To be different?
He took her hand. “Come on, then. But if we’re caught, I’m tellin’ everyone it was yer idea.”
“Of course, it was me idea. I’m the one askin’ for whisky in the middle of the night.” She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Ye’re just the poor husband bein’ dragged around by his demandin’ wife.”
They made their way through the darkened corridors, Iris still holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d never walked through his own castle like this, hand in hand with someone, moving through shadows without purpose beyond shared company. It felt strange, foreign.
But not entirely unpleasant.
“Why is it so dark?” Iris asked as they descended the stairs toward the kitchens. “Do ye nae keep any torches lit at night?”
“A few in the main corridors. But most areas are dark to save on oil and prevent fires.” He guided her around a corner. “Besides, I ken these halls well enough to walk them blind.”
“Show off.” But she was smiling. “I suppose growin’ up here gives ye an advantage.”
“Aye. I used to sneak down to the kitchens as a boy, stealin’ honey cakes when Cook wasnae lookin’.”
“Ye? Sneakin’ and stealin’?” She sounded delighted. “I cannae picture the fearsome Laird McMurphy as a boy with sticky fingers and crumbs on his face.”
“I wasnae always fearsome. I was a bairn once, believe it or nae.” The admission came easier than he’d expected. “Though me faither tried his best to beat the childhood out of me as quickly as possible.”
Her hand tightened on his. “He beat ye?”
“Nae with his fists. With his words, his expectations, his constant disappointment.” Elijah pushed open the kitchen door. “But we’re nae talkin’ about me faither tonight. We’re gettin’ ye dram.”
The kitchen was dark except for the dying embers in the massive hearth. Elijah moved confidently through the space, lighting a candle and using it to navigate to the small, locked cabinet where Cook kept the good spirits.
“Is that locked?” Iris asked, peering over his shoulder.
“Aye. Cannae have the servants helpin’ themselves whenever they please.” He produced a key from his pocket. “But the Laird has privileges.”
“Apparently, the Laird has many privileges.” She moved closer as he opened the cabinet, revealing rows of bottles. “That’s quite a collection.”
“Me grandfather was fond of dram. Built up the stores over his lifetime.” Elijah selected a bottle of amber liquid that caught the candlelight. “This one’s from Islay. Smoky, rich. Ye’ll either love it or hate it.”
“Then let’s find out which.” She held out her hand expectantly. “Do we need glasses, or are we drinkin’ straight from the bottle like heathens?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “We’ll use glasses. I’m nae completely uncivilized.”
“Could have fooled me earlier when ye were growlin’ at me in the library.”
“I wasnae growlin’, ” He stopped when he saw her grin. “Ye’re teasin’ me again.”
“I am. It’s surprisingly easy.” She accepted the glass he poured for her. “And enjoyable. Ye should try it sometime.”
“Try what? Teasin’ ye?”
“Aye. Instead of always bein’ so serious and broodin’. A little levity never hurt anyone.” She raised her glass. “Now, are we goin’ to toast to somethin’, or just drink in grim silence?”
Elijah poured himself a dram and held up his glass. “What should we toast to?”
“To tryin’.” Her eyes met his. “To bein’ better than we were yesterday, even if we fail spectacularly at it.”
“To tryin’.” He touched his glass to hers, the crystal making a soft ringing sound. “And to nae failin’ too spectacularly.”
They drank. Elijah watched Iris take a long swallow, expecting her to cough or splutter at the strong liquor. Instead, she simply closed her eyes and smiled.
“That’s good. Really good.” She opened her eyes, noting his expression. “What? Did ye expect me to choke?”
“Most women I’ve ken couldnae handle whisky this strong.”
“Then ye’ve been meetin’ the wrong women.” She took another sip, savoring it. “This is wonderful. Smoky, like ye said. With a hint of sweetness underneath.”
He stared at her, this woman who kept surprising him at every turn. Who could be fierce and tender in equal measure, who could challenge him without cruelty, who could drink whisky like a seasoned Highland warrior while somehow keeping her grace.
“What?” she asked, noticing his scrutiny.
“Nothin’. I just... I like seein’ this side of ye.”
“What side?”
“The free side. The side that drinks whisky in the middle of the night and teases me about growlin’.” He leaned against the counter. “The side that doesnae care about bein’ perfectly proper all the time.”
“Ah. Well, that’s the real me, I suppose.” She swirled the whisky in her glass. “The perfectly proper lady was always for me parents’ benefit. For society’s benefit. But this,” She gestured between them. “This is who I actually am when I’m nae pretendin’.”
“I like it. The real ye, I mean.” The words came out rougher than he’d intended.
They stood there in the candlelit kitchen, the silence comfortable rather than awkward.
Elijah found himself noticing small things—the way the light caught her hair, making it shine like gold.
The slight flush in her cheeks from the dram.
The way she looked at him without fear or judgment, just simple acceptance.
He caught her hand, pulling her closer still. “And I reserve the right to kiss ye when ye’re particularly bonnie.”
“Even in the middle of the kitchen at night?”
“Especially in the middle of the kitchen at night.”
Iris smiled up at him. “Ye ken, for someone who claims to be terrible at communication, ye’re quite good at kissin’.”
“That’s because kissin’ doesnae require words.”
“True. But it does require honesty.” Her hand came up to cup his cheek. “And ye’re bein’ honest with me right now, arenae ye? If we let it, this could become more than just physical.”
“Aye, it could’.” The admission should have terrified him, but standing here in the darkened kitchen with her in his arms, it just felt true. “But I daenae ken if it is somethin’ I can handle right now.”
“But ye will give us a chance?”
“Aye, I can promise ye this.”
“That’s all I need to hear. Now, shall we finish this bottle and stumble back to our chambers like a proper scandalous couple?”
“We’re married. It’s nae scandalous.”
“Then we’ll have to try harder.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Come on, husband. Pour us another dram, and tell me stories about yer misspent youth. I want to hear all the terrible things ye did before ye became the fearsome Beast of McMurphy.”