Chapter 6
Jaxon sat upon a bench as Eden balanced atop a stool, pretending it was a cliff, while Rose arranged flowers in a small clay pot.
“Faither, look,” Eden said, leaping down, “I climbed higher than any hawk.”
The nursery lay in a sunlit tower room, its stone walls softened by woven hangings and shelves of carved wooden toys.
Small tables held slates and chalk, while a low hearth warmed braided rugs scattered across the floor.
Pressed flowers hung in frames beside painted maps of glens and rivers, meant to teach and comfort in equal measure.
It was a place of learning and play, suitable for bairns growing from babes into young ladies.
Rose glanced up shyly and said, “I found these in the garden, they smell sweet.”
Jaxon smiled, pride softening his stern features.
“I have news for ye both,” he said gently. “Ye now have a stepmother.”
Eden crossed her arms. “Ye dinnae ask us,” she huffed. “What if she is nae right for us?”
Rose’s voice was small but hopeful. “Is she kind, Faither, and will she walk with me and play?”
Jaxon knelt before them and said, “Her name is Gracie, and I am sure she will be kind.”
He looked at Rose and added, “She has a gentle heart, and I think she would love yer garden walks.” Turning to Eden, he said, “She is brave too, even if she doesnae yet ken it.”
Eden tilted her head, considering.
“If she doesnae like mud,” Eden said, “then I will teach her.”
Rose smiled faintly. “I hope she likes flowers,” she whispered.
Jaxon felt warmth spread through him, realizing he had done right by them. Their hopes, small and pure, eased the weight he had carried.
He drew a book from the shelf and settled on a chair. “Come, then, a story before the nurse calls.”
The twins curled close, Eden leaning against his arm while Rose rested her head on his knee. He read of heroes and hidden glens, his voice low and steady, weaving safety into every word.
Rose’s eyes fluttered as the tale unfolded, and Eden’s restless fingers stilled.
For a moment, Jaxon forgot duty and clan and marriage, holding only the quiet miracle of his daughters’ trust. He wondered if Gracie would read to them, if her voice would one day blend with his in these walls.
The thought stirred something like hope.
The door opened softly, and Hannah, the nursemaid, entered with a curtsy.
“Me laird, it is time for the young ladies to dress for the celebrations.”
Eden groaned. “I daenae wish to wear ribbons.”
Rose stood obediently. “We must be fair for the ceilidh.”
Jaxon closed the book and kissed each girl upon the brow.
“Be kind to yer new maither,” he said, “for she comes to ye with a willin’ heart.”
Eden nodded solemnly, and Rose whispered, “We will try.”
He watched them go, feeling that for the first time in many years, his castle might truly become a home…again.
Jaxon left the nursery and made his way through the castle. Servants still bowed with respect murmuring words of congratulations and such. He nodded as he went outside to find Connor.
The barracks rang with laughter and clatter, the stone walls warmed by torches and the easy cheer of men unburdened by duty for a night.
Benches were crowded with soldiers polishing boots, braiding hair, and boasting of dances yet to come.
The scent of ale and leather mingled with smoke from the hearth, and every voice carried anticipation for the ceilidh.
It was rare that work yielded to celebration, and the men embraced it fully.
Connor spotted Jaxon at once and strode over, patting him hard on the back.
“Ye have a way of stirrin’ a castle, me laird,” he said, pressing a flask into Jaxon’s hand.
Jaxon took a measured drink, the whiskey burning warm through him.
Connor shook his head in wonder. “I still cannae believe ye did it, standin’ in the kirk to marry a woman ye had never met. Takin’ up the duty of it on a whim.”
Jaxon’s face remained hard-set, his gaze steady. “It was the right thing,” he said. “After what Edmund did, it was the only way to keep peace between clan McDougal and clan McMillan.” He returned the flask. “I did what needed to be done.”
Connor nodded slowly. “It was an honorable thing ye did, indeed.”
The noise of the barracks swelled around them, men laughing and calling out wagers for the evening’s dances.
Jaxon watched them for a moment, then asked, “Any news? Have ye found me brother?”
Connor’s expression sobered. “Nay, we have nae. He is nowhere in the village.”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened. “He was at the kirk, we all ken that, since he traveled with us.” He folded his arms. “His horse was gone, so he left from there and could have gone anywhere.”
Connor frowned. “Aye, where do ye think he went?”
Jaxon exhaled slowly. “I daenae ken, but after tomorrow I want ye to put a scoutin’ party together and track him down, bring him back to me.”
Connor straightened. “Aye, I will see it done.”
Jaxon left the warmth of the barracks and crossed into the quieter halls of the castle. He climbed a narrow stair to the slab room, a modest chamber set down the hall from his grand bedchamber, named for the great stone mantle that crowned its hearth.
It was a place of solitude, fitting for a laird who needed a place to sleep separate from his bride, for the previous night at least.
He dressed with care, drawing on a fine linen dark green tunic embroidered with the McMillan crest. His kilt followed, pleated and heavy, its tartan rich and deep, secured with a silver pin shaped like a thistle.
Leather boots and a belt completed the look, and he paused to tie his brown hair back at the nape of his neck.
As he finished tying his hair, a knock came at the door.
“Me laird,” a servant called softly, “Lady McMillan is ready.”
Jaxon closed his eyes for a single breath, then turned toward the door, duty called.
The great hall of Castle McMillan blazed with light and life, torches flaring against banners while tables bowed beneath platters of roast meats, breads, and shining fruit.
Fiddles sang, drums kept time, and boots struck stone in eager rhythm as clansfolk danced in whirling lines.
Laughter rolled through the rafters, carrying the scent of spiced wine and hearth-smoke.
Jaxon stood at the dais with his daughters, feeling the pulse of his people surge like a living tide.
A hush rippled outward when the doors opened, and every head turned as Gracie entered.
Jaxon’s breath caught, for he had never seen a woman so transformed, light clinging to her as if she carried dawn within her.
The blue of her gown softened her curves, and the flowers in her hair made her seem a creature of meadow and sky.
In that instant, he knew a dangerous desire to possess her, sharp and immediate.
He mastered it at once, recalling the fear in her eyes when she had spoken of the marriage bed.
She was not ready for a laird’s hunger, and he would not become a terror in her life.
A bitter whisper rose within him, saying that had she wed Edmund, she would have been claimed without a second thought, and the idea burned hot.
Jaxon swallowed the anger, choosing restraint over shadow.
Rose tugged his hand and whispered, “Is that her, Faither?”
He nodded. “Aye, that is Lady Gracie.”
Eden’s eyes widened. “She’s pretty,” she said.
Jaxon’s gaze never left Gracie as he answered, “She is more than pretty.”
He guided the girls through the parted crowd to Gracie, the music resuming in a softer murmur.
“Gracie,” he said when they reached her, “I would have ye meet me daughters, Rose and Eden.”
Gracie bent at once. “I am pleased to meet ye, Rose and Eden,” she said gently, “and I hope we shall be friends.”
Rose curtsied shyly. “Do ye like flowers, me lady?”
Gracie smiled. “Very much, and I would walk the garden with ye any day.”
Eden tilted her head. “Do ye like climbin’?”
Gracie laughed. “I have never tried, but perhaps ye can teach me.”
Offering interests in their likes and dislikes, Gracie asked, “What is yer favorite food?”
“Honey cakes,” Eden declared.
“Warm bread with cheese,” Rose said.
“Then we shall have both,” Gracie replied, “and I will tell ye a story while we eat.”
The girls beamed, instantly won over.
Jaxon felt a quiet certainty settle within him, as if a lock had turned. He held out his hand for Gracie. She took it and he led them toward the head table as the hall stilled again.
Raising his glass, he said, “We welcome this union with Clan McDougal, and stand united by marriage and honor. I give ye Lady Gracie McMillan, daughter of Laird McDougal.”
The hall erupted in cheers, cups lifted high. Gracie’s eyes shone, and Jaxon lowered his glass with a nod of gratitude.
They sat amid abundance, platters of venison, barley stews, herb-roasted fowl, buttered greens, and golden breads spread before them.
Jaxon noticed Gracie only nudged her food, her fork tracing idle paths. “Are ye nae hungry?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Nay, me laird, the nervousness has stolen me appetite.”
He softened his voice. “Then eat when ye can, for the night is long.”
Rose tugged Gracie’s sleeve. “Will ye play with us on the morrow?”
Gracie answered at once, “Aye, I promise.”
The twins darted away in delight, ribbons flashing. Silence fell between husband and wife, broken by fiddle strings and the stamp of dance.
Jaxon watched Gracie’s gaze follow the dancers, longing bright within it. Without thinking, he slid an arm about her waist and drew her to her feet.
She startled. “What are ye doing?” she asked.
He met her eyes. “I am goin’ to dance with me wife.”
Her breath caught, then steadied. He led her among the circling bodies, careful to keep his hold light. The music swelled, and she moved with shy grace, trusting his steps. Jaxon felt pride bloom where hunger had been, and in that turning hall, he chose patience.
Jaxon guided her through the steps, his hand steady at her waist and his other clasping hers, feeling the faint tremor in her fingers.
“Ye dance well,” he said quietly, keeping his voice low so only she could hear.
Gracie swallowed and replied, “I have danced at ceilidhs all me life.”
He answered, “Then let this be no different than any other dance.”
Her shoulders eased a fraction, and she matched his stride more confidently.
“The hall is grand,” she said, glancing about, “larger than any I have known.”
Jaxon followed her gaze. “It was built for gatherings, for keepin’ hearts from growin’ small in stone walls.”
She smiled faintly. “It feels alive.”
He watched the curve of her mouth, thinking how rare her smile was, and how he wished to earn it.
“Do ye miss yer home already?” he asked.
Gracie nodded. “Aye, though I ken I must make one here.” Gracie said,
“Castle McMillan can be yer true home, if ye will let it.”
She looked at him then, truly looked, and he felt her weighing him.
“Ye speak kindly, me laird,” she said, “but kindness is nae always kept once vows are spoken.”
Jaxon tightened his hold only to steady her step. “I will nae be the man who breaks ye spirit,” he said, “I swear it.”
The music turned lively, and he spun her gently, her skirts blooming like a bell of blue.
Gracie laughed, the sound bright and startled. “Ye have tricked me into joy,” she accused.
He allowed a rare smile. “I only gave ye a turn.”
They drifted past whirling couples, and Jaxon felt eyes upon them, measuring, wondering why the Laird married the woman so abruptly.
“They are watchin’,” Gracie murmured.
He answered, “Let them, for they must learn ye are their lady.”
She hesitated. “I daenae yet ken how to be that.”
He leaned closer so she would not need to fear the room. “Be yerself,” he said, “and they will follow.”
Gracie’s gaze softened. “Is that what ye do, me laird?”
Jaxon paused. “Nay, I lead by command, but ye will lead by heart.”
“Ye speak as though ye ken me,” she said.
“I ken only what I see,” he replied, “a woman who bends to greet two bairns and wins them in a breath.”
Gracie flushed. “They are dear,” she said.
The tune slowed, and he eased her closer, still keeping space enough that she did not stiffen.
“Do ye fear me?” he asked softly.
Gracie hesitated. “I fear what I daenae ken,” she said, “and I daenae ken marriage...or ye.”
Jaxon replied, “Then we will learn it at yer pace.”
Her hand tightened in his. “Ye are nae like the tales,” she murmured.
He answered, “Tales are made by men who need monsters.”
She smiled again, and it was no longer strained.
They moved in a quiet circle as another song began, softer, more intimate.
“Will ye always be so patient?” she asked.
Jaxon considered. “I am nae a gentle man,” he said, “but I am an honorable one.”
Gracie nodded. “Honor feels safer than passion.”
He inclined his head. “Passion can wait,” he said. “I would rather ye trust me.”