Chapter 7
Gracie felt flustered being so close to him, aware of every inch of space between their bodies and every brush of cloth.
It felt strange and wonderful to dance with a man who was not her father, whose hand was warm and steady at her waist. Her heart beat too quickly, and she wondered if he could feel it through her gown.
The hall seemed to fade, leaving only the music and the man beside her.
“I’ve never danced with a suitor before, let alone a man that I must now call husband,” she confessed, her voice barely above the fiddles. Jaxon glanced down at her, one dark brow lifting.
“Good,” he said, “there’s nay one to kill for touchin’ ye then.”
Gracie scoffed, shaking her head. “Ye daenae truly mean that.”
His grip tightened just enough to keep her step true. “I mean every word,” he said quietly. “There is only one rule ye need remember now that we’re wed.”
She swallowed. “And what rule is that, me laird?”
“If any man but me touches ye,” Jaxon said, his voice low and certain, “I will kill him, without a single question.”
Gracie stared at him in disbelief. “That isnae somethin’ a laird should be sayin’,” she replied, a tremor in her tone.
He answered, “The only thing a laird should never do is take advantage of his people.”
She shook her head, trying to make sense of him. “We are arguin’ a moot point,” she said. “There is nay man who would be interested in me, and I daenae even ken why ye offered to marry me at all.” Her gaze fell. “Even yer own brother ran away.”
Jaxon halted their turn for a heartbeat before guiding her again. “Edmund is a fool,” he said. “His leavin’ says nothin’ of ye.”
Gracie whispered, “It feels as though it does.”
“Trust me, lass,” he said, his voice roughening. “If I thought ye could handle it, I would show ye exactly how much I want ye.”
The words struck her like a bell, ringing through her chest. He stepped away at once, breaking the closeness he had held.
Gracie stood in the space he left behind, her skin still warm where his hand had been.
She did not know whether to feel relieved or wounded, only that her heart ached with something new.
Around them the ceilidh roared on, laughter and song rising to the rafters.
She felt suddenly small within it, yet seen in a way she never had before.
She watched him retreat, his face once more carved of stone. He had given her a glimpse of fire and then shielded her from its heat. Her fingers curled at her sides, yearning and afraid in equal measure. She wondered if he knew how deeply his words had struck.
Gracie drew a steadying breath and followed him with her eyes. He turned back, as though sensing her gaze, and their eyes met across a hand’s breadth of air. She retreated to the table, merely to sit down so that she would not faint.
She watched Jaxon walk the great hall accepting words of merriment and having drinks with many powerful men.
Finally, he returned to her. She felt him standing behind her. He leaned down to her ear and whispered.
“I meant nay harm,” he said softly. “I only wished ye to ken the truth.”
“I daenae doubt it,” she replied. “It is only… much to take in.”
Jaxon inclined his head. “Ye have been given too much in a single day.”
She managed a faint smile. “Aye, that is true enough.”
Gracie felt oddly bereft, though she had feared his nearness moments before. She realized then that safety and desire could live in the same breath. It frightened her how quickly he had become the center of her thoughts.
She glanced toward the twins, who were laughing near the benches, and felt a tug of resolve.
She was here for them, and for herself, and perhaps for him as well.
Marriage had been thrust upon her, yet within it lay a chance she had never imagined.
Gracie straightened her shoulders, reminding herself that she was still her own woman.
She felt him squeeze her shoulder then be off once more. She realized she was smiling in earnest. The hall no longer felt so vast or strange. She was still afraid of the marriage bed and of the life before her. Yet within that fear, a fragile hope had begun to take root.
Moments later, Gracie sat at the long oaken table, her hands folded in her lap, as members of clan McMillan approached in turn, each offering a bow, a smile, or a hearty word.
“Welcome, Lady McMillan,” said a gray-bearded man in a tartan cloak, “we’re proud to have ye.”
She answered softly, “Thank ye kindly, I hope to serve ye well.”
A young woman with bright eyes leaned close and whispered, “Ye are fair and gentle, me lady, the Laird chose wisely.”
Gracie flushed, replying, “Ye are too kind, I am glad to be among ye.”
Another clapped his hands and laughed, declaring, “The hall feels warmer already.”
Gracie found herself smiling in earnest, feeling for the first time that she might truly belong.
More came, each voice weaving into the warmth around her, a baker promising fresh honey cakes and a shepherd swearing his flock would give her the softest wool.
“If ye ever wish to walk by the river, I’ll show ye the best paths,” said a boy about the same age as the twins.
She answered, “Thank ye, that is very kind of ye.”
An older woman took Gracie’s hands and murmured, “We lost our lady long ago, and the castle has missed a woman’s heart.”
Gracie felt a sudden sting of tears as she replied, “I will try to honor her memory.” With every greeting, her fear loosened, replaced by a fragile thread of pride.
Andrew approached at last, his eyes shining as he took in the sight of her among them.
“Faither,” she said, “do they seem pleased by me marriage to their Laird?”
“I have heard only good things so far, lass,” he answered with a gentle smile.
Relief spread through her and she whispered, “I am glad, I feared they might resent me.”
He replied, “They see what I see, a kind heart and a steady spirit.” He kissed her cheek and said, “Daenae be afraid, Gracie, ye are a lady now and must be strong.”
She nodded, answering, “I will try, with all I have.”
Andrew’s brow furrowed then, and he said, “I must beg yer pardon, I dinnae ken the Laird had twin daughters.”
Gracie lowered her gaze. “It was a shock,” she admitted, “I dinnae expect it.”
He sighed, rubbing her hand. “Ye take on much responsibility, both Lady and maither, before ye can even settle into the marriage.”
She drew a steady breath. “Aye, it is a heavy mantle, but the girls are sweet, and I ken I can love them.”
Andrew’s voice softened. “Love will be yer greatest strength, more than any title.”
She managed a small smile. “Then I shall lean upon it.”
As he left her, Gracie watched the dancers whirl and felt the weight of her new life settle upon her shoulders.
The clan’s kindness warmed her, yet the path ahead loomed vast and uncertain.
She thought of Eden’s bold eyes and Rose’s shy smile.
Whatever fears lay within her, she would not let them down.
Gracie wandered the edge of the great hall, her gaze drawn to the twins as they laughed among other children, their braids flying and their voices bright.
The sight tugged at old memories, of the children that had been cruel to her throughout her childhood, calling her plump and large.
She remembered how it felt to be teased and unwanted, to stand apart while others chose each other, and the ache stirred anew in her chest.
She turned away before tears could fall, knowing that the hurt still lived quietly within her.
She slipped through a narrow side door into the cool night air, drawing in a steady breath as the sounds of music dulled behind her. The stone beneath her slippers felt solid, grounding, and the moonlight shimmered upon the river beyond the wall.
April appeared moments later, her shawl pulled tight against the chill.
“Gracie,” she said softly, “what is wrong, lass? Ye look as though yer heart is about to break.”
“It is naught but old wounds,” Gracie confessed, her voice trembling despite her effort to keep it steady. “Seein’ the girls with the others made me think of when I was their age, and how often I felt alone, and now I am meant to be a maither to them, and I fear I will fail them.”
April shook her head. “Bein’ a maither means lovin’ them, nurturin’ them, and givin’ them safety, and ye have all of that in yer gentle heart,” she said.
Gracie hugged her, whispering, “Thank ye, April, I needed to hear that more than ye ken.”
They stood together beneath the stars, and Gracie felt some of the tightness ease from her chest.
“I daenae wish to be the sort of woman who rules with cold distance,” she said, “I want them to feel warm and wanted, as though they belong.”
April smiled. “Then they shall, for ye ken what it is to ache, and that knowledge will make ye tender where others might be hard.”
Gracie drew another breath, steadier now.
She returned inside with April at her side, the hall’s glow welcoming her back into its warmth.
The music rose again, and laughter brushed against her like a living thing.
Gracie paused at the threshold, watching Eden dash across the floor and Rose follow more cautiously, and she felt something shift within her.
Perhaps she could give them what she herself had longed for.
Eden noticed her first and waved, and Rose’s shy smile followed. Gracie lifted her hand in return, a gentle promise in the gesture. The ache did not vanish, but it softened, reshaped into resolve. She would not let her past dictate their future.
As she stepped forward, Gracie understood that fear and courage often lived side by side.
She was still the girl who had been wounded, yet she was also a lady now, and a mother in all but name.
The path before her was uncertain, but she would walk it with kindness.
For the twins, and for herself, she would learn how to be strong.
“I shall go check on yer maither, for I think Lady McCallum has had her ear all night,” April said.
“Very well,” Gracie replied as April left her side.
Gracie walked the edge of the great hall, her hands folded before her as she tried to look every inch the Lady she was meant to be, when hushed voices drifted from behind a pillar.
“Did ye hear how Edmund fled the altar?” one maiden whispered, her tone sharp with glee.
Another girl laughed and said, “He likely took one look at that plump pumpkin and high-tailed it for the sea.”
The others snickered in cruel harmony. Gracie froze, the words striking her like stones, her breath caught in her throat as shame burned across her skin.
She turned away at once, her head bowed, and walked in the opposite direction before anyone could see the tears gathering in her eyes.
Her steps carried her beyond the warmth of the hall and into the winding corridors of the castle, where the music dulled and the laughter faded into echoes.
The walls rose high and close, lit only by flickering torches that cast long, wavering shadows across the stone.
Each turn felt like a descent into solitude, and she did not stop herself as she drifted deeper into the maze.
The corridors felt alive with whispering drafts, and every shadow seemed to murmur the words she had just heard.
Plump pumpkin, unworthy, unwanted.
She pressed a hand to her chest, wondering how foolish she had been to believe that marriage could change what she was in the eyes of others.
Edmund’s flight felt like proof carved in stone that she had been rejected for her looks.
Her thoughts spiraled, telling her that Jaxon had only chosen her out of duty, that no man could ever truly desire her.
She put her hand on the mole above her right eye, feeling embarrassment that it was there.
“I am naught but a fool.”
Gracie paused at the foot of a spiral stair, the torchlight above her dim and wavering, and leaned against the cold wall. She imagined the castle itself judging her, its ancient stones whispering that she did not belong within such grandeur.
“Why would anyone choose me?” she murmured, her voice barely sound at all.
The answer in her mind was cruel and swift—because no one else would, because she was a burden.
She climbed without knowing where the steps would lead, her skirts brushing the stone, each turn tightening the knot in her chest. The higher she went, the farther she felt from warmth, from music, from the life she was meant to be living as a bride.
Her eyes stung, and she did not bother to wipe them as tears slid free.
If she were truly worthy, she thought, no whispers would follow her, and no man would ever flee at the thought of her hand in his.
At last, she reached a narrow landing and sank onto a bench beneath a darkened window, that gave her some much needed fresh air. She breathed it in deeply, trying to stop the sobs that shook her body.
“I shall never be good enough for any man. I have nay doubt that Jaxon will take on a mistress to satisfy him and our marriage will grow cold as snow.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling small despite the new title she carried, and wondered if this castle would always feel like a place she had borrowed rather than earned.
“I am nay bride,” she whispered, the words breaking her heart even as she spoke them.
In the quiet gloom, Gracie felt utterly alone, certain that she had been a mistake made in lace and vows.