Chapter 8 #2
Her eyes immediately found her father, Andrew, who had stepped slightly aside to speak privately with Jaxon.
A knot of anxiety tightened in her chest. She felt him lean close and whisper in her ear, his voice low and commanding, “Daenae leave the great hall without me, lass. I cannae always be followin’ ye to rescue ye. ”
Gracie nodded quickly, her cheeks warming, and murmured, “And who will rescue me from yer cold tongue?”
From across the hall, she watched the two men converse.
Their voices carried faintly, but she couldnae make out the words, and that only made her more uneasy.
Her gaze flicked toward her mother, who was deep in conversation with Lady McCallum of clan McCallum.
Seeking some measure of comfort, Gracie moved across the hall to join them, hoping for reassurance.
“Maither,” Gracie asked quietly, lowering her voice, “what is faither sayin’ to Jaxon?”
Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, betraying her nerves.
Margaret shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “I daenae ken, lass. He dinnae confide in me. All I ken is that the talk is private between yer faither and yer husband, nothin’ more.”
Lady McCallum chuckled softly, leaning in. “Och, nothin’ to worry about, lass. All faithers have a wee word with their daughters’ husbands, to make sure the lass is treated as she deserves. And, aye, likely settlin’ some trade as well. Yer clans are united now, and that is a good thing, ye ken?”
Gracie’s stomach twisted as she absorbed the words, her mind racing. She had never thought of such things—alliances, trade, and arrangements beyond the love of a marriage. A sudden sweat broke across her brow as her thoughts spiraled.
Was Jaxon’s act of stepping in for his brother only to secure a trade agreement? Did he truly care for me, or was I merely a pawn to maintain peace and prosperity between the clans?
Her attention snapped back as she saw her father and Jaxon concluding their talk.
They clasped hands firmly, the motion solemn yet resolute.
Andrew then walked over to a group of men nearby, raising a mug of ale in toast, the laughter and clinking of cups resuming around them.
Through the crowd, Gracie noticed Jaxon’s eyes scanning, locking on hers almost immediately.
She gave him a small nod, a silent acknowledgment that she remained present, safe in the hall.
A curious mixture of emotions stirred in her as she watched him.
There was an undeniable heat in his gaze, possessiveness that prickled along her skin and made her pulse quicken.
Yet, beneath that allure, a tendril of frustration took hold.
She was married now, but still felt as if she was under constant watch, unable to fully act of her own will, and it both thrilled and irritated her.
“Here, have some wine me dear, ’tis yer weddin' after all,” Lady McCallum poured wine from a pitcher into a goblet and handed it to her.
“Thank ye,” Gracie said.
She shifted slightly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, trying to steady herself.
Jaxon’s eyes remained fixed on her, patient yet unwavering, as though daring any men in the hall to approach her.
It struck her then how different he must be from his brother Edmund, the man who had abandoned her at the altar, leaving her humiliated and unsure.
Jaxon had claimed her, yes, but he had done so with a fierce sense of protection that both inflamed desire and caused a pang of irritation.
Gracie’s gaze flicked around the hall, watching as the festivities continued unabated.
Children ran between tables, the twins chasing each other in fits of laughter, and men shouted to be heard over the music.
Yet even amidst the joy, she felt a tightening inside, a mix of wonder and unease.
She realized that, while she was grateful for Jaxon’s vigilance, she longed to be seen as more than simply someone to guard and someone he’d married out of pity for being left at the altar, or for a trade agreement.
She shifted in her seat, her fingers lightly touching the edge of her goblet.
The warmth of his eyes upon her was like fire, making her heart thrum in a way that was both frightening and intoxicating.
Part of her wanted to meet his gaze and assert her independence, to show that she was more than a possession.
Yet another part of her reveled in the way his attention seemed to claim her entirely, as though the whole hall could vanish and only the two of them remained.
“Are ye feelin’ alright? It looks as though ye've been cryin’, me wee dove?” Margaret whispered in Gracie's ear.
Gracie wanted to tell her about the mean things the ladies had said, but she didn't want to cause a scene. So, she buried her pain deep inside.
“I was cryin' Maither, ’tis true. But they are tears of joy. I have a new husband and two daughters. I am excited for ye to meet them. Me tears are of happiness,” Gracie smiled.
“Then I am glad. I very much am ready to meet the twins. I have grandchildren already. What a treat that is,” Margaret squeezed Gracie's hand.
Gracie exhaled softly, the turmoil inside her churning.
Marriage, she realized, was far more complex than she had imagined.
It was not just vows and celebration, but alliances, expectations, and the slow forging of trust and desire.
Her eyes met Jaxon’s once more, and she wondered how she could navigate the fierce, unrelenting man she was now bound to, both afraid and thrilled by the intensity of his claim.
Her fingers curled lightly around the goblet, and she felt herself leaning forward slightly, drawn to the strength and certainty he radiated.
“Daenae let them see ye afraid,” she whispered under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.
And though she knew she must assert her own will, she also felt a pull toward him she could not deny. In that moment, Gracie understood that the battle between her desire for independence and the heat of his possessive gaze was only beginning.