Chapter 9
Jaxon’s eyes swept over the ceilidh, sharp and unyielding, scanning the crowd like a hawk hunting prey. Every laugh, every glance, every casual movement of a man drew his scrutiny, for he couldn't bear the thought of someone daring to lay eyes or hands on his lass.
The memory of Hamish, drunken and bold, still stirred his blood to fire, and he clenched his fists at the thought of what might have happened if he had not seen Gracie slip out of the hall from across the room. He had the sense to follow her and try to find her.
Restraint had been a bitter draught to swallow to not kill Hamish, but Jaxon knew the man was loyal at heart, and that one night of drunken foolishness didn't merit death, only exile.
Connor, ever observant, leaned against the timber railing, brow furrowed.
“Ye look tense, me laird,” he said, voice careful, “What has got ye with such a weight on yer shoulders? This is meant to be a night of joy and wedded bliss, is it nae?”
Jaxon didn't immediately reply, his eyes still roving over the crowd, noting the way his lass moved among the guests, radiant yet wary.
Finally, he spoke, low and commanding, “Tomorrow, before ye work on that scoutin’ mission to find me brother, I need ye to make sure Hamish has left the castle… and the village. He is to be exiled, Connor. Nay excuses.”
Connor’s jaw tightened, shock written plainly across his face.
“Exiled? Why, Laird? He’s a good man… that is, in his sober senses. Surely ye mean nae to exile him…”
Jaxon cut him off with a cold, unwavering gaze, the steel in his eyes enough to silence the man instantly.
“The reason is nay concern of yers, or anyone’s,” Jaxon said sharply, his voice like a blade. “Ye will nae ask, ye will nae speculate. Just see that it is done. Hamish must be gone by the noon sun, or I will deal with him meself.”
Jaxon remained silent before Connor’s questioning gaze, his jaw tightening as he weighed his words.
He could have spoken the truth, that he had found Hamish with Gracie, frightened and cornered, but he would not.
To let such a thing be known would stain her name before she had even taken her first true step as Lady McMillan, and he would not allow her to begin her life here under whispers and doubt.
Better that Hamish vanish without explanation than that Gracie’s reputation be bruised by a single man’s drunken folly.
Connor lowered his gaze respectfully. “Aye, me laird. I understand. I shall see it done,” he said, voice firm despite the shock lingering in his expression.
Jaxon’s eyes softened ever so slightly, just enough to show that he trusted Connor implicitly.
“Good, and daenae speak of his exile. If anyone asks, Hamish left of his own accord. The exile is only known between us two and Hamish. Do ye understand?” he said, turning slightly, scanning the crowd once more.
“Aye, me laird. Ye can trust me to keep this secret,” Connor replied.
The music and laughter were a sharp contrast to the storm raging within him, yet he couldn't relax, not while his lass was among men whose intentions might be less than honorable.
Jaxon’s thoughts flicked back to Gracie, the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes sought comfort in small moments, and a protective fire ignited deep in his chest. She was his, officially now, bound by vows, yet he knew that claiming her fully would take patience, restraint, and careful observation.
He felt a flash of anger at Hamish, at the shame he had brought upon her, and at the thought that anyone could have dared to harm her before he could intervene.
The twin emotions of desire and protection twisted together, a knot he couldn't untangle.
Connor, sensing the tension, leaned closer, lowering his voice. “She seems happy enough, Laird, but ye are restless. Is it the ale, the music… or somethin’ else that vexes ye?”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened as he looked down at his man-at-arms, a faint shadow of a smile playing on his lips.
“It is nae the ale, Connor. It is the weight of what I must guard against. Me lass is new to this world, to our home, and I will nae allow a fool or worse to cause her harm. Nae while I breathe.”
Connor nodded gravely. “Aye, I ken. Ye have the heart of a lion, Jaxon, but ye must allow some of the hall to exist in peace. They will nae think to harm her with ye watchin’.”
“Aye, ye are right… but I will nae lower me guard. She is mine, and I will protect her. Always. See to it that she remains in this hall until I meself escort her back to our chambers. Can I trust ye to keep an eye on her?”
“Aye, it would be me honor, me laird,” Connor bowed.
The two men stood in silence for a moment as Jaxon watched Connor lock his eyes on Gracie like a falcon.
The sounds of the ceilidh filled the space around them, yet inside Jaxon’s chest, every beat was sharp, every muscle taut with anticipation and vigilance.
He thought of tomorrow, of Hamish gone from the village, and of the scouting mission for Edmund, knowing both tasks were necessary to safeguard the life of his wife and the stability of his clan.
Connor’s presence was steady, a reminder that Jaxon didn't stand alone, yet the responsibility, the burden of his family and his vow, rested squarely on his broad shoulders.
“Connor,” he said finally, voice low but unwavering, “keep yer eyes open. Any movement, any whisper, any ill-intent… ye report to me immediately. I trust ye, aye, there are many clans here tonight and one can never be too careful.”
Connor inclined his head, resolute. “Aye, me laird. It will be done.”
Jaxon’s gaze swept the hall one last time, finally settling on his wife, radiant in her gown, laughing lightly with her mother. He exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, though the fire in his chest remained.
Tomorrow all threats shall be removed. She is mine, and nay man will touch her. Nay one. And Edmund… I will find ye, and ye will answer for the mess ye left behind.
Late into the night, Jaxon’s hand closed gently around Gracie’s as the final strains of music faded into the night.
“It’s time we retired to our chambers, lass,” he said, holding her hand aloft as the crowd cheered their union.
He felt her tense beside him, her small body stiff with apprehension, and he bit back a quiet frown at her disgust to go to bed with him. The noise of the great hall, the laughter, and the clinking of ale mugs faded into the background as he guided her toward their rooms.
The corridor stretched before them, torchlight flickering against the stone walls.
Jaxon walked with careful precision, keeping her close, his hand steady on hers as though to remind her that she was under his protection.
Each step was measured, deliberate, as he thought of how easily she could be lost in this vast castle.
He caught her gaze once, and saw fear, uncertainty, and something else, hesitation to trust him.
Gracie’s voice broke the silence, soft but firm. “Why are ye leadin’ me here, Jaxon?” she asked, a hint of challenge in her tone.
“This is our rooms, after all,” he replied, his voice calm but edged with authority.
She looked up at him, perplexed. “But ye dinnae stay here last night.”
“That was for last night,” he said, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “But ye gave me a reason to stay here with ye this night. I cannae trust ye to nae wander off in the night.”
“I already told ye, I got lost!” she huffed, crossing her arms in irritation.
“It doesnae matter,” he said, letting a thin line of frustration slip through his calm exterior. “Besides, it is customary that this is our official weddin’ night, and the clan will want to see that we are creatin’ heirs and doing our duty to consummate the marriage.”
“Oh… I see,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, and Jaxon’s jaw clenched imperceptibly.
He stayed silent for a moment, watching her retreat slightly into herself.
His chest tightened with a quiet anger, suppressed but undeniable.
She had no interest in him, not truly. Her thoughts, he knew, were with Edmund, the fool who had fled the kirk, and now she seemed determined to keep him, her proper husband, at bay.
They entered the rooms and closed the door behind them. He led her into the bedroom. Jaxon peeled off his tunic, the sound of it falling to the stone floor filling the small room.
He heard a soft gasp from Gracie, almost involuntary, and he interpreted it as terror.
“Relax, lass, I daenae plan to make ye do yer wife duties this night. I shall sleep on the floor in front of the hearth, since ye cannae bear the thought of yer husband next to ye in bed.”
Gracie’s lips parted in protest, but he ignored her, striding to the sitting room.
He gathered blankets and cushions, moving with purpose as he arranged a makeshift bed on the floor, directly in front of the hearth’s warm glow.
Sparks flickered from the fire, casting golden light on the stone walls, and he smoothed the blankets with a quiet precision, his eyes lingering on the shadows dancing across the room.
When he returned, Gracie’s eyes were wide, a mix of awe and confusion in her gaze.
He merely nodded toward the floor. “Ye will be safe, lass. I will be here.”
He did not wait for thanks, nor did he seek her approval; the action alone was enough to assert his presence, his role as protector and husband.
Jaxon lay on the blankets, his mind restless even as exhaustion tugged at him.
Images of Hamish’s hands on Gracie, the drunken guard’s lewd grin, haunted him.
He clenched his jaw, recalling the moment he had yanked the man away, the rage that had nearly consumed him, and the sharp, terrible fear he had glimpsed in Gracie’s eyes.
Every detail burned in his memory, feeding a possessive anger that would not be silenced by the hearth’s warmth or the comfort of sleep.
His thoughts then turned to Edmund, the brother she had apparently preferred, who had run from his vows. Jaxon’s fists tightened around the blanket beneath him, and a low growl of frustration escaped his chest.
How can she still wish for the coward who fled instead of the man standin’ before her now, offerin’ protection and loyalty?
And yet, despite her apparent disinterest, he could not deny the fierce longing rising within him, a desire that both angered and captivated him, tangled with his duty and pride.
Hours passed, the fire crackling as the great hall’s laughter and music became a distant memory.
Jaxon’s eyes stayed open longer than he would admit, restless and vigilant, his body tense against the makeshift bedding.
He thought of her, alone in her bed across the room, and of the strength she would need to navigate this new life.
Only when exhaustion finally overtook him did he sink into a restless, uneasy sleep, dreams haunted by the memory of Hamish and the knowledge that Gracie’s heart might never be fully his.