Chapter 12
Jaxon stood alone in his study, the tall windows casting pale light across shelves of ledgers and maps.
His thoughts strayed, as they had all morning, to Gracie and the way her eyes had widened when he’d kissed her.
Desire coiled within him, sharp and restless, made stronger now that her parents had departed and she was truly under his protection.
The memory of Hamish’s hand upon her waist stirred a possessive heat in his blood that he still struggled to master.
I should have killed him where he stood.
He reminded himself that he was the Laird, that restraint was as much his duty as strength.
Still, the image of Gracie lost in those corridors returned again and again, fragile and brave in equal measure.
He wanted to shield her from every threat, seen and unseen.
The knock upon his door came as a mercy.
“Enter,” he called, grateful for the interruption before his thoughts grew darker. The door opened, and Connor stepped inside with a respectful nod. His presence grounded Jaxon, pulling him back from the edge of his own temper.
“Me laird,” Connor said, “I bring word. Hamish is gone,” Connor continued, folding his arms. “There is nay sign of him in the village.”
Jaxon inclined his head, a grim satisfaction settling in his chest. “Good,” he said, “I am glad he kept his word.”
Connor shifted his weight and added, “The scoutin’ party is ready to leave in search of Edmund.”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened at the mention of his brother’s name. “I daenae trust Edmund to do aught but cause harm,” he said, “and I willnae have him start a war with his foolishness.”
Connor answered steadily, “We will track him down and bring him back to the castle.”
A burst of laughter drifted through the open window, light and clear as birdsong.
Jaxon turned, drawn by it without thought, and saw Gracie in the garden with his daughters.
Eden darted about with muddy hands, while Rose clung to Gracie’s side, listening with shining eyes.
The sight struck him harder than any blade.
Something within him softened, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. He had married her to keep the peace, to save his clan, yet here she was weaving herself into the hearts of his bairns with ease.
He felt a fondness that startled him with its depth.
He knew, too, that she might still wish she had wed Edmund, and that knowledge stung.
But Edmund fled, and Gracie is mine now.
Jaxon straightened, resolve settling into his bones. He would prove to her that this marriage was not a misfortune. He would make her see that she had not been cast aside, but chosen.
Connor followed his gaze and let out a low chuckle. “Seems ye couldnae go two days without bein’ distracted by yer new bride,” he said.
Jaxon turned, one brow lifting in warning. “Mind yer tongue,” he replied coolly, “I am still yer Laird.”
Connor only grinned, emboldened by long years of service. “Aye, but ye are also a man, and it shows,” he said. “Never thought I’d see the day ye’d stare out a window like a lovesick lad.”
Jaxon’s eyes narrowed, though there was no true threat in them.
“Push me too far, and I will remind ye of yer place,” Jaxon said.
Connor bowed with exaggerated respect. “As ye say, me laird,” he replied, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Jaxon snorted despite himself and turned back to the window. Gracie laughed again, this time as Eden splashed water upon her skirts, and instead of anger, she only laughed and chased the girl. Rose clapped her hands, delighted. The scene filled him with a strange, steady calm.
“She is kind,” Connor observed more gently. “The bairns have taken to her quick.”
Jaxon nodded, his voice low. “Aye, they have,” he said. “And that matters more than any treaty.”
Jaxon remained at the window, watching Gracie kneel in the earth beside his daughters.
Desire still burned within him, but it was tempered now by something steadier.
He wanted her, yes, but he also wanted her safe, smiling, and unafraid within his walls.
For the first time, he wondered not just how to claim her, but how to earn her.
The knock came sharp against the oak door, breaking the quiet that had settled between Jaxon and Connor.
Connor crossed the room and opened it, revealing Michael, one of the council members, his brow lined with worry.
He bowed quickly and stepped inside, glancing between the two men. Jaxon straightened behind his desk.
“Me laird,” Michael said, “forgive the intrusion, but I must speak with ye.”
Jaxon gestured to the chair before him. “Speak,” he replied, his voice even. Connor remained by the door, arms crossed, listening.
“One of the western villages, Glenmoor, has been stricken with a drought,” Michael said. “Their wells have run dry, and their stores are near gone.”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened, his mind already turning over numbers and routes. “We will prepare wagons of water, wine, grain and salted fish and meat,” he said, “enough to last them three months.”
Michael blinked. “Three months?” he asked.
Jaxon nodded. “Aye,” he said, “I will ride there meself and see the land with me own eyes. See what can be done.” He leaned forward, hands braced upon the desk. “If the rains daenae return, we will find another way.”
Relief softened Michael’s shoulders. “The folk will bless yer name,” he said.
Jaxon shook his head once. “They are me people,” he replied. “It is nay blessin’, only duty.”
Michael hesitated, then asked, “Is there any word of yer brother?”
Connor glanced at Jaxon, knowing the answer.
“Nay,” Jaxon said, “but Connor leaves this day to search for him.”
Connor inclined his head in confirmation.
Michael exhaled slowly. “It is hard to believe two brothers could be so different,” he said. “We are fortunate ye are the Laird, and nae Edmund.” His words were earnest, spoken without malice, yet they struck like a blade.
“I cannae imagine what ruin Edmund would bring upon this clan,” Michael continued. “He lacks yer sense, yer restraint, yer...”
“That is enough,” he said quietly.
The room went still. Michael froze, color rising in his cheeks. Jaxon’s eyes remained steady, though a storm churned behind them.
“He is me brother,” Jaxon said. “Ye willnae speak of him as though he is naught but rot.” His voice did not rise, yet its weight filled the chamber. “I will nae hear him dishonored in me presence.”
Michael bowed his head at once. “Forgive me, me laird,” he said. “I spoke out of fear for the clan, nae disrespect to yer blood.”
Jaxon’s expression softened a fraction. “Fear doesnae grant license for cruelty. Nor does it do our clan good to have others speak of weakness within me family. Without a proper male heir, other clans might see a division between brothers as opportunity. I will nae have them think that,” he replied.
Yet even as he defended Edmund, Jaxon’s thoughts betrayed him. His brother was reckless, careless, and ruled by appetite rather than honor. Edmund could not even stand at the altar like a man.
Jaxon remembered the kirk, the murmurs, the empty place beside Gracie. He remembered the way her hands had trembled, the way her eyes had dimmed. Edmund had fled not only a bride, but a duty that could have preserved their family name.
Michael straightened. “It will nae happen again,” he said. “Ye have me word.”
Jaxon nodded once. “Very well,” he replied. “See that the wagons are prepared.”
Michael bowed and backed toward the door. “May God keep ye, me laird,” he said.
Jaxon inclined his head in return, and Michael departed, leaving the study heavy with unspoken truths about Edmund.
Connor remained silent until the door shut. “He spoke what many think,” he said carefully.
Jaxon did not turn. “Aye,” he answered, “and they are nae wrong.”
He rose and crossed to the window, gazing once more toward the gardens. Gracie still knelt with the girls, Eden shaping a tower of mud while Rose arranged pebbles like jewels. The sight eased the tension in his chest.
“Edmund was always the favored son,” Jaxon said at last. “He laughed louder, charmed quicker, and ran from consequence faster.”
Connor watched him closely. “Ye carry the weight he cast aside,” he replied.
Jaxon’s mouth curved in a bitter half-smile. “Aye,” he said. “And I will continue to do so, until he is brought back to answer for it.” His gaze hardened. “Blood binds us, but it doesnae excuse him.”
Connor nodded. “We will find him,” he said. “He cannae hide forever.”
Jaxon’s reflection in the glass looked older than his years. “He must return,” he murmured, “for the sake of the clan.”
Connor followed his gaze and saw Gracie rise, brushing dirt from her skirts while the twins laughed. “She is already a lady in their eyes,” he said.
Jaxon felt a quiet ache at the truth of it.
“I will nae fail her as he did,” Jaxon said. “Nor will I fail this clan.” He squared his shoulders, Laird once more in every line of his body.
“Prepare the men, Connor,” he commanded. “We have much work yet to do.”
Jaxon turned from the window and fixed Connor with a steady look. “Prepare for the journey to the western village,” he said, “and see that there are supplies for three. Ye, me, and Gracie.”
Connor blinked, caught off guard. “I thought I was to go on the scoutin’ mission,” he replied.
“I’ve changed me mind,” Jaxon said evenly. “The scouts will ride at once to find Edmund, but ye will be accompanyin’ me with a small guard.”
Connor raised a brow. “Guards?” he asked. “How many?”
“I have a bride to protect now,” Jaxon answered, his voice low and final, “so I need guards, and I need ye, me best and most trusted man, at me side.”
Connor’s expression softened with understanding. “Aye, me laird,” he said, “I’ll give orders to the scouts to leave at once and have supplies readied for our own journey.”
Connor bowed and left the chamber, his boots fading down the corridor. Jaxon remained where he stood, the silence returning like a held breath. He crossed once more to the window and let his gaze fall upon the gardens below.
Gracie knelt in the dirt with Eden and Rose, her skirts muddied without care. She laughed as Eden collapsed a wall of their castle, then helped Rose rebuild it higher than before. The twins hovered near her like bright birds, utterly taken with her presence.
Warmth spread through Jaxon’s chest, surprising in its steadiness.
He had wed her for duty, for peace, and for restraint of chaos, yet here she was weaving herself into the heart of his home without effort.
She had not shrunk from the girls nor treated them as burden, but met them with patience and wonder.
He saw Eden tug at Gracie’s sleeve, demanding another tale, and Gracie leaned close, whispering something that made both girls gasp in delight. Rose slipped her small hand into Gracie’s, as though it had always belonged there. Jaxon’s jaw tightened, not in anger, but in a quiet resolve.
“She is already theirs,” he murmured to the empty room.
In that moment, he knew with certainty that he would guard her as fiercely as he guarded the land itself. For whatever doubts lived within her, she had already become the heart of Castle McMillan.
Jaxon drew back from the window at last, though the image of Gracie and the twins lingered in his mind like a warmth he could not quite shake.
He straightened his coat and left the study, his boots echoing along the stone corridor.
The castle moved around him in its usual rhythm, servants passing with baskets, a distant clang from the kitchens, the low murmur of voices rising from the great hall.
Near the stairwell, he spotted a young maid carrying folded linens. “Ye there,” he called, and she startled, nearly dropping her load.
She turned at once and dipped into a hurried curtsy. “Aye, me laird?”
“I’ll be takin’ a meal in the study today,” Jaxon said. “There is much work yet to be done.”
She nodded quickly. “Aye, right away, me laird. I’ll tell the kitchen.”
She turned to go, but Jaxon lifted a hand. “Wait.”
The maid froze, eyes wide as she faced him again. “And have a hearty tea and cakes waitin’ in the nursery for me bairns and me lady. They are outside just now and will have worked up an appetite.”
The maid’s surprise melted into a soft smile, one touched with awe. “Of course, me laird,” she said, her voice warm. “I’ll see to it meself.”
Jaxon inclined his head. “Thank ye.”
She curtsied deeply, her smile lingering as she walked away, glancing back once as if she could hardly believe what she had heard.
Jaxon continued down the corridor, his thoughts returning to the gardens.
He imagined the twins’ delight at the sight of cakes and warm tea, and Gracie joining them.
He could almost hear her gentle conversation.
The notion stirred something steady within him, something far removed from the heat that had consumed him earlier.
As he reached the stairs, he paused, listening. Faint laughter drifted up through the open windows, light as birdsong. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the sound.
“Ye are safe here,” he murmured, though she could not hear him. “All of ye. And the bairns have a maither once more.”
A passing guard bowed. “Me laird.”
Jaxon nodded in return. “See that the gardens remain clear,” he said. “Nay disturbances this afternoon for me bairns and me lady.”
“Aye,” the guard replied. “It will be done.”
He descended a few steps, then halted again, torn between duty and the pull of that laughter.
For a moment, he considered abandoning his papers altogether, joining them in the dirt and sun.
The image was absurd, a laird crouched in the mud with his daughters and his bride, and yet it did not feel wrong.
“Later,” he told himself firmly. “There will be time. For now duty calls.”