Chapter 17
Gracie watched Jaxon. He looked out the window at the stables below and said, “The guards are on watch.”
Gracie didn’t answer. She only watched him, her stomach twisting, her chest tight. The sight of him so calm, so authoritative, made her feel small and yet frustrated all at once.
He turned to her, eyes scanning hers. “Why are ye in such a fit of sorrow, lass?” he asked, brow furrowed.
Gracie’s lips trembled. “What did ye go whisper in Mary’s ear?” she demanded, voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt.
Jaxon blinked, confused. “What?” he said, taking a step closer.
Gracie’s cheeks flamed red as she avoided Jaxon’s eyes, though she could feel his gaze burning into her.
“Ye daenae understand,” he said.
“Do ye think I am daft? I saw ye whisperin’, leanin’ so close to her. How am I to ken what ye spoke, if nae somethin’ meant for her and nae me? What, did ye plan to meet with her and go to her bed once I am asleep?”
Jaxon’s jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, the firelight from the hearth glinting off the hard planes of his face.
“Gracie, ye take me words in the wrong way,” he said, voice low, almost growling.
“Mary is but a servant, aye, but I asked her about me brother because I have need of information, nothin’ more. ”
Her hands fisted at her sides, the tears burning hot on her cheeks. “And why dinnae ye ask that in front of me?” she demanded. “Why whisper in some shadowed corner as though I am nae here? Do ye take me for a fool, Jaxon?”
He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “Because I dinnae wish to upset ye by mentionin’ me brother in front of ye, lass. Nor cause scandal for Mary,” he said, his voice firm, eyes flashing with anger. “Ye misunderstand everythin’, twistin’ me actions into things that are nae there.”
Gracie felt the sting of shame and frustration, yet her pride would not let her yield. “Her privacy? Do ye think I would sit idle while ye plan treachery?”
Jaxon’s temper flared now, his shoulders rising, and he stepped forward, taking up the space between them.
“Treachery? Gracie, I am nae treacherous! I am loyal to ye, to me clan, and to our vows!” His voice shook with the edge of insult.
“Have I nae treated ye well? Have I nae been honest? Do ye think I would betray me wife at the first shadow of suspicion? I speak of her privacy because she and Edmund are lovers.”
Gracie’s tears began again, and she turned her face to the wall, feeling the weight of embarrassment and guilt pressing down on her. “I… I daenae know, Jaxon,” she whispered, voice broken. “I… I thought…” Her words faltered as the full shame of her accusation struck her.
Jaxon ran a hand through his dark hair, his chest heaving with frustration and wounded pride.
“Ye think me capable of such deceit? That I would dishonor ye after we are wed?” His voice was tight, a mixture of anger and disbelief.
“Ye are the one who doubts me, Gracie, when all I have done is protect and cherish ye.”
Gracie tried to speak, but the lump in her throat refused to let words form. “I… I dinnae mean…” she faltered, cheeks burning, wishing she could vanish into the hearth’s fire.
Jaxon’s eyes softened for a fleeting second, but the indignation and hurt still held him rigid.
“I cannae stand here being accused of such things,” he said, voice low and controlled, though every syllable was heavy with anger.
He moved toward the door, his hand on the handle.
“I’m goin’ to check on the men. I will nae be a part of this foolishness any longer. ”
Gracie’s chest tightened, the weight of her folly settling over her like a stone.
She could only watch as his tall frame disappeared into the hall, the door closing with a decisive click behind him.
Her hands fell to her lap, trembling as the shame and self-reproach she felt wrapped around her heart.
She felt smaller than she had ever felt before, and utterly alone in the empty quiet of their chamber.
She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent tears.
How could I have accused him so rashly, so thoughtlessly?
And yet, beneath the shame, a small part of her still simmered with confusion and desire, the memory of his closeness and warmth refusing to fade. Gracie sat there, heart pounding, cheeks wet, knowing she must find a way to mend the breach before pride or stubbornness could make it permanent.
She wanted to apologize, to explain, to reach across the room and pull him back to her, but words failed her entirely.
The quiet of the chamber pressed in around her, heavy with her shame and longing, and Gracie could only sit, waiting, hoping Jaxon would return, though uncertain if she deserved it.
She thought of his anger, his dark eyes, his firm voice, and even that fueled the heat rising in her chest. Gracie pressed her palms to her face, taking a deep breath, determined to gather courage before he returned.
For now, she was left with the sting of her words, the echo of their bickering, and the ache of her heart, heavy with longing and remorse.
Jaxon stormed through the tavern doors, boots clattering on the wooden floor, and made a beeline for the stables. The cool evening air hit his face as he pushed the door open, and he found two of his guards sitting on barrels, sharing a flask between them.
“Duncan, Alistair,” he barked.
Duncan jumped, nearly spilling the flask. “Aye, Laird,” he said sheepishly, “we were just takin’ a wee break, sir.”
Alistair grinned, holding the flask out toward Jaxon. “Here, Laird, a nip’ll help ye calm yer temper.”
Jaxon snatched the flask, tipped it back, and felt the heat of the whiskey spread through his chest.
He slammed the empty flask down and muttered, “Women… why are they so hard-headed?”
The guards exchanged knowing looks. “Och, we all have the women troubles, Laird,” Duncan said with a smirk. “Seems a laird is nay different than us common men.”
Jaxon ran a hand down his face and muttered, “Aye, ye do everythin’ right, do everythin’ for their honor, and still, tis nae enough for them. Sometimes I wonder if they enjoy vexin’ us more than anything else.”
Alistair laughed, shaking his head. “Better to have a fight of the tongue than a fight of steel, aye, sir?”
Jaxon grunted, not amused, as a sudden clatter from the road made all three men spin around. A wagon came barreling down the hill, wheels bouncing over the uneven stones. The McMillan banners flapped in the wind, and Jaxon’s chest tightened.
“Tis Connor with the wagon of firewood,” he said sharply. “Let’s guide him here before he loses the lot in the mud.”
He strode out to meet the wagon, Alistair at his side. Connor guided the horses down, reins held firmly, and dismounted once they reached the edge of the road.
“I’m glad ye stopped here as planned, Laird,” he said, wiping his brow.
Jaxon nodded, eyes scanning the load. “Aye, I see ye’ve brought plenty of wood.”
Connor set his jaw. “Aye, should be enough for a while, though they’ll need more as winter presses in. I sent some men ahead to gather more from the northern groves.”
Jaxon gestured to Alistair. “Let’s get this wagon to the stables with the others. Make sure none of it is lost.”
Together, the three men worked to guide the horses and the heavy wagon up the slope toward the stables.
Duncan helped reposition the cart while Jaxon barked orders, adjusting ropes and directing the horses to steady themselves.
Connor joined in, muscles straining as he helped shove the wagon into place beside the other supplies.
The scent of sawdust and the horses’ breath mingled with the evening air, and Jaxon felt a grudging satisfaction at the order they were restoring.
Once the wagon was secured, Jaxon patted one of the horses on its flank, muttering, “Good work, all of ye.”
He turned to Connor, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s see that ye and the men are fed. They’ve done a hard day’s labor, and I’ll not have them hungry.”
Inside the tavern, the warm fire greeted them, flames licking the stone hearth.
The smell of roasting meat, fresh bread, and boiled vegetables filled the small common room.
Jaxon surveyed the men at the long table, mugs of ale already in their hands, faces flushed with work and laughter.
Connor stepped in behind him, nodding to the serving wenches who scurried to provide bread and stew, and Jaxon allowed himself a brief moment of calm.
“Well done, lads,” he said quietly, not needing them to hear the inner swell of pride he felt. “Ye’ve earned this.”
Then he thought of Gracie, and a soft tension stirred within him.
She was capable, clever, and stubborn as all hell, yet somehow, when she worked for the people, for the village and the twins, she became a partner in ways he had not imagined.
He clenched his fists briefly, reminding himself of the desire that still simmered, that still needed containment.
Jaxon leaned back in his chair, elbows resting on the rough-hewn tavern table, and let out a long sigh. He watched the fire crackle in the hearth, while Connor sat opposite, eyes flicking around the common room.
“And Lady McMillan?” Connor asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.
Jaxon narrowed his eyes. “She’s upstairs, sulkin’,” he muttered, shoulders stiff.
Connor chuckled, shaking his head. “Och, how did ye mess up already, Laird?”
“I did nay such thing,” Jaxon said sharply. “The lass saw me speakin’ with Mary and thought I was tryin’ to be lustful with the wench.”
Connor’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh Mary, Edmund’s lover. Does the lass nae ken that Mary is Edmund’s?”
“She does now, after I told her,” Jaxon replied, rubbing his forehead in frustration. “I only inquired if Mary had seen Edmund recently. I seem to be gettin’ nowhere fast with Gracie. She is enough to drive a man wild.”