Chapter 20
Gracie woke to the pale light of morning creeping through the small windows of the Rose Inn, and the space beside her was cold.
Her heart lurched when she realized Jaxon was gone.
She sat up too quickly and reached for her chemise, pulling it over her head with trembling hands.
A tight fear gripped her chest, sharp and familiar.
For a breathless moment she feared the worst, that he had taken what he wanted and left her as Edmund had done. Shame warmed her cheeks as the thought took root, and she scolded herself even as tears pricked her eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling foolish and small for doubting him.
“Daenae be daft,” she whispered, though her voice shook.
A murmur of voices drifted up through the window, and Gracie moved toward it.
She peered down to the stables below and saw Jaxon standing tall among the men, giving orders with calm authority.
Connor stood nearby with the wagon of firewood, laughing.
Relief washed over her so strongly that she sagged against the sill.
She was still catching her breath when a knock sounded at the door, firm but polite. Gracie snatched a blanket from the bed and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders.
“Who is it?” she called, hoping her voice did not betray her nerves.
“It’s Mary, me lady,” came the reply, “the Laird bid me to bring ye a hot breakfast.”
Gracie opened the door and stepped aside to let the girl enter.
Mary carried a sturdy tray laden with a large pot of steaming oat porridge, fried eggs, thick slices of bacon, and a loaf of dark bread with butter and honey.
There was also a small pot of ale and a dish of stewed apples spiced with cinnamon.
The smells filled the room with warmth and comfort.
“Thank ye, Mary,” Gracie said softly.
Mary dipped into a curtsy, her cheeks pink but her eyes kind. She hesitated, then lingered near the door as though weighing her words. Gracie noticed and waited, giving her space to speak.
“If I may be so bold, me lady,” Mary said at last, her voice gentle, “we’re all glad the Laird has a good wife.” She smiled shyly, twisting her hands together. “He’s a good man and deserves a bit of happiness.”
The words struck Gracie deeper than she expected.
Gracie felt a flush of shame for the jealousy she had harbored the night before. She thought of how quick she had been to judge this girl without knowing her heart.
“Thank ye, Mary,” she said earnestly. “I appreciate that more than ye ken.”
Mary’s smile faltered just a little, and she nodded. “Aye,” she said, “he’s nothin’ like his scoundrel brother.”
Gracie saw the sadness gather in the girl’s eyes and felt a tug of concern.
“Has Edmund hurt ye?” Gracie asked quietly, her tone careful and kind.
Mary swallowed and nodded, her gaze dropping to the floor. She confessed that Edmund had sworn love to her, made promises of return, and then vanished after she had trusted him with her heart.
“It’s been many months,” she said, “and nay word at all.”
Gracie’s chest tightened with sympathy, the old wound of her own abandonment aching in answer.
“I understand,” she told Mary gently. “Ye are nae the only one he has disappointed.” She reached out and squeezed the girl’s hand. “Seek love elsewhere, Mary, and find yerself an honest man, for Edmund is nae worth yer tears.”
Mary looked up, surprise and gratitude mingling on her face. She nodded, blinking hard as though steadying herself.
“Thank ye, me lady,” she said softly. “Ye’re kinder than I deserve.”
Gracie shook her head. “Nay,” she replied, “ye deserve far better than what ye were given.”
The words felt right as she spoke them, firm and true. In that moment, she felt the bond of shared understanding settle between them.
Mary curtsied again, this time with more confidence.
“I’ll leave ye to yer breakfast,” she said, her voice lighter. Gracie watched her go, feeling a quiet resolve take root within her. When the door closed, she turned back to the table, her fear eased and her heart steadier than it had been when she awoke.
Gracie sat at the small table and finally allowed herself to eat, the warmth of the porridge and bacon settling her nerves.
With each bite, she felt the tension of the morning ease, replaced by a quiet gratitude.
She had been wrong to think ill of Mary, and more wrong still to doubt Jaxon’s honor.
Edmund, she realized, had left hurt and confusion wherever he wandered, and she was thankful beyond words that she was bound to the steadier brother.
She broke bread and spread honey with slow care, reflecting on how easily fear had taken hold of her heart.
Jealousy had crept in where trust should have lived, and she felt chastened by it.
Jaxon had done nothing to earn her suspicion, and Mary had shown nothing but kindness.
Gracie resolved to be better than Edmund’s shadow and to let gratitude guide her instead.
“Good mornin’ to ye,” Jaxon said, his voice warm and familiar, as he opened the door softly, and stepped inside.
Gracie looked up and felt her cheeks heat as memory rushed back to her in a vivid blush. She lowered her gaze, smiling despite herself.
“Good mornin’,” she replied, her voice quieter than intended.
Jaxon crossed the room and glanced at the breakfast laid out.
“We’ll be off within the hour,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from her. He reached for the bread.
She nodded and watched him eat, struck by how handsome he was.
“It was thoughtful to have food sent up,” she said. “Thank ye.” Her words were sincere, weighted with more than just hunger.
He noticed, and his mouth curved with knowing warmth.
Jaxon winked at her, bold as ever. “I thought ye might be famished after workin’ up an appetite last night,” he said lightly.
Gracie gasped despite herself, her hand flying to her chest. The memory made her feel warm all over, and she shot him a look half scandalized, half amused.
“I hope ye daenae think me wanton,” she said, though her smile betrayed her.
She looked away, suddenly shy, her fingers twisting in the blanket she still wore. The fear that he might think less of her rose briefly, unbidden. It was quickly chased away by his soft scoff.
“Daenae be daft,” Jaxon said, shaking his head. “Ye are me wife, and ye are perfect as ye are.” His tone left no room for doubt, firm and reassuring.
Gracie felt something inside her settle, as though a door had finally closed on her fears.
She rose from her chair and crossed to him, moving before she could think better of it. With a small laugh, she perched herself on his lap and cupped his face.
“Then ye should ken I’m grateful,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss him. It was soft but sure, full of warmth rather than urgency.
Jaxon groaned low in his throat and tightened his hold on her.
“Woman,” he said, breathless and amused, “if ye kiss me like that, we’ll never leave this room.” His eyes sparkled with humor even as his arms held her close. The promise and restraint in his voice made her laugh.
She leaned her forehead against his and smiled. “Then I’ll behave,” she said lightly, though neither of them truly believed it. For a moment they stayed like that, sharing quiet and closeness. Outside, the sounds of the inn waking up reminded them of the day ahead.
Gracie slipped back to her feet and returned to her chair, smoothing the blanket over her knees.
She felt steadier now, lighter in spirit than she had in days.
Jaxon finished his bread and rose as well, stretching as though ready for the road.
The sight of him filled her with a calm confidence she had never known before.
“The day’s dry, lass, and the roads’ll be kinder to us now.” Jaxon fastened his belt as he glanced at the sky and smiled.
“I saw Connor from the window,” she said, smoothing her chemise. “I’m glad he made it safe with the wood.”
“Aye, Connor came in last night, though I must’ve forgot to tell ye.” His eyes gleamed as he added, “Ye were distractin’ me somethin’ fierce.”
Gracie felt her cheeks warm and dropped her gaze, a smile tugging at her lips. “I cannae imagine how,” she said lightly, though her tone betrayed her.
Jaxon stepped closer, lifting her chin with one finger. “Och, daenae pretend innocence now, wife,” he murmured, clearly enjoying her blush.
They finished their meal in companionable quiet, the earlier teasing lingering like warmth between them.
Afterward, Jaxon poured water into the basin.
Gracie washed first, cool water splashing her wrists and face, grounding her in the morning.
Jaxon followed, rolling his sleeves and splashing water with a contented sigh.
When they were clean and refreshed, Gracie reached for her dress, hesitating just a moment. Jaxon noticed and took it from her hands.
“Allow me,” he said, voice low and pleased. She turned her back to him, heart quickening as the familiar closeness returned.
As he lifted the dress and settled it over her shoulders, his knuckles brushed her arms with deliberate slowness.
“Ye make this task difficult,” he said, feigning a sigh.
Gracie laughed softly. “Ye’re the one takin’ so long with the laces.”
His reply came near her ear. “A man should savor fine things.”
He began to lace the back, fingers deft yet unhurried, and Gracie felt every small pull as keenly as a touch.
“If ye keep that up, we truly willnae leave,” she teased, glancing at him over her shoulder.
Jaxon grinned, eyes dark with amusement. “Now ye’re threatenin’ me, are ye?”
She shifted slightly, the fabric settling into place as he worked. “I’m merely statin’ facts,” she said. “Ye’ve a terrible habit of forgettin’ the road when ye’re near me.”
He tugged the final lace and leaned closer. “And ye’ve a habit of enjoyin’ it.”
Gracie turned to face him, smoothing the front of her dress, their bodies just inches apart.
“We’ve duties awaitin’ us,” she reminded him gently.
Jaxon nodded, though his smile lingered. “Aye, we do,” he agreed, “but I’ll nae apologize for enjoyin’ me wife.”
He handed her her cloak and watched as she fastened it. “Ye ken,” he said, voice thoughtful, “travel’s easier when the mornin’ starts like this.”
Gracie raised a brow. “Clean roads or kind company?”
He laughed outright. “Both, if I’m blessed.”
She stepped closer and straightened his collar with practiced ease. “Then we’d best be on our way, Laird McMillan,” she said with mock solemnity.
He caught her hand and pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “Lead on, Lady McMillan,” he replied, pride warming every word.
As they gathered their things, the room felt different than it had at dawn, lighter and sure.
Gracie took one last glance around, grateful for the laughter that now lived where doubt once had.
Jaxon opened the door and offered his arm.
Together, they stepped out to meet the day, smiles shared and unspoken promises between them.
Gracie stepped out into the cool morning air beside Jaxon, the scent of damp hay and horses greeting her at once. The stables bustled with quiet purpose, guards tightening straps and checking hooves as steam rose from the animals’ breaths.
She spotted Connor near one of the wagons, his broad frame bent as he inspected a wheel.
“Good mornin’, Connor,” she called, lifting her hand in greeting.
Connor straightened and smiled when he saw her. “Good mornin’ to ye, me lady,” he said warmly, bowing his head. “I’m glad to see ye well this day.”
Gracie nodded, meaningfully. “And I’m glad ye made it safe with the firewood,” she replied, earning a proud nod from him.
She moved a little aside, watching as Jaxon strode from wagon to wagon with practiced ease.
He spoke to the guards in low, firm tones, checking tallies and lifting the corner of a tarp to peer at the supplies beneath.
Gracie felt a swell of pride as she observed him, how naturally the men deferred to him and how carefully he looked after every detail.
It pleased her to no end to see the care he took, not only with the cargo but with the people entrusted to him.
She wrapped her cloak closer as a breeze passed through the yard, feeling content despite the long road ahead. Watching him in his element made the journey feel lighter already.
The innkeeper, Wallace, appeared then, hurrying across the yard with a sturdy cloth bag slung over his arm.
“Me laird,” he called, slightly breathless, “I’ve packed ye some food for the road.” He held out the bag, and the smell of bread and cheese drifted out as he did.
Gracie could see apples, dried meat, and a wedge of cheese tucked neatly inside.
Jaxon accepted the bag with a nod. “Ye have me thanks, Wallace,” he said. “This’ll keep us well ‘til we reach Glenmoor.”
Wallace shifted on his feet, clearly pleased. “It’s the least I can do, me laird,” he replied. “We’re honored to have ye stay with us.”
Gracie watched as Jaxon reached into his purse and pressed a generous handful of coin into Wallace’s palm. The innkeeper’s eyes widened, and he bowed repeatedly.
“That’s far too much,” Wallace protested softly.
Jaxon shook his head. “Ye keep a good house and treat me folk well,” he said simply. “That deserves proper thanks.”
Wallace’s voice grew thick with gratitude. “May God bless ye and yer lady,” he said earnestly, glancing at Gracie with a smile.
She felt warmth spread through her at the exchange, touched by how naturally Jaxon cared for those who served him. It reassured her, seeing his generosity given without thought or show.
As Wallace departed, Gracie stepped back toward Jaxon. “Ye’re very kind to them,” she said quietly.
He glanced at her, a hint of a smile softening his features. “A laird is naught without the goodwill of his people,” he replied. “And besides, kindness travels farther than coin ever will.”
The wagons were soon ready, the horses restless but calm under familiar hands. Gracie took Jaxon’s arm as he came back to her, feeling steady and sure.
She looked once more at the Rose Inn, grateful for the shelter it had given them and the peace they now carried forward. With a final nod from Jaxon, the party began to move, and Gracie felt ready to face whatever lay ahead on the road to Glenmoor.