Chapter 26
Jaxon stormed down the torchlit corridor, his boots striking stone hard enough to echo off the vaulted ceiling.
He glanced over his shoulder once, just long enough to be sure Gracie followed, her soft sobs trailing behind him like a ghost he could not outrun.
The sound cut at him, yet his anger burned hotter than his guilt.
He clenched his jaw and forced himself forward.
Doubt crept in, unwelcome and poisonous, as his mind betrayed him.
Has she wanted Edmund all along? Most always preferred Edmund’s charm. Marryin’ me had been nay more than a salve to her wounded pride.
The thought festered, growing sharper with every step. His pace quickened as his anger twisted into something ugly and afraid.
His stomping grew louder, fueled by the idea that she had tried to betray him under his own roof. He told himself he was a fool for trusting anyone so completely. The castle seemed to narrow around him, the walls pressing close as if they, too, judged him. Then her voice cut through the noise.
“Stop,” Gracie said, sharp with pain and resolve.
Jaxon halted at once but did not turn, his back rigid as stone. He could not look at her, not when his chest felt as though it was cracking open. The silence between them hummed with tension.
“Look at me,” she demanded, her voice trembling yet fierce.
“I cannae,” Jaxon replied, staring straight ahead.
“If ye willnae look at me, I’m nae takin’ another step,” she said, planting her feet.
Jaxon laughed bitterly. “Yet ye took many steps to meet me brother in the library, clad in naught but yer chemise.”
Gracie’s breath hitched, then anger surged through her tears. “I was searchin’ for ye,” she snapped. “If ye had been in yer bed as me husband should be, I wouldnae have had to look for ye at all.” Her words echoed down the corridor, sharp and unforgiving.
Jaxon spun halfway toward her, fists clenched at his sides. “Ye wandered the castle at midnight, chasin’ trouble.” He shook his head, eyes still averted. “Ye should have stayed put.”
“Stayed put?” she cried. “Like a quiet little wife while ye disappear night after night?” She stepped closer, forcing herself into his space. “I was neglected, Jaxon, and ye werenae there.” Her voice softened for a heartbeat. “I needed ye.”
His heart ached, but pride would not loosen its grip. “Ye shouldnae have been alone with him,” he said harshly. “Ye shouldnae have let him corner ye.” The words sounded weak even to his own ears. He didn’t really mean it, but his anger got the better of him. He hated that part most of all.
Gracie laughed once, broken and incredulous. “So now I am to blame for yer brother’s wickedness?” she asked. “For his lies, his cruelty, his hands where they dinnae belong?” She wiped her cheeks angrily. “I trusted ye to protect me, nae accuse me.”
They resumed walking, side by side now, though the space between them felt like a chasm.
Jaxon’s voice dropped, rough with turmoil. “I saw ye with him,” he said. “And for one cursed moment, I believed ye chose him over me.” The admission scraped his throat raw.
Gracie stopped again, forcing him to halt with her. “I chose ye,” she said fiercely. “I choose ye every day, even when ye make it damn hard.” She waited, daring him to look. When he still would not, her shoulders sagged.
Jaxon closed his eyes, pain roaring louder than his anger at last. He kept his back to her, afraid of what he might see in her face, afraid he had already broken something precious.
Jaxon halted so suddenly that Gracie nearly collided with his back, the torches along the wall casting their shadows into jagged shapes. He turned at last, his face tight with fury and hurt.
“Ye would think ye would have learned yer lesson long ago, when ye wandered the corridors and had that encounter with Hamish.” His voice was low and sharp. “Why did ye nae learn from that, lass?”
“Oh, so now ye see this moment as the same?” she said coldly. “Ye ken I dinnae go to yer brother, just as I dinnae go to Hamish.” Her eyes flashed. “I was innocent both times, and ye ken it.”
Jaxon groaned and dragged a hand down his face, frustration cracking through him. “Aye,” he muttered, pacing a step away. “I see yer point, lass, damn it.” The words tasted like surrender, and he hated how much relief followed them.
Gracie folded her arms and lifted her chin. “Then admit it,” she said firmly. “Say it plain that I wasnae in the wrong, Jaxon.” She took a step back. “If ye daenae say it, I will nae follow ye another step.”
His temper flared again, hot and reckless, and before he fully thought it through he swept her up, slinging her over his shoulder. “Enough,” he growled.
“Put me down!” Gracie protested, pounding his back with her fists.
He ignored her protests and strode toward their chambers, jaw clenched, heart pounding.
Jaxon carried her through the doorway and set her on her feet, the room closing in around them with its familiar stone walls and low firelight. Gracie straightened at once, smoothing her chemise with shaking hands.
“And now what?” she demanded. “Will ye abandon me, or will ye stay in these chambers?” Her voice wavered despite her effort to sound strong.
He exhaled harshly and turned away, scrubbing his face again. “Ye give me nay choice, now do ye?” he said. “If I leave, ye’ll wander these halls again, and I cannae have that.” The words sounded like an excuse even to him.
Jaxon poured himself a measure of whisky, his hand unsteady, and swallowed it in one burning gulp.
His pride urged him to keep accusing her, to cling to his anger like armor.
Yet his mind replayed the truth with brutal clarity: Edmund was the serpent, not Gracie. She had been frightened, not faithless.
He leaned against the table, eyes closed, breathing slowly as the whisky warmed his chest.
“Damn him,” Jaxon muttered, meaning his brother and himself in equal measure. He felt the anger ebb, leaving behind shame and a gnawing fear of what his accusations had already cost him. When he opened his eyes again, he knew the battle was no longer with Gracie, but with his own wounded pride.
He stood still by the table, the anger finally loosening its grip on his chest as the fire crackled low beside them.
He drew a slow breath and let it out, feeling the weight of his own stubbornness settle heavy and unwanted.
In that quiet, he chose to lay his fury down, knowing it had wounded them both.
When he turned to Gracie again, his voice had lost its edge.
He poured another glass of whisky, the amber liquid catching the firelight, and held it out to her.
“For yer nerves, and me mood swings,” he said softly.
Gracie hesitated only a moment before taking it, lifting the glass to her lips and drinking. The tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction.
Jaxon watched her closely, his gaze steady and careful. “Are ye sure he dinnae hurt ye?” he asked, calm but deadly beneath it.
Gracie shook her head at once. “Nay,” she said, firm and clear, “he dinnae.”
“Good,” Jaxon replied, a grim promise settling in his tone. “I’d have hunted him down and killed Edmund meself if he had.”
The words were simple, final, and then silence followed them. In that stillness, the last embers of their battle faded into ash.
Gracie set the empty glass aside. “Why havenae ye been to our chambers?” she asked. “Have I displeased ye in some way?” Her voice softened. “It’s been so long.”
Jaxon closed his eyes briefly, shame tightening his throat. “I was being a bampot,” he admitted. “I thought ye might see Edmund returned and think he’d be the better husband.” He opened his eyes to her again. “I couldnae bear to see it in yer eyes if ye did.”
Gracie scoffed and shook her head. “Edmund disgusts me,” she murmured, the words edged with truth.
“I believe ye, lass. I'm sorry I ever doubted it. Please accept me apology?” he said.
“I understand what wounds can do to ye. I have me own to face as well. They make me do strange things like I did with Mary back at the Rose Inn. Therefore, I forgive ye,” she said.
Jaxon stared at her, something fierce and tender breaking free in his chest. “I daenae ken how ye managed it,” he said quietly. “But I’ve fallen in love with ye, lass.” His mouth twisted wryly. “Look what ye do to me, turnin’ me into a mad man.”
Her expression softened, and she stepped closer. “I love ye too,” Gracie said. Then she lifted a brow. “But if ye disappear again, I will nae let ye off so easy.” A faint smile tugged at her lips despite the warning.
Jaxon’s breath caught as his eyes roamed over her, taking in the thin chemise clinging to her curves in the firelight.
Desire stirred sharp and insistent, warming his blood and tightening his grip on restraint.
He stepped closer, drawn by her as surely as the tide.
“Ye are mine, lass,” he said low. “Nay one else’s. ”
He crossed the space between them and pulled her into him, his mouth finding hers in a fierce, claiming kiss.
His hands trembled as they held her, as if his body had awakened all at once after a long, restless sleep.
The kiss deepened, full of hunger and relief, and his heart thundered in his chest.
Jaxon felt every inch of himself come alive, the heat of her, the taste of her, the way she fit against him like she always had.
“I’ve missed ye,” he murmured against her lips. “I’ve been a fool, but I swear I’ll nae doubt ye again.” His voice broke with feeling. “I cannae lose ye.”
Gracie pressed her forehead to his, breath unsteady. “Then daenae push me away,” she whispered.
Jaxon held her tighter, pouring every unspoken vow into the way he kissed her again. In that moment, surrounded by firelight and stone, he knew with aching certainty that allowing himself to love her was the bravest thing he had ever done.