Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Ye did well, my Lady,” Ewan remarked, as Ailsa caught her breath and leaned up against the stony wall of the Keep behind her. Beyond the courtyard, the sun was beginning to rise, casting a long, warm golden glow across the ground.
“Thank ye,” she replied, nodding her gratitude. “And please, Ewan, call me Ailsa.”
“Ailsa,” he corrected himself, nodding in apology as he reached to take her sword from her and carry it back to the armory.
She was glad to hand it over; today’s session had been particularly difficult, and her arms were aching as she made her way back into the Keep to wash and change into something suitable for breakfast.
She made her way back to her chambers, where Martha had drawn a bath for her; the maid had been stunned when she had told her that she was intending to begin training with Ewan in the coming days. In fact, it seemed to have been the talk of the whole Keep, much to her satisfaction.
She wanted it to find its way into Tavish’s ear, no matter how he tried to avoid it, just so she could see the look on his face as he realized that he had not married some innocent young thing who would be willing to go along with anything he asked for.
Once she had changed, a knock sounded at the door, and she glanced around in surprise. Martha was standing there, a slightly concerned expression on her face.
“What is it?”
“M’lady, the Laird would like to see ye,” she replied, bowing her head slightly, trying to warn her in advance that this would not be a happy meeting. “He’s in his study. He’s waiting, and he told me to tell ye not to make him hold out any longer.”
She nodded, thanking the girl for the message, and sent her away.
She took her time as she prepared herself, intending to make him wait a little longer before she gave in to his wishes.
She would go, of course, because she knew that if she didn't, it would turn into trouble for the maid who had been intended to send the message, but she didn’t need to run to him in such a hurry.
She made her way down the corridor to his study, taking her time to admire the view out of the windows as she went.
Her muscles were aching from a few days of training, but she found that she rather liked the feeling of having put herself to work.
She was not used to physical labor, but it had given her somewhere to work out the tension that had been building the longer she stayed in this place.
When she reached his study, she could tell he was already irritated at how long he had needed to wait for her.
His hand was clasped around a glass of whiskey—early in the morning for such a thing, she noted to herself, but she thought better of commenting on it.
His gaze landed on her with such sharpness that she could not deny it.
“Enjoying yer training?” he asked her as she made her way inside, taking the seat opposite him as though this was nothing more than a clan meeting.
“Aye, it’s been good to take some fresh air in the morning,” she replied casually, with a shrug. “Ewan is a fine teacher.”
“I’m sure every guard watching approves,” he remarked bitterly, his eyes shining with anger.
“I’m sure Callum would approve—”
As soon as she mentioned his brother, he leaned forward suddenly, his eyes narrowing like he could not stand the very sight of her.
“I’m no’ my brother, Ailsa,” he warned her, dropping his voice. “And there are many things we disagree on. If he had listened to me about the MacCairns—”
Her ears pricked, and she leaned forward at once. But he fell silent, as if he could sense that he had said too much.
“What about the MacCraiths?” she asked, her voice dropping, glancing around to the door to make sure that they were not being listened to. “Does it have anything to do with the attack the other day?” When he did not reply, she pressed on, “Tavish, what did ye do to them?”
“Ye think this is about me? I have to be the villain, right?” He said the words through gritted teeth.
“I can only assume it is about ye. Callum and Malric were getting on well before—”
“Callum died in their lands!” he snarled back, and she rose to her feet, her brow furrowing.
“Ye blame them for it?” she retorted. “Ye ken as well as I do that there are many things in this world that could cause harm to a man like Callum, someone who—”
“Ye speak of my brother as though ye knew him better than I did,” he replied as he stood up to face her, his gaze not breaking from hers for a moment.
It was the first time they had really addressed the issue that had gone unspoken between them.
She had not been meant for him originally.
Something nagged at the back of her mind, perhaps a warning, a warning that she should back off and keep her mouth shut before she said more than she could take back.
“I knew him well,” she replied. “He was my friend, and he—we were to be married. I ken that he would not have wandered into the MacCairn lands if there was any kind of animosity.”
“Ye ken nothing,” he hissed back at her, a black fury rising through him and casting her to silence all of a sudden. “And ye’re my wife now. Ye will listen to me.”
“Wife, we say?” she laughed bitterly. “One ye dinnae even talk to? A wife ye willnae even touch?” she replied, her voice cracking slightly.
She wished she could stop it, control it somehow, but she could not contain the pain of it any longer. The rejection seemed to reach somewhere deep down within her and spill over into the parts of herself she had once been so sure of.
He moved towards her, backing her towards the door, just as he had done on the parapet when he had come to her the night before their betrothal. And, just like that evening, she could feel the heat pulsing between them, the blood hot in the air.
“Is that what ye want, lass?” he murmured, his voice dropping precipitously. “To be touched?”
“That’s no’ what I—”
“I heard ye well enough,” he assures her. Just like that, he had regained control of the conversation, taking command of it once more. “And if ye want me to treat ye as a wife, perhaps ye’d do well to start acting like one.”
“What on earth do ye—”
“Ye have defied me at every turn,” he gritted out. “Ye have argued with me. Ye have done yer best to make a fool of me, and—”
“Ye want to keep me in a cage I dinnae belong!” she told him, lifting her chin to look back at him with as much defiance as she could muster.
When he was this close to her, it felt like something just gave way inside of her, something that she could no longer battle, even with every tool that Ewan had taught her.
He planted one hand next to her, bracing himself against the wall.
He was clearly able to see how she responded to him, the way that her body pulled towards him, despite herself.
She wished she had it in her to fight him on this, but she didn’t, the weight of it bearing down on her no matter what battle she put up to resist it.
“No,” he agreed. “But ye do belong in my bed, lass. Ye understand that?”
He brushed his thumb along her cheek, and she froze, begging her body not to respond to him so easily, pleading with herself to resist this with what little strength she had left. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
“Not if this is how ye treat me,” she protested weakly, but there wasn’t an ounce of conviction to her voice, not even to her ears.
She could not look at him, for she knew that, if she did, she would sink into him at once and embrace his touch more easily than she would have cared to admit to.
“Yer mouth is sharp, Ailsa,” he murmured. “But ye’ll scream as sweetly as any bride when I make ye mine. Ye hear me?”
She turned to face him, her body trembling.
More than anything, she wished she had the nerve to push him away.
But she didn’t. Even now, even in the midst of all of this, she could not resist him.
She could still remember, all too clearly, how it had felt when he had kissed her, when his hand had moved against her body with such confidence and ease, like he had complete control of her.
He had taken her teetering to the very brink of what she needed, and then, he had denied her, like he knew well that it would leave her craving and pleading and wanting in ways that she could not put into words.
“Ye can train like a man if ye want,” he continued, their lips so close now that she could almost feel the shape of his words as well as hear them. “But dinnae forget what yer real duties are, lass.”
His gaze drifted down to her mouth. She tilted her head up, willing him to kiss her, to give her what she wanted, despite herself. But, seemingly all too aware of it and intent on punishing her, he simply pulled back and made his way back to his desk.
She clenched her fists at her sides, her body aching with a pain that had nothing to do with the training she had just gone through with Ewan. She watched as he returned to the desk, not so much as looking up at her as she stood there.
Had he called her to his study just to torment her further? It seemed like the kind of thing he would do, the sick, twisted creature that he was.
She forced her to open the door and step outside and let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding.
She hated that it was so easy for him to have such an impact on her, so easy for him to command control over her in such a way.
She wished there was something she could do to unlace the grip that he had on her heart, but whatever she tried, it only seemed to secure it deeper.
But that did not mean for an instant that she was going to give up on the training she had worked so hard at so far. He might think that she was only good for one thing, but she knew that her abilities ran much deeper than that.
And if she had to prove it to him, then she would.