Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
"You'll be cold," Elinor said, looking at the cloak he'd draped over her shoulders.
"I'm fine. I'm used tae it." David gestured toward the castle entrance. "Come on. It's gettin' late. We should sleep."
"Alright."
They walked back through the side door, the warmth of the castle interior a welcome relief after the chill of the garden. Their footsteps echoed softly in the quiet corridors as they made their way toward the stairs.
"The clan seemed to accept me," Elinor said quietly. "Eventually."
"Some did. Some will take longer." David's hand was still at the small of her back, guiding her. "But they'll come around. Ye did well taenight."
"I ate too much," she mumbled.
"Ye ate a normal amount fer someone who hasnae been fed properly in God kens how long." His tone was matter-of-fact. "Dinnae apologize fer it."
They reached the staircase and began to climb.
At the top of the stairs, they turned down the familiar corridor toward their bedchamber. But Elinor slowed, a question forming on her lips.
"Which room is mine?"
David paused at the threshold of their bedchamber, his hand on the door latch. He turned slowly, finding Elinor standing in the corridor, her arms crossed, that stubborn lift to her chin.
"What dae ye mean, which room is yers?"
"My room." She gestured vaguely down the hall. "The one you promised me. Where is it?"
Understanding dawned, followed quickly by something that might have been amusement if he weren't so tired. "Ah. That."
"Yes. That." Her eyes narrowed. "You agreed to give me my own room. As part of the favor."
"I did, aye." He stepped fully into their bedchamber, leaving the door open behind him. "And ye'll have it."
"Then show me where it is."
"Tomorrow."
"Why not now?"
"Because it's late, lass. And we're both exhausted." He moved to the washstand, pouring water into the basin. "Besides, I need tae speak with Malcolm about which room would suit ye best."
Elinor followed him inside, though she remained near the doorway. "You haven't even chosen it yet?"
"I only agreed tae it this mornin'." He splashed water on his face, the cold helping clear the fog of exhaustion. "Give me time tae make proper arrangements."
"Fine." She moved closer, but stopped several feet away, as though maintaining distance was some kind of shield. "But it needs to have a bed."
David went very still, water dripping from his jaw. He reached for a towel, drying his face with deliberate slowness as he processed her words.
"Nay."
"No?" Her voice rose slightly. "What do you mean, no?"
"I mean nay. The room ye asked fer willnae have a bed." He set the towel down, turning to face her fully. "Ye can have a space that's yers. A solar, a study, whatever ye want tae call it. But ye'll nae be sleepin' there."
"That's not what I asked for."
"That's what ye're gettin'."
Color flooded her cheeks. "You agreed to the terms of the favor! I asked for a room of my own, and you said yes."
"Aye. A room. Nae a separate bedchamber." He kept his voice level, reasonable, though he could feel his own temper stirring. "There's a difference, lass."
"That's… Ye’re twisting words!"
"I'm being specific." He moved toward her, watching her stiffen. "Ye asked fer a room where ye could be alone. Where ye could breathe. Where nay one would disturb ye. And ye'll have it. But I'll nae compromise our marriage by lettin' ye sleep elsewhere."
"Why not?" The question came out sharper than she probably intended. "We barely know each other. We're only married because you bought me at an auction. What difference does it make if we sleep in separate rooms?"
"It makes all the difference." He stopped a few feet away, close enough to see the pulse fluttering at her throat. "The Duke already suspects our marriage is nae genuine. If his hears a report that the Laird and Lady of Keppoch keep separate chambers, what dae ye think that'll dae tae our story?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. He saw understanding dawn in her eyes, followed quickly by frustration.
"I hate that you're right," she muttered.
"I'm often right. Ye'll get used tae it."
"Don't be smug."
"I'm nay bein' smug. I'm bein' practical." He tilted his head slightly. "Why is this so important tae ye? The separate room, I mean. Beyond just wantin' space."
For a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer. She looked away, her hands twisting in her skirts, a nervous habit he'd noticed before.
"Because I've never had anything that was just mine," she said quietly. "Everything in my father's house belonged to him. My clothes, my books, even my time. He controlled all of it." She met his eyes again. "And then he sold me. Like I was furniture he didn't need anymore."
David's chest tightened. "Elinor."
"I know you're not him." She cut him off, her voice steady despite the emotion in her eyes. "I know that. But I need... I need something that's mine. A place where I can close the door and just exist without having to be anything for anyone."
The raw honesty of it struck him harder than any argument could have. He understood that need, the desire for a space that belonged only to oneself, where no one could reach you unless you allowed it.
"Ye'll have it," he said finally. "I give ye me word. A room that's yers, where nay one will enter without permission. Nae even me."
"But no bed."
"But no bed." He softened his tone. "I'm sorry, lass. I truly am. But I cannae give ye that. Nae with the Regent watchin' us."
She studied him for a long moment, and he could see her weighing his words, testing them for lies or manipulation. Finding none, she nodded slowly.
"All right."
"All right?"
"All right." She moved past him toward the wardrobe where Ainsley had placed her spare shift. "But I'm still angry about it."
Despite himself, David smiled. "I'd be disappointed if ye werenae."
"Don't think this means I'm going to make things easy for you."
"I wouldnae dream of it."
She pulled the shift from the wardrobe, then turned to face him, lifting her chin. "Turn around."
"We're married, lass."
"And you promised to knock before entering rooms. Which means respecting my privacy." Her eyes flashed with challenge. "Unless you want me to use another favor to make you turn around?"
"That seems like a waste of a favor."
"Then turn around."
David held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned to face the window, his back to her. Behind him, he heard the rustle of fabric as she began to undress.
"Ye ken this is ridiculous," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the darkened glass. "We're sharin' a bed. I'm bound tae see ye eventually."
"Eventually isn't now."
"Stubborn woman."
"You bought a stubborn woman. You only have yourself to blame."
He heard more rustling, then the soft padding of her feet across the floor. The bed creaked slightly as she climbed in.
"I'm decent," she announced. "Though I'm taking most of the blankets."
David turned to find her already settled on the far side of the bed, cocooned in what did appear to be the majority of the blankets. Only her face was visible, pale against the dark fabric.
"Ye're in me spot," he observed.
"You don't have a spot. We've only slept here once."
"That was me side of the bed."
"Not anymore." She burrowed deeper into the blankets. "Besides, you're bigger. You need less covering."
"That's nae how temperature works."
"It is now."
David crossed to the bed, looking down at her. She met his gaze without flinching, though he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands gripped the blanket edge beneath her chin.
She was afraid, he realized. Not of him, exactly. But of the intimacy of sharing a bed with a man she barely knew. A man who'd bought her, married her, and now expected her to trust him in the dark.
His irritation faded.
"Ye can have me side," he said quietly. "And the blankets. Fer taenight."
Surprise flickered across her face. "Really?"
"Really." He moved to the other side of the bed, the side she'd claimed just days ago at the inn. "But tomorrow, we negotiate."
"Negotiate what?"
"Territory. And blanket distribution." He sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing his boots. "I'm nae spendin' every night freezin' because me wife has decided she needs all the coverin's."
"Your wife has been cold her entire life," Elinor said softly. "Let her be warm for once."
The quiet words hit him like a fist to the chest. He stilled, his hands frozen on his boot laces.
Cold her entire life.
He thought of the way she'd devoured her food at the inn. The hunger in her eyes when she'd looked at the feast in the great hall. The pallor of her skin, the shadows beneath her eyes.
Lord Thomas Royse hadn't just controlled his daughter. He'd starved her. Frozen her. Kept her in a state of perpetual need so she'd be too weak to resist.
"Ye can have all the blankets ye want," David said, his voice rougher than he'd intended. "Taenight and every night after."
"I was joking."
"I wasnae." He pulled off his boots, setting them aside. He stood, moving to the wardrobe to retrieve his sleep clothes. "I'm nae yer faither, Elinor. I'll nay leave ye wantin' fer basic comforts."
Silence stretched between them. When he glanced back, she was watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read, something between wariness and wonder.
She pulled the blankets higher, though her eyes never left his face. He climbed into bed beside her, careful to maintain distance.
"You're not freezing," she said.
"I'm gettin' there."
She bit her lip, and he saw her internal debate play out across her face. Then, with obvious reluctance, she pushed about a third of the blankets toward him.
"There," she said. "Now we're both moderately warm."
"How generous."
"Don't push your luck."
David settled under his allotted blankets, his body already beginning to relax into the mattress.
The day had been long—the journey, the introduction to the clan, the dinner, the confrontation with Fergus, the walk in the gardens. He was exhausted.
But even through the exhaustion, he was acutely aware of Elinor beside him. The sound of her breathing. The faint scent of lavender from her hair. The small space between them that felt somehow both vast and impossibly small.
"David?"
Her voice was soft, tentative.
"Aye?"
"The room you're going to give me. Can it have windows?"
He turned his head to look at her. She was staring at the ceiling, her profile pale in the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
"Of course. Why?"
"My room at my father's house didn't have windows. He said they were a security risk." She swallowed. "I haven't seen morning sunlight in my own space in years."
The casual cruelty of it made David's hands curl into fists beneath the blankets. Years without morning sunlight. Years in a room that was essentially a cell.
"Ye'll have windows," he said, his voice tight with suppressed anger. "As many as ye want. Facin' whatever direction ye prefer."
"East," she said immediately. "So I can see the sunrise."
"East it is."
She was quiet for another moment. Then: "And books? Can I have books?"
"As many as ye like. I'll have the steward bring ye a selection from the library tomorrow, and ye can choose which ones ye want."
"Your own library?" There was wonder in her voice.
"Aye. Me maither also loved books. She collected them from all over—Scotland, England, even some from France and Italy." He felt his chest tighten at the memory. "When I became laird, I made sure they were properly catalogued and preserved. They're yers too, now."
"I don't know what to say."
"Then dinnae say anythin'." He closed his eyes. "Just sleep, lass. Ye're safe here."
He felt her shift beside him, turning onto her side. For a moment, he thought she might move closer. But she remained on her side of the bed, maintaining the careful distance between them.
"David?" Her voice was barely a whisper now.
"Aye?"
"I think I might like being married to you. Eventually."
Despite his exhaustion, despite the heavy weight of the day, David smiled into the darkness.
"Eventually sounds about right," he murmured. "Sleep, Elinor."
He heard her breathing slow, evening out into the rhythm of sleep. But he remained awake a while longer, staring at the ceiling, thinking about morning sunlight and windows facing east and a woman who'd been kept in the dark for far too long.
She deserves better, Better than what her faither gave her. Better than what I can probably give her.
But I'll try anyway.
Finally, as exhaustion claimed him, David let his eyes close. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges—introducing Elinor to more of the clan, beginning preparations for the Cèilidh, managing the hundred small crises that came with running a Highland stronghold.
But for that night, in that moment, there was just this: a woman sleeping safely in his bed, wrapped in blankets, dreaming perhaps of rooms with windows facing east.