Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Ailis could not stop the nerves in the pit of her stomach no matter how hard she tried. It was not a real marriage… Not in the right sense of it, and Gordon did not want it either, so that ought to help her relax.
But it did not. Because each time she thought of him, she remembered that night in his study and the way he had looked at her.
Straight through me soul with that glare that proved he despised me whole.
“Ye need nae worry too much,” Sorcha said beside her, reaching for her hand as they stood in a corner of the grand hall and watched their brother speak with Gordon and Rowan one last time.
“It is hard nae to,” Ailis said to Sorcha without looking at her. “Look at him,” she continued, her gaze landing on Gordon again as she felt another tightening in her gut.
He wore a scowl deep enough to mar his features, and there was little softness left in it. The little scar running down the side of his chin was evident as his jaw hardened and his eyes stayed pinned on the ledger in front of him.
The ledger we ought to sign.
“He isnae the man ye would have wished for, but he isnae a monster either. He will care for and provide for ye, and he will…”
“What about love?” Ailis questioned as the thought came to her. A wistful pang clenched at her heart as she shook her head and swallowed hard.
Panic seared through her as she turned to her sister again.
“All I wish for is to paint and play the piano forte. I wish to travel and read of the histories to me heart’s content.
I wish to…” she trailed off, her heart sinking even further with a bleakness because she knew she would not experience any of the things she wished for.
“I wish for love. I wish to have daughters with hair I can braid and tie with ribbons. I wish…” The rest of her words slowed as she shook her head.
Sorcha’s grip tightened on hers. “Love is possible if ye open yer heart to it.”
The words struck Ailis with an impact that made a snicker burst out of her.
The sound simply tore free, bright and sharp as a startled bird taking flight from the rafters.
It rang through the hall before she could catch it, too sudden, too clear, and far too full of disbelief to be mistaken for anything sweet.
Love. Between Gordon and me? The Dragon Laird?
The very notion struck some wild, foolish place inside her and sent laughter spilling out again before pride could clamp a hand over it.
It fluttered in her chest, half amusement, half panic, edged with a sarcasm so sharp it nearly hurt to breathe around it.
It also gained the attention of the men standing a distance from them.
The laugh died when her brother lifted his brow first. Ailis pretended to cough and hiked her chin up to stay steady. Her breath snagged when Gordon’s gaze found her from across the hall, dark and steady and unreadable.
He did not glare. That would have been easier. No, he only looked at her, still as carved stone, as if her laughter had reached some place in him that he would rather no one touch.
Heat crept up her throat, and she cleared it softly again, straightening her spine and arranging her hands neatly before her.
“Ailis, come forward,” Callan called then, and her stomach dipped because she knew it was time.
Signing the ledger meant binding herself to Gordon. All that would be left after that was a proper binding and a celidih to celebrate their union.
For one breath, she stayed where she was. Then Sorcha turned slightly and gave her a small, encouraging nod. There was worry in her sister’s eyes, aye, but tenderness too. A reminder to be brave.
But can I be? Can I be as brave as she?
Doubt borrowed alive deep inside Ailis because she did not believe she could ever be as brave as her sister.
She had fled her marriage alliance two years ago, and Sorcha had stepped up to replace her.
Marrying Rowan and fulfilling her duty to their clan was a bravery Ailis did not think she had possessed.
But Sorcha had been steady.
And it had been a relief that her sister had been perfect, so she did not have to be.
Ailis finally lifted her chin and stepped forward. Each step sounded too loud against the rushes. Too many eyes followed her. She kept her gaze on Callan at first then on Rowan then anywhere but on Gordon.
Until she reached him. Gordon rose and extended a hand to her. It was such a simple gesture, yet it shocked her because she did not expect it.
Her fingers hesitated for only a breath before she placed her hand in his. Warmth closed around her at once. His skin was hot against hers, his palm large and calloused, rough from reins and swords.
Ailis’s breath hitched, and she hated that it did.
The touch traveled through her before she could stop it, a swift, treacherous spark leaping from her fingers to her wrist then higher, curling beneath her ribs.
Her heart gave a startled beat. Her skin seemed to wake beneath his touch. But she could not tell if he felt anything when he touched her. His jaw stayed tight, and his face gave nothing away.
Even now, as they were about to bind their lives together, he still would not look at her. His fingers, however, covered hers firmly, and he led her toward the table with slow steps before taking the quill from Callan.
“This is the moment,” Callan said to her with a smile when she lifted her eyes to his. “I will see ye at the bindin’, dearest sister.”
He stepped closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling her in for a hug. “Daenae think of doin’ anythin’ foolish, Ailis. This is for the best.”
“Of course,” she answered with a forced smile that made the sides of her heart ache. But that feeling was nothing compared to the bleak ache in her heart when Gordon signed the parchment then handed her the quill.
This was it. Her fate had been decided, and Ailis doubted there was much to be done about it.
They left for Gordon’s castle before midday, and Ailis told herself she was not looking back as they rode away.
She did it anyway. The keep stood behind them in the pale morning light, its stone walls softened by mist, its banners stirring in the wind like hands raised in farewell.
Sorcha stood upon the steps with one hand pressed to her throat, Rowan beside her, his arm firm around her waist. Callan stood a little apart, stern as ever, though his mouth had tightened in a way that made Ailis’ chest ache despite herself.
She lifted one hand to wave, and Sorcha lifted hers back.
Then the road curved, the keep slipped from view, and Ailis faced forward, her spine straight and her heart beating too hard beneath her ribs.
Daenae look frightened. Daenae give him that.
Gordon rode ahead of the carriage for most of the journey, broad-shouldered and silent upon his black stallion. He did not turn often. When he did, his gaze swept over the carriage, over the riders, over the road behind them, and then, once, over her.
Ailis caught him looking. When he turned away first, it should not have pleased her. But it did, and heat surged through her, warming parts she did not know existed.
By the time the towers of his castle rose against the gray Highland sky, the air had sharpened with the promise of rain.
The place looked nothing like the warm, busy keep she grew up in. Gordon’s castle stood hard against the hill, dark stone weathered by years of wind and war, its walls high, its windows narrow, its gatehouse stern enough to make a cheerful soul reconsider joy.
Ailis leaned closer to the carriage window.
“Good heavens,” she murmured to herself. “It does look as though nay one lives here.”
Not a single soul wandered around the grounds as they trotted past the outer yard. The portcullis lifted for them to pass through, and as they drew nearer to the keep, Ailis could hear the iron stamp of horses and the low voices of guards upon battlements.
The moment she stepped into the courtyard, a cluster of servants gathered near the entrance. A round-faced woman with silver threaded through her dark hair came forward first, smiling as she waited for Ailis to dismount her horse beside Gordon.
“Gordon,” she called out with a smile, hurrying to him with arms stretched wide for a hug. “Welcome back.”
She turned to Ailis as Gordon nodded, and her smile widened even more, making her eyes wrinkle at the corners.
“Miss Ailis, welcome. I am Marion,” she introduced, and Ailis curtsied to her before Lady Marion stepped close and kissed the air close to her cheeks softly.
“It is a pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Me Lady. I’ve heard a lot about ye,” Ailis said with a smile.
“Please… It is Marion to ye now, me dear. Ye are family, and I want ye to feel at home here now that ye have joined us. I believe that ye and I will get along just fine.”
There was much enthusiasm in Marion’s eyes as she beamed at Ailis, and the infectious lightness in her chuckle made Ailis giggle too.
“Marion is me aunt,” Gordon said beside Ailis now, and she glanced sideways at him. “She was Lady of the Keep when me uncle ruled and is me family. Ye will treat her as such.”
“Of course,” Ailis replied with a honeyed smile as her gaze landed on Gordon’s again and held on tight. She did not blink or pay attention to the flush that seemed to creep up the back of her neck as his gaze burrowed into hers.
Marion’s face brightened again, as if she did not sense the tension between them, and this time she took Ailis’s hands, making Ailis tear her gaze from Gordon’s unnerving dark eyes.
“We’ve made fires in the hall and brought fresh rushes. Supper will be ready by dusk. If there is aught ye require, ye have only to say it.”
“That is most kind,” Ailis said. “And please, if ye mean to spoil me, I shall nae stand in yer way.”
One of the maids around them laughed before clapping a hand over her mouth.
Marion’s eyes twinkled. “I shall remember that.”
Ailis felt Gordon’s gaze sharpen on her, but he did not interrupt as Marion led her into the keep fully while discussing her plans for the binding celidih in a fortnight.