Chapter 5 #2
Ailis turned the cup between her fingers. “Adjustin’ to the scents of the kitchens,” she said lightly. “Positively enchantin’.”
Marion made a small choking sound that might have been amusement.
Gordon’s expression did not shift. He turned to his cup and lifted it. Before he drank, he said, “Ye ken, it was me chamber for many years.”
Ailis’s smile faltered. The words moved through her slowly, rearranging the insult she had been so certain he intended by giving her that chamber.
His chamber.
That small, low chamber beneath the proper wing. The one warmed by the kitchens and dressed with plain furniture. The one she had thought he had given her to humiliate her. It had been his?
Her gaze flicked to his face, checking to see if he meant those words.
Gordon took a sip of ale, watching her over the rim of his cup. His eyes were dark, steady, and unreadable. He lowered the cup.
“Welcome to me home,” he said.
Ailis did not answer at once. The words should not have unsettled her. Yet something in her chest gave a small, unwelcome twist. She imagined him younger, sleeping in that narrow room while grander chambers stood above.
Had he chosen the room or been placed there? Had he hated it?
Had he lain awake listening to kitchen sounds below, as she had done for an hour before supper, and felt forgotten?
Nay. She would not soften or allow her thoughts to wander about him. What use would that be?
She would be gone soon anyway, and none of it would matter. If he intended to unsettle her, he would simply have to try harder.
Ailis lifted her cup. “Then I shall do me utmost nay to ruin it.”
At that, something moved at the corner of his mouth.
Marion leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Gordon chose that chamber for ye specifically. It will suit ye better when we are done with it. I have already sent for fresh coverlets from the linen chest and more flowers if ye need them.”
Ailis turned to her, grateful for safer ground. “Ye are very kind, Marion.”
“Nay, I am practical. That old bed should have been carried out years ago. I told Gordon as much.”
Gordon reached for the bread. “More than once.”
“And ye ignored me,” she pointed out.
His stony expression did not soften as he answered again. “More than once.”
Ailis looked between them. There was no warmth in Gordon’s tone exactly, but there was familiarity buried deep beneath his solemn manner. Marion did not seem afraid of him. That alone made Ailis curious.
“Then perhaps,” Ailis said, breaking a piece of oatcake, “I have arrived as an answer to yer prayers.”
Marion’s lined face brightened. “Aye. At last, someone in this keep with sense.”
Gordon glanced at Ailis. “That remains to be seen.”
Ailis placed one hand over her heart. “How swiftly ye wound me, Me Laird.”
“Nay swiftly enough, I suspect,” he countered, making Ailis scoff.
There it was again.
Not quite humor but the ghost of it. Something dry and reluctant, as if his wit lived behind locked doors and slipped out only when no one was watching closely enough.
Ailis studied him for a second, but he looked away first as servants trooped into the hall with more platters of roasted venison, pottage, and even trout. All those food scents should have comforted her. Instead, Ailis found herself too aware of the man beside her.
She noticed Gordon ate little, but he listened closely to the conversation around the table. Guards came to speak with him between courses, lowering their heads as they brought concerns about fields, patrols, and stores.
Gordon answered each one in a few words, and when a young servant nearly dropped a jug of ale beside him, he reached out and steadied it before it could spill then returned it without rebuke.
The lad’s face went pale as milk anyway.
Gordon noticed. A shadow crossed his eyes, swift and well-hidden.
Ailis saw it. Her fingers stilled over her bread as she realized, They fear him.
It had been easy to think him a beast when she was the one being prodded and challenged and placed in that small chamber. It was less easy when she saw the way he bore their fear as if it were a cloak he had never wanted but could not remove.
A scar near his temple caught her attention when he turned to her again, and this time, her pulse thumped with another question.
How did he get that?
It reminded Ailis of the scars she had seen on his chest that night in his study. Heat unfurled through her, and she worried it would color her cheeks while she was seated in front of everyone.
She reached for her water a little too quickly and gulped from it, hoping to quench the sudden thirst plaguing her.
Thankfully, Marion drew Ailis back to reality with a question about her journey next, and soon, they were speaking of Sorcha, the road, the chamber, and whether heather might be gathered fresh before the week’s end.
“I would have more heather in the chamber,” Ailis said. “I would love the room to smell of the hills; it would definitely… keep the place fresh.”
Marion laughed outright. “I like ye.”
Ailis smiled. “That is fortunate. I like ye too, Marion.”
Gordon’s cup paused halfway to his mouth.
Ailis saw it from the corner of her eye. She did not look at him directly.
Marion patted Ailis’ hand. “Good. This keep has needed a woman so desperately, and me nephew needs ye too.”
The words warmed Ailis more than she expected.
Then Gordon set his cup down too hard, the dull thud cutting through their chuckles as his ale spilled on the wood.
He pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the stone.
His face had gone cold, his eyes narrowing into tiny slits that made them even greener and stern.
As if some door had slammed behind his eyes.
“Malcolm,” Gordon said.
His man-at-arms rose at once from the lower table. Gordon did not look at Ailis or Marion. He turned and strode from the hall, each step clipped and hard, his plaid swinging behind him.
Malcolm followed after that, and silence trailed in Gordon’s wake for three breaths.
Then the hall resumed, leaving her wondering exactly what a man like Gordon was all about.