Page 56 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
He finished drying her body, hanging the damp robe on the back of a nearby chair as Aileen began to braid her hair. It was a thick, loose ponytail that ran past her shoulders and brushed against her chest. Gerald couldn’t help but smile warmly.
“Ye really do think I’m womanly,” Aileen marveled.
“Beauty it’s in the eye of the beholder,” Gerald mused. “And ye hadnae met the right audience.” He moved to grasp her waist, hesitating for a moment before her hands guided him.
“It’s all right,” she assured.
It still burned him to think about what she’d been through. About Carswell so casually grabbing his wife, throwing her over his shoulder, and abandoning her to the wilds. Gods, but he should have made Carswell’s death slower.
“Gerald?”
He blinked, realizing Aileen had suddenly closed the distance between them. Her naked body pressed against his, and he could feel his member stiffen at her bare touch. Gerald caught her in a sudden kiss, scooping her up into his arms before starting toward their bed.
“Gerald!” Aileen laughed. “I daenae think I can handle another ride, husband.”
He maneuvered her weight to one of his arms, the other pulling their covers back before both tucked into bed. Gerald ensured his grasp remained gentle around Aileen’s waist, kissing her forehead as she snuggled up closer to him. “I’m sorry for breakin’ yer rule,” he whispered softly.
Aileen giggled lightly. “I think we’re a touch past that, now.” Her finger traced his bare chest, twirling strands of thick hair. “I’m … sorry I couldnae perform properly. Ye finally gave me the opportunity, and I just …” She sighed lightly, voice tinged with regret.
“It’s nae yer fault, Aileen.” It was time, Gerald realized; the topic couldn’t be avoided anymore. He inhaled slowly, focusing on her presence, the lingering scent of herbs against her skin. They were more than strangers, more than simply political partners. He could no longer pretend to have any sort of distance from Aileen, which meant … she deserved the truth.
“I purposefully put a wall between us.”
That wasn’t a shocking revelation, but Aileen’s eyes were entirely on him now.
“When … before yer brither’s betrayal, Marcus helped to organize a skirmish alongside me own brither. The previous Laird of MacLiddel.” Another breath. Another push forward. “He ended up perishing in that fight, and … when I first met ye, I was searchin’ for evidence against Marcus.
“Some further proof that showed, without a doubt, that me closest friend had played us all. And, when I found the map of that battlefield, with notes about the enemy’s tactics and positioning …” He couldn’t. Gerald bit his tongue, unable to continue further.
Aileen lifted her head slightly, using her folded arm to support it. “Then, yer reasoning is …” Her eyes widened slightly, her voice beginning to wobble. “Of course. Of course, ye saw me as the enemy. If someone orchestrated Mollie’s death …Gods, I couldnae imagine even being in the same room?—”
Gerald sat upright, taking Aileen with him as he placed his hands against her shoulders firmly. “Nay, lass. That never had anything to do with it.”
“But—”
“If that were the case, I would have left ye to yer fate back at MacGunn’s castle,” Gerald stated with a note of finality. “As far as I’m concerned, ye have nay any ties with the Hughes family. Ye are, and always have been, part of the MacLiddel clan.”
Aileen’s eyes filled with tears, her body trembling under his grasp. “Then … why?”
“Because it shouldnae be me who’s in bed with ye.” Gerald exhaled curtly; it was finally fully out in the open. “Because I was me brither’s man-at-arms. Nay, I should have protected him that day, regardless of me rank or title. It should have been him who found a lass as wonderful as ye, it should’ve beenhim continuing the lineage. He—” he swallowed, coming to a conclusion he’d hidden in his subconscious since that day. “I should have died that day, Aileen. We shouldnae have had the chance to meet.”
Aileen could only stare at him. She had stopped trembling, the tears in her eyes drying immediately. Something cold captured Gerald’s heart, and he did everything to shake it away.
“I made a vow that day,” Gerald insisted. “I promised me brither I wouldnae disgrace his legacy—take the life he should have had.”
Aileen remained motionless, silent; it was almost as if her spirit had left her body entirely.
“Aileen,saysomething.” Gerald didn’t beg—the Beast of Braeriach begged for nothing—but he’d willingly fall to his knees, just to hear something from his wife. Finally, she did something. She pushed herself gently from Gerald’s embrace, her expression still as blank as before. And before Gerald could speak, she posed a question to him.
“Are ye sayin’ a vow to the dead is more important to ye than the one ye made to me?”
Now it was Gerald’s turn to stare. To process the weight of Aileen’s question. His once-growing panic began to twist into something uglier, and he couldn’t help but verbally lash out toward her. “Ye wouldnae understand. Yer brither was but a monster nay one of us will care to remember.”
He realized his mistake too soon, realized the cutting harshness of his words far too late. Before he could speak, Aileen fully removed herself, her legs slipping over the side of the bed as she crossed the room wordlessly.
“Aileen—”
She grasped her own robe from the closet, tying the silken belt as it fell against her form. Her beautiful, slender form was like watching a fairy of the snow drift across the way.
