Page 54 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
“I’m surprised Bannock isnae here just yet,” Sarah said softly.
Bannock. Right, all the hounds were being tended to by Nathan and the MacLiddel staff. Even if Bannock had wanted to, Aileen was certain the hound master wouldn’t let her go without proper treatment.
“Aileen?”
She glanced up to meet Sarah’s eyes, suddenly feeling a massive weight lift from her shoulder. “He’s dead, Sarah.” The words still didn’t feel real just yet, but Aileen wondered if, perhaps, this simply was what the aftershock of such a gruesome battle felt like. Sarah took her friend’s hands, both watching over Mollie as she quietly slept.
Aileen wasn’t sure how much time passed before the bedroom door creaked open, with Ms. Blair standing on the other side. She held Bannock by the scruff of her neck, and the poor deerhound let out a piteous whine, a bandage wrapped tightly around her front leg as her tail wagged hopefully.
“It’s all right,” Aileen assured. “She can come in, Ms. Blair.”
The housekeeper seemed relieved, happily letting Bannock loose as the deerhound hobbled her way to the bed. With some effort, she managed to hop up into Mollie’s bed, her head resting against her chest as something akin to a sigh of relief escaped.
“And the other hounds?” Aileen worriedly inquired.
“All present and accounted for,” Ms. Blair said. “I daresay the blood we rinsed from them came mostly from the enemy.”
A nervous giggle escaped Sarah’s lips, but she immediately turned away, clearly embarrassed. Aileen offered a reassuring hand on her shoulder; she could hardly judge her friend for her reaction. She still felt quite numb herself, though she knew full well thatsomethingwould bubble to the surface later.
“Ms. Blair, how is …” Aileen hesitated, uncertain if she wanted the answer. Gerald—her husband—had been a terrifying force to witness, and she’d hardly seen the worst of it.
But Ms. Blair seemed to know exactly what Aileen wanted to know. “He’s been tended to and soaks in a herbal bath, me Lady.”
“I … I can watch Mollie for ye!” Sarah blurted out. “Nothin’ will get past me or Bannock, I suppose.”
Bannock let out a quiet yip, as if she were insulted at almost being forgotten.
Aileen offered a thankful nod, standing upright as she took a step toward the door. Ms. Blair made no indication forward, seemingly waiting to see if the Lady of MacLiddel needed support. But Aileen managed to make it under the archway on her own, turning to Ms. Blair for one final request. “I’d like ye to go and collect me usual medical supplies, Ms. Blair. Have them sent to our room, so I may tend to him once he finishes bathing.”
Ms. Blair replied with a swift curtsy, and as she started down the hall to fulfill her task, Aileen turned the opposite way, beginning her trek to their shared room.
He is dead. The thought drifted alongside the steam of Gerald’s bath, though as it rose to the ceiling, his mind remained heavy and full. Carswell had been killed, and by his own hand; there should have been no further reason for that slug to linger. Yet Gerald found himself still reminiscing on the battle—on the moment his blade skewered through Carswell, and he watched him collapse to the ground.
“Nay,” he groaned, rubbing his sore face with a ginger touch of his hand. “That’s nae it.” Murder hadn’t affected Gerald in almost a decade; it wasn’t Carswell himself that stuck in his mind, but the implications around him. Of what may have happened to Mollie had he not jumped off the wall when he did. Of the way that little girl looked at him—him—when the attack properly began.
A heavy sigh escaped him as Gerald shifted stiffly within the tub, stirring up a wave of sweet aromatics from the herb-infused waters. His wounds, all things considered, were par for the course. Cuts and scrapes stung slightly from the medicated waters, and his bruised flesh already felt more at ease from the near-boiling warmth.
His forearm was wrapped securely with linen; though the removal of the arrow’s point had gone smoothly, the healer stillwanted to staunch any bleeding that might occur later. And then there was his leg—similarly pierced by an arrow, removed and bound just as smoothly.
No one had spoken a word to him upon his entry back into the castle. Not his men, not Rory—he’d barely gotten the chance to look at Aileen before he was taken to the infirmary. That terrified look on Mollie’s face was haunting; what if that was the same face Aileen had as well?
“Perhaps me wife finally sees me for the monster I am,” Gerald mused bitterly.
A gentle knock on the door brought Gerald back to the present, and he sat upright against the tub, ignoring the twinge in his arm and leg. “Come in,” he commanded gruffly, wondering if it was already time for the healers to change his linens.
Instead, the door opened slowly to reveal his wife on the other side, and her face … Gerald’s heart skipped a beat, realizing her expression held no trace of fear or regret. She wore nothing but her silken nightgown, the vague sheerness of the fabric clinging to every part of her body. The perks of her nipples were fully visible, the small curve of her slender hips driving him insane.
“May I come in?” Aileen asked.
Gerald nodded slowly, wrestling control back into his person. He watched as his wife eased the door shut and padded quietly across, kneeling beside the tub as her eyes took in every detail. Every new scar on his flesh, every bruise slowly formingbeneath, and still, there was no note of terror, no disgust for his form.
“How?” Aileen paused, shaking her head as she tried to find the words. Gerald couldn’t blame her; ‘how are ye’ didn’t exactly sound like the most appropriate of questions to ask. Instead, he shifted his arm out from the water, taking hers easily as droplets followed the curve of his muscles.
“It’s over, lass.”
Aileen nodded, the mist in her eyes magnifying those warm flecks of gold beneath. “What ye did for me … for Mollie …” She brought his hand to her forehead, her shoulders trembling as a sob finally escaped from her throat. “I willnae forget this, dear husband.”
It was strange seeing his wife in such a vulnerable place. Then again, he was just as exposed, with nothing but the water separating her from his nudity. The idea of them being closer than ever—regardless of the water’s heat, Gerald felt his member stiffen, as if exposed to a sudden chill.
