Page 10 of The Laird's Unwanted Wife
“Nay bother, Ms. Blair,” Gerald assured. “I would hope each and every one of ye will treat Mollie as if she were ye own.”
“Of course, me Laird. As a housekeeper, I will ensure the child is given proper care.” She held a wrinkled hand out toward Mollie, who, in turn, gave a nervous glance at Aileen’s way.
“I willnae be separating ye from yer sister,” Gerald assured, gently setting Aileen back onto the ground. Her balance was, predictably, still weak, and he kept his hand around her waist to ensure she didn’t fall over. Much to his surprise, Aileen immediately stepped away, looking at him as if he’d just struck her.
“Let’s follow Ms. Blair, love.” Aileen grasped Mollie’s hand, gesturing to her to take the housekeeper’s hand as well.
“Can Bannock come, too?” Mollie asked nervously.
Ms. Blair’s gaze turned to Gerald for an answer. Aileen followed suit.
“I daenae think we could keep her away from ye, Mollie,” Gerald chuckled lightly.
It wasn’t long before a knock sounded outside Gerald’s study. He glanced up from his desk, a half-composed letter beneath his hand. “That ye, Rory?”
“Aye, me Laird!”
Gerald nodded, attention back on his letter. “Door’s open, lad.”
The door swung open immediately, revealing a smirking Rory who stepped quickly into the room. “I just passed by Mollie.Poor thing was trippin’ over an extra frock one of the maids had. Saw one of them trying to chase her with a needle and thread to try to hem the bottom. We really should remind them nae to run with sharp things in hand.”
Gerald half-nodded, still focused on his letter as his quill scratched against the parchment.
“Seems the wee one’s adjusting quickly,” Rory went on. “I thought she may be a bit more shy around the staff, but the lass seems a natural around other folk.”
Gerald finished his sentence, tapping the nib against his desk as he tried to form the finishing lines for the letter.
“I daenae ken how yer bride is takin’ to all this,” Rory added, sliding a chair his way and taking a seat. “Not sure she appreciates being taken to spite her dead brither.”
Gerald’s eyes swiveled upright, his quill snapping in two within his clenched fists. “That isnae the reason I took them in.”
“Aye?” Rory’s brow rose, shifting his chair closer to the laird’s desk. “Well, ye could’ve fooled me, sir.”
“It’s me Laird, ye smart-mouthed brat,” Gerald warned.
Rory lifted his hands defensively, his smirk playing down to a nervous grin. “All right, all right. It’s a sensitive subject, I understand.” His expression settled further, a harder look takinghis gaze as he added, “Had a few of our men root around for information while ye were in Marcus’ study. Seems the traitorous laird had sold his sister’s hand to Laird Carswell.”
Carswell. Of all the lairds to choose, Marcus chose him?
“Her clan seemed more than happy to see the pair of them go,” Rory continued, a note of bitterness ringing in his voice. “And yet, they seemed more than willin’ to take her back, given she played part of a political puppet.”
Gerald stared down at his half-finished letter, his hand shaking with rage. He should have let that keep burn to the ground and fall into self-inflicted chaos.
“Seems the apple doesnae fall far from the tree, aye, sir?”
Gerald stood up from his desk, grasping a small knife before throwing it with an angry snarl. It stuck into the wooden side of his bookshelf, and he stormed across his room to rip it out and gouge it a few more times. An impressively deep set of gashes resulted from his fit, and as he managed to steady his breath, Gerald threw the knife to the ground with a resounding clatter.
Rory remained silent during the Laird’s outrage, carefully eyeing him as Gerald stormed back to his seat. “If ye need to let yer anger out, ye can do it with me and a sword, me Laird. Daenae take it out on yer woodcarvin’ tools.”
Gerald exhaled loudly, dropping back into his chair as his hands folded across his desk. His man-at-arms was right, of course—infuriatingly so—but he didn’t care. More than anything, he wished that bookshelf had been Marcus’ face, that simple woodcarver’s knife his proper sword. He wished it had beenhimto strike that traitor down. He wished … he wished…
“Well, we cannae simply let Marcus’ territories burn to the ground anymore,” Rory said. “And the other major lairds seem to agree.”
Another long, tired exhale, and Gerald settled his anger back into the depths of his chest. He leaned back in his seat, glancing over at the mess he’d made out of his bookshelf. A small pile of wood chunks was scattered across the floor, and the gashes across its surface unsettled him greatly.
He wanted nothing more than to take his tools and fix it there and then, but there was far too much to do. A small sliver of chaos had found its way into his inner sanctum, and it revolved around his new association with Aileen and Mollie. “I’ve drafted copies of this missive for the other lairds,” he began, trying to push the thoughts from his mind. “To let them ken I’ve taken Marcus’ sister as me bride.”
Rory chuckled darkly. “They’ll love that, I’m sure. We’ve been absent from proceedings, then we send a letter lettin’ them ken we’ve simply taken over. Torn apart whatever agreements they’ve made.”
