“Does it matter?”
Henry chuckled. “Ye’ve a tongue as sour as buttermilk, but mark me, Elijah, nay marriage lasts on cold shoulders and dismissals. Ye’ll see soon enough.”
“I expect nothin’ else,” Elijah said, his tone clipped. “This was never about affection. I needed a mother for Codie—that is all. If she hates me, so be it. She’ll still serve her purpose.”
Henry arched a brow. “Ye think so little of yerself or so little of her? Which is it?”
The Laird’s eyes darkened. “Neither. I think of the boy. His needs outweigh the rest. She’ll serve her place, and that will do.” Elijah turned sharply, ending the conversation as he strode toward the hall.
“A man cannae wall out his own heart. Ye’ll see.” Henry smiled wider, calling after him. “And when ye do, I’ll be the first to remind ye I warned ye!”
The great hall they passed through was magnificent with soaring ceilings, tapestries depicting clan battles, and a massive fireplace that could probably roast an entire stag. But Iris barely noticed the grandeur—she was too busy boiling over her husband’s casual dismissal.
“The stairs are just here, me lady,” Aliana said, leading them up a wide stone staircase. “The chambers are on the second floor.”
“How long have ye worked here?” Iris asked, needing the distraction of conversation.
“Nearly five years now. I started as a kitchen maid and worked me way up to lady’s maid for the previous... well.” She paused awkwardly. “For the Laird’s first wife.”
“And now, ye’ll be me maid?”
“If ye’ll have me, me lady. I ken these halls better than anyone, and I, well, I ken how things work around here.”
Something in her tone made Iris solar her more closely. “What do ye mean by that?”
Aliana glanced around, then leaned closer. “I mean, the Laird isnae exactly... easy to understand, but once ye figure him out, things make more sense.”
They reached a heavy wooden door bound with iron. Aliana pushed it open, revealing a spacious chamber with tall windows overlooking the river. The furnishings were rich but masculine—dark wood, heavy fabrics, everything built for durability rather than comfort.
“This was his first wife’s room?” Iris asked, stepping inside.
“Nay, me lady. This is the Laird’s chamber. Ye’ll be sharin’ it with him.”
Of course, I will.
“The washin’ basin is over there,” Aliana continued, unaware of Iris’s distress. “And there’s fresh water in the pitcher. Shall I help ye out of that travelin’ dress?”
“Please.” Iris began unpinning her hair, letting the elaborate wedding style fall into loose waves around her shoulders. “Aliana, can I ask ye somethin’?”
“Of course, me lady.”
“What was he like with his first wife? The Laird, I mean.”
Aliana paused in her work with the dress fastenings. “That’s complicated.”
“How so?”
“Well...” Aliana seemed to choose her words carefully. “Lady Margaret was a gentle soul. She was sweet, quiet, never raised her voice or caused trouble. The kind of woman most men would be grateful to have.”
“But?”
“But the Laird… I could see he needs more than gentle. He needs someone who can match him, challenge him, someone with fire.” Aliana’s eyes met hers in the looking glass. “Lady Margaret was afraid of him, and I think that made him angry though he never showed it directly.”
“Angry enough that she killed herself rather than stay married to him?”
“I daenae ken about that,” Aliana said quietly. “What I do ken is that the Laird blamed himself for her death. He has blamed himself every day since.”
That gave Iris pause. She’d assumed Elijah was simply a brute who’d driven his wife to desperation through cruelty. But guilt? Self-blame? Those words suggested a more complex man than she’d imagined.
