“A toast!” he called out, his voice carrying over the noise of the feast. “To our laird and our new lady! May their marriage be blessed with happiness, prosperity, and many strong sons!”
“To the Laird and Lady!” the hall echoed.
As Iris raised her goblet with everyone else, she caught sight of Codie watching her with those serious brown eyes. When she smiled at him, he smiled back with a real, genuine smile that transformed his whole face.
But even as the thought formed, she noticed something else. The way Elijah’s jaw had tightened at Henry’s toast. The way his knuckles had gone white around his goblet.
Many strong sons.
She was here to be a mother to Codie, yes, but she was also here to provide Elijah with more children to carry on his name and secure his legacy. And that meant sharing his bed.
The thought sent heat flooding through her, part anticipation and part terror. Because despite the forced marriage, the threats, and the circumstances that had brought her here, she couldn’t deny the attraction that sparked between them every time he looked at her.
As if sensing her thoughts, Elijah leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.
“The celebration will go on for hours yet,” he murmured. “But when it’s time to retire, we’ll go to the chambers together.”
Tonight, she would share his bed for the first time. Tonight, this marriage would become real in the most fundamental way. The knowledge settled in her stomach like a stone, heavy and inescapable.
Everythin' changes tonight.
The chamber door closed behind them with a soft click that sounded unnaturally loud in the silence. Iris stood just inside the room, her hands clasped in front of her, suddenly feeling like a stranger in the space that was supposed to be theirs.
“Ye can take the bed,” Elijah said quietly, moving toward the window. “I’ll sleep in the chair.”
She blinked in surprise. “What?”
“The chair. It’s comfortable enough.”
“But… we’re married.”
He turned to look at her. “Aye, we are.”
“So why would ye sleep in a chair?”
“Because ye’re terrified of me.” The words were matter of fact, without accusation. “And forcin’ a frightened woman into me bed isnae somethin’ I’m interested in doin’.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “I’m nae terrified.”
“Nay?” He stepped closer, and she had to fight the urge to back away. “Yer hands are shakin’, lass.”
She looked down and realized he was right. “That doesnae mean I’m afraid of ye.”
“Then what does it mean?”
Good question. What did it mean?
The trembling in her hands, the way her pulse quickened whenever he looked at her, the strange flutter in her stomach when he’d kissed her at the altar—none of it felt like fear exactly.
“I daenae ken,” she admitted.
Something shifted in his expression. “Iris, I need ye to understand somethin’. This marriage... it’s nae what either of us would have chosen, but we’re bound now for better or worse. That doesnae mean I expect ye to welcome me into yer bed just because a priest said some words.”
“Then what do ye expect?”
“Time,” he said simply. “Time for ye to decide what ye want this to be.”
“And if I never want it? What if I decide that I dinnae want this at all?”
