“I had it perfectly under control until ye interfered!” she shot back, her voice shaking with fury. “He was happy, truly happy, and ye destroyed it!”
“Under control?” Elijah let his gaze travel over her muddy appearance with obvious disdain. “This is what ye call under control? Because when I heard yer laughter from halfway across the entire castle, it seemed like ye had gotten caught up in his game and forgot ye’re supposed to be the adult.”
“I was connectin’ with him! Buildin’ trust! But I suppose that’s too complicated a concept for ye to understand!”
“Stop talkin’,” he said quietly, his voice dropping to that dangerous whisper that made grown men tremble, “or I’ll make ye stop.”
But instead of backing down, Iris moved closer too, getting right in his face despite the obvious difference in their sizes. “I wouldnae have to argue with ye at all if ye’d just fulfill yer duties as a faither! If ye’d spend five minutes tryin’ to understand yer own son instead of treatin’ him like an inconvenience!”
Something seemed to snap in his control. Before she knew what was happening, he’d crossed the remaining space between them and backed her against the garden wall, his hands braced on either side of her head, trapping her.
She gasped, her eyes going wide, but she didn’t try to escape. They were so close, she could she the rapid beat of his pulse at his throat. The scent of him, male, wild, andElijah, filled her senses.
“Ye want to ken about duties?” he growled, his voice rough with emotions. “Let me tell ye about duty, wife. Duty is acceptin’ what ye’re given and makin’ the best of it. Nae demandin’ more than what’s offered.”
He leaning closer, and Iris could not stop her lips from parting slightly in anticipation. The air between them crackled with tension, with want, with something dangerous that threatened to consume them both. Suddenly, Iris was not thinking about how angry she was or even about Codie.
Oh, please. Elijah. One kiss, just one...
They leaned toward each other then sanity returned like a bucket of cold water, and he straightened abruptly, stepping back so quickly she stumbled against the wall.
“If ye cannae handle yer duties as lady of this castle,” he said, his voice cold and controlled again, “then perhaps ye should quit now. Save us both the trouble of pretendin’ this arrangement can work.”
Without another word, he turned and strode away, leaving her standing alone by the garden wall, muddy and furious.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elijah strode through the castle corridors, his boots echoing off the stone walls with each angry step. The confrontation in the garden replayed in his mind—Iris’ defiant chin, the fire in her brown eyes, the way she’d stood her ground even when he’d towered over her like some brute.
I wouldnae have to argue with ye at all if ye’d just fulfill yer duties as a faither! If ye’d spend five minutes tryin’ to understand yer own son instead of treatin’ him like an inconvenience!
Her words followed him like ghosts, no matter how fast he walked. He climbed the stairs two at a time, desperate to reach the solitude of his solar where he could think clearly and where he wouldn’t hear the echo of his son’s laughter or see the hurt in his wife’s eyes.
But as he reached the landing, he heard rapid footsteps behind him. Light, determined steps that could only belong to one person.
“Elijah!”
He didn’t stop. If anything, he walked faster.
“Elijah, stop!” Her voice was breathless from chasing him through the castle. “We need to talk about what just happened!”
“There’s nothin’ to discuss,” he called back without turning around. “Ye made yer position clear, and I made mine.”
“Did I? Because I think ye are too busy runnin’ to even listen to me!”
That stopped him dead. He spun around to find her at the bottom of the stairs leading to their chambers, covered in mud, her hair wild around her shoulders, looking like some fierce Highland goddess. Even disheveled, even furious, she was magnificent.
“I daenae run from anythin’, lass.”
“Daenae ye?” She began climbing the stairs toward him, her chin set at that stubborn angle he was beginning to know too well. “Because that’s exactly what it looks like to me.”
“What it looks like,” he said through gritted teeth, “is a man who’s tired of arguin’ with a woman who doesnae understand the first thing about raisin’ a future laird.”
By now, she had reached the top of the stairs. “Then explain it to me,” she whispered, desperation making her pitch higher. “Help me understand why showin’ affection to yer son is such a terrible thing.”
“Because affection makes ye weak.” The words came out harsher than he’d intended. “It makes ye vulnerable. And vulnerable leaders get their people killed.”
“Who told ye that? Yer faither?”
