Of course, it was me faither.
James Craig, the previous laird, who’d ruled through fear and iron discipline, who’d never shown his only son a moment’s tenderness without following it immediately with harsh criticism.
A laird cannae afford to be soft, boy. Weakness invites challenge, and challenge leads to death.
“It doesnae matter who told me,” he said instead. “It’s the truth.”
“Is it? Because the only weak thing I see is a man too afraid to love his own son.”
Without answering her, he pushed past her, heading straight for their chamber door. She hurried after him, rushing around to face him just as he reached for the door.
“Where do ye think ye’re goin’?”
“Somewhere we can have this conversation without the entire castle hearin’ us shout at each other,” he gritted. “Unless ye’d prefer to air our personal business in the corridors?”
He saw the way she adjusted herself when his point hit home. She glanced around, likely noticing for the first time the curious faces peering around corners and a couple of servants pretending to dust furniture that didn’t need another cleaning. The last thing he needed was gossip about his marriage spreading through the clan.
“Fine,” she bit out, stepping out of the way. “But this changes nothin’.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He pushed open the chamber door and marched inside, watching from the corner of his eyes as she marched in behind him. The moment the door closed behind them, she whirled to face him, and he saw something in her expression that made his chest tighten.
Not anger because he could have handled anger. This was worse. This was disappointment, mixed with hurt that she was trying very hard to hide.
“Why?” she asked quietly. “Why is it so hard for ye to simply spend time with yer son? To let him ken that ye care about his happiness?”
“Because caring about someone’s happiness is a luxury I cannae afford.” He moved to the window, needing distance between them. “Every moment I spend worryin’ about whether Codie is happy is a moment I’m nae focused on keepin’ him alive.”
“That’s the biggest load of nonsense I’ve ever heard.”
He turned sharply. “Is it? Tell me, Iris, what happens when enemies threaten this clan? When raiders come over the hills lookin’ for weakness? Do ye think they’ll be impressed by how well-loved our future laird is?”
“I think they’ll be terrified of a man whose people would die for him because they ken he cares about them.” She stepped closer, her voice growing stronger. “Love isnae weakness, Elijah. It’s the strongest force in the world.”
“Love gets ye killed,” he said flatly. “It makes ye hesitate when ye should strike, makes ye merciful when ye should be ruthless. I’ve seen it happen.”
“When? When have ye seen love destroy someone?”
The question hung in the air between them, and suddenly, he was seventeen again, standing over his father’s grave with dry eyes while the clan mourned around him. He’d felt nothing that day. Not grief, not loss, just the cold weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders like a mantle he’d never asked for.
“Me faither,” he said quietly. “He was... he was a hard man. Never showed me affection, never told me he was proud, never let me see him as anythin’ but a laird. And when he died in that battle, I realized I’d spent me entire life tryin’ to earn the love of a man who dinnae ken how to give it.”
He turned from the window to face her, his expression raw with old pain. “I never had me maither to soften his edges. She died when I was just a bairn, so all I knew was his coldness, his distance. He taught me that carin’ makes ye weak, that showin’ emotion is dangerous for a leader.”
Understanding dawned in Iris’ eyes, soft and terrible. “Oh, Elijah.”
“Daenae,” he warned, seeing pity beginning to form in her expression. “I daenae want yer sympathy.”
“It’s nae sympathy. It’s understandin’.” She moved closer still, close enough that he could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes.
“It’s the same.”
“Is it? Because ye survived, dinnae ye? Ye became a leader, a protector.”
“What it gave me was a lesson about the price of carin’ too much.”
“And what about Margaret?” The question came out soft, almost gentle, but it hit him like a physical blow. “Was that about love too?”
