The next three days followed the same pattern. Elijah threw himself into work, avoided Iris whenever possible, and grew increasingly cold and distant. He told himself it was for the best. That maintaining his walls would make it easier when she eventually left.
But the walls he’d rebuilt so carefully weren’t keeping her out, they were suffocating him.
And Iris noticed. Of course, she noticed.
He saw it in the way she watched him across the dinner table, concern warring with hurt in her brown eyes. Heard it in her voice when she tried to engage him in conversation, and he shut her down with curt responses. Felt it in the growing distance between them, a chasm he was creating one cold word at a time.
This is what I’m good at. Pushin’ people away. Destroyin’ whatmatters.
On the fourth day, he was in his solar reviewing grain reports when a knock sounded at the door. Sharp, determined. Not a servant’s timid tap.
“Come in,” he said without looking up.
The door opened then closed with more force than necessary.
“We need to talk.”
Iris. Of course.
“I’m busy.” He kept his eyes on the parchment in front of him though the words had long since stopped making sense. “Whatever it is can wait.”
“Nay, it cannae.” Her footsteps approached his desk. “Elijah, look at me.”
“I said I’m busy.”
“And I said we need to talk. Now.”
The steel in her voice finally made him look up. She stood before his desk, still in her riding clothes, her hair slightly mussed from the wind. Her expression was a mixture of determination and barely controlled frustration.
Beautiful. Even angry, she was beautiful.
“I daenae have time for this.” He forced his gaze back to the parchment. “Was there somethin’ specific ye needed, or are ye just here to waste me time?”
He heard her sharp intake of breath, felt rather than saw her stiffen.
“What I need,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet, “is for me husband to explain why he’s been actin’ like a complete arse for the past four days.”
“Arse? Watch yer tongue, lass. Ye’re speakin’ to yer laird.”
“I’m speakin’ to me husband. In his study. In private.” She moved around the desk, forcing herself into his line of vision. “And I’m nae leavin’ until ye tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothin’ is wrong. Now, if ye’ll excuse me.”
“Nay. I willnae excuse ye.” She planted her hands on his desk, leaning forward until he had no choice but to meet her eyes. “Ye’ve been cold, distant, barely speakin’ to me or Codie. Ye leave rooms when I enter them. Ye avoid me at every turn. So, either tell me what I’ve done to offend ye, or stop actin’ like a petulant child.”
The words only managed to stoke the anger that had been festering for days into something hotter, more dangerous.
“I daenae appreciate bein’ questioned in me own castle.” He stood, using his height to loom over her. “Especially nae by a wife who seems to have forgotten her place.”
“Me place?” Her eyes flashed. “This is me castle too now, or have ye forgotten? As yer wife, I have every right to question ye when ye’re behavin’ like this.”
“Ye became me wife by simple coincidence. Because yer sister ran away, and ye were convenient.” The words came out cold, brutal. “So daenae let that give ye the misconception that ye can question me whenever ye please.”
He saw her flinch, saw the hurt flash across her face, hated himself for doing this to her, but he didn’t stop. The fear, the anger, the desperation, it all poured out in the worst possible way.
“I warned ye from the beginnin’ nae to expect love or even any affection from me. If ye’ve developed some foolish delusions about what this marriage is, then ye’re more naive than I thought.” He moved toward the door, needing distance from her before he said something even worse. He held it open. “Now if ye’ll excuse me, I have actual work to do. Ye should return to yer sister.”
“Elijah.”
