Gracie flushed. “I only asked,”she said. “They wished to help.”
Jaxon glanced at Connor,then back to his wife.
“Ye have donewhat many Lairds fail to do,” he said quietly. “Ye made them feel part of the savin’.” His tone softened. “This will mean more to Glenmoor than any decree.”
“I only thoughtof bairns with cold hands,” she murmured. “I ken how cruel winter can be.”
Jaxon feltsomething stir in his chest, a warmth not born of lust. He straightened, his voice firm. “These will go with us,” he declared.
“Ye will ridewith me at the front. Let them see their Lady brings more than words.”
She hesitated.“What if I fail them?” she asked. “What if I say the wrong thing?”
Jaxon stepped closer,lowering his voice. “Then ye will speak from the heart, and that will be enough.” He paused. “It has been so far.”
Gracie swallowed,then lifted her chin. “Very well,” she said. “I will try.”
Jaxon allowed himself a small smile.“That is all any of us can do.” He signaled to the guards, and the stables filled with motion once more.
As the cartsbegan to roll, Jaxon cast one last glance at the wool and blankets. For the first time, he saw not merely supplies, but proof that his bride understood his people. It eased a weight he had carried alone for years. And in that moment, he knew that Glenmoor would not meet a laird alone, but a laird and his lady together.
Jaxon turnedto Connor and said, “There’s a change of plans, I need ye to prepare firewood as well and see it sent on to Glenmoor. We will ride ahead of ye with the guards.”
Connor blinked,then nodded at once. “Aye, me laird, I will see it done,” he replied, already striding off to bark orders.
Jaxon watched him go,then turned back to Gracie.
“It is time,”he said.
He movedto her side and set his hands at her waist to lift her to the saddle. The warmth of her beneath his palms stirred him in a way he did not welcome in such a public place, yet he could not deny it. Her form was soft where his was hard, generous where his was lean, and the contrast set his blood to humming. He reminded himself that she was more than a body, that her mind and heart had impressed him far more than her curves, yet still the heat rose unbidden.
Gracie settledin the saddle and smiled down at him. “Thank ye, Jaxon,” she said, steadying herself. “I ken horses well enough, but I daenae ken yer stable’s ways yet.”
He nodded. “Ye will,”he said. “Everythin’ here will be yers to ken in time.”
He swungup onto his own horse, the guards forming around them as the carts creaked forward.
They rodefrom the gates of Castle McMillan into rolling hills brushed with morning light. Mist clung to the low ground, silvering the heather and softening the edges of stone walls.
Jaxon pointed with his chin.“That ridge there,” he said, “is where I learned to ride at a young age.”
Gracie followed his gaze,her eyes bright. “It is bonnie,” she murmured. “I would like to see it close one day.”
“Aye, I will take ye,”he said. “Beyond it lies a loch where the trout run thick in summer.”
She laughed softly.“Ye speak as though ye are showin’ me secrets.”
He glanced at her.“They are secrets,” he replied, “and I share them because ye are me wife. These are yer lands now.”
He sawher cheeks warmed at that, and she looked ahead, smiling.
The carts rumbled behind them,laden with grain, water casks, wool. Guards rode in quiet formation.
Gracie said,“I hope it is enough.”
Jaxon answered, “It will be a beginnin’,and beginnings matter.”
She nodded,comforted.
