Another local,a wiry old man with a crooked back, shuffled forward. “Laird, our sheep were lost last week. We’ll need yer guidance to rebuild our stock.”
Jaxon leaned close,listening intently, then gave clear instructions, ensuring the man knew he would not face the troubles alone. Gracie marveled at the ease with which he balanced warmth, authority, and strategy.
Yet,in the corner of her eye, Mary flitted about, laughing with a few patrons and brushing her fingers flirtatiously along a mug. Gracie’s stomach twisted with an unfamiliar pang of jealousy, though she could not deny the pride swelling in her chest as she watched Jaxon manage every word, every promise, and every problem with calm command.
An hour later,Gracie watched from across the tavern as Jaxon moved gracefully through the room, commanding attention without seeming to notice it. Her eyes narrowed as he approached Mary and pulled her aside. She could not hear what they were saying, but the closeness of their bodies and the way he leaned in made her stomach twist. Fury bubbled inside her, hot and suffocating, and she pressed her lips together, refusing to let herself cry out.
How canhe do such a thing when I’m right here?
Gracie’s thoughts raced,a jumble of jealousy, confusion, and desire she refused to name. She watched as Jaxon whispered in Mary’s ear. Gracie's heart thumped painfully. She could feel every pulse of heat in her own body, though anger made her cheeks burn even hotter.
Jaxon straightenedand turned back toward the tavern, giving a nod and a smile to a few locals.
“Goodnight, folks,”he said firmly, his voice carrying authority and familiarity at once. He returned to the table, where Gracie sat stiffly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
His eyes met hers.“We shall retire upstairs,” he said calmly, as though nothing had happened to provoke her tumultuous emotions.
The innkeeper appearedat the moment, a burly man with a deep voice and a broad chest. “Me laird,” Wallace said, “as always ye have the best room. I hope it provides ye and yer new bride comfort on this night.”
Jaxon inclined his head,muttering a quiet, “Thank ye, Wallace,” and followed him toward the stairs.
Wallace stoppedbefore the door at the top of the narrow staircase and produced a large key from his belt. “I shall have afine supper brought up to ye and ken that yer men are bein’ fed as well,” he said, handing Jaxon the key.
Jaxon nodded once,thanked him again, and watched the innkeeper leave, the soft click of the door echoing down the hall. Gracie lingered by the door, cheeks flushed, not daring to speak as the silence of anticipation filled the space.
Once inside,Gracie sank into the edge of the bed, crossing her arms tightly. The room was cozy, the hearth casting a warm glow across the walls. The bed was modest, smaller than the one she had known at home, but inviting, the linens clean and neatly folded. Across from it, a sturdy table held two chairs, and twin windows framed the fading light of evening, showing hills veiled in the night mist.
Jaxon movedto stand near the hearth, his tall form silhouetted against the flickering flames.
“It’s a fine room,is it nae, lass?” he asked, voice calm, betraying none of the tension Gracie felt.
She swallowedhard and looked down at her hands, feeling both small and flustered. “Aye,” she said softly, “it’s fine enough.”
He raiseda brow and stepped closer, heat radiating from him. “Ye’ve nae said much,” he murmured, eyes scanning her face.
Gracie’s fingersfidgeted nervously in her lap; she wished she could vanish, shrink away, but she stayed rooted in place. “I’m… tired,” she muttered, though the truth was she was far from it.
His hand liftedto brush a stray lock of hair from her face, and Gracie’s pulse quickened, nerves tingling from the simple touch. She blinked rapidly, forcing herself to look away, but he caught her gaze anyway, holding it in that magnetic, infuriating way.
Her thoughts swirledwith images of Mary, the whispered words, the proximity that set her chest aflame.
How couldhe act so familiar with her while I was there, feelin’ small and lackin’?
And yet…the heat of desire, inexplicable and undeniable, coursed through her at his nearness. She clenched her fists lightly, trying to gather composure, though every instinct longed to flee and to stay at once.
Jaxon shifted,the firelight glinting on his strong features, and he sighed softly.
“Gracie,”he said, voice low and intimate, “I meant nay insult to ye, nor to yer pride.”
Her chest tightened;the flutter of warmth inside her contradicted her jealousy. He continued, “Mary is but a servin’ wench; ye are me wife, and ye will ken it soon enough.”
Gracie pressedher hands together in her lap, trying to calm the erratic beat of her heart. Every glance at Jaxon reminded her of the strength in his shoulders, the ease with which he moved, and the warmth radiating from him. The night stretched long before them, golden light from the hearth painting shadows across the cozy chamber, leaving them suspended between tension, desire, and unspoken promise.
17
Gracie watched Jaxon. He looked out the window at the stables below and said, “The guards are on watch.”
Gracie didn’t answer.She only watched him, her stomach twisting, her chest tight. The sight of him so calm, so authoritative, made her feel small and yet frustrated all at once.
