Ye pushed too far, too fast, and now she’s pullin’ back, and the right thing, the only thing to do, is to give her room.
He knew that.
The fire crackled. Rain hit the window in uneven bursts. Somewhere inside the castle, he could hear the distant sound of Esther’s voice echoing down the corridor, saying something he couldn’t understand, followed by Ava’s laugh in response. It was low, warm, and way too audible from this distance, which meant he was listening for it, a fact he chose not to examine.
The trouble was that no clean line was available to him.
He’d tried.
He’d cataloged the reasons with the same careful thoroughness he used for military problems: she was his employee, the power dynamic between them was uneven, she had been hurt before, and she was there for Esther, not for him.
All of it true. All of it entirely reasonable. None of it doing anything useful when she was in the same room.
Three days of distance hadn’t helped.
If anything, it had made it worse, because now, instead of his desire for her, there was also the awareness of the absence, the space beside Esther at the dinner table that was technically occupied but felt withheld, and that was a more complicated problem than simple desire.
She’ll settle,give her room, and she’ll settle, and then ye can...
Can what, exactly? Have her?
He picked the report back up with the determination of a man who had made a decision.
He had nearly reached the end of the paragraph when the door swung open. He looked up, expecting Elliot with some new creative complaint about his sword training schedule.
It was Aldric, one of the senior council members, a cautious man in his sixties who had served Noah’s father before him and who wore the look of someone who had rehearsed what he was about to say.
Noah set the report down with a different quality of attention. “Aldric.”
“Me Laird.” The man crossed the room and placed a folder of documents on the desk with the purposefulness of someone laying out an argument in physical form. “I’ve brought the quarterly financial reports ye requested.”
Noah opened the folder and ran his eye over the figures.
Something in his chest eased, just fractionally.
The numbers were moving in the right direction. Finally, slowly, after three years of quietly dismantling the debts his father had accumulated with the casual disregard of a man who had never expected to be held accountable for them. The eastern trade routes were recovering. The grain stores were fuller than they had been in years.
“Much improved,” Noah said.
“Aye, me Laird. Considerably.” Aldric paused in the way of a man who had arrived at the part of the conversation he’d actually come for. “The council is pleased with the progress. And it has led us to a related discussion.”
Noah turned a page. “Oh?”
“The matter of succession.” Aldric’s voice was measured, professional, giving nothing away. “The clan’s financial recovery is significant, me Laird. The people are more stable, more confident. The council feels, and I convey this with the greatest respect, that now would be an opportune time to consider the question of marriage. An heir. To secure what’s been built.”
The room temperature dropped several degrees.
Noah looked up from the report with the slow, deliberate quality of a man choosing not to react quickly. “Is that what the council feels?”
Aldric held his ground, to his credit. “Ye’re thirty-two, me Laird. The clan is in recovery. A match with one of the neighbourin’ families would strengthen alliances.”
“I have an heir.” The words came out quiet and absolute.
“Esther is...” Aldric stopped to recalibrate. “The council has the greatest affection for Lady Esther. But she is a child, and a girl, and her parentage is nae good enough.”
“Enough.” The word wasn’t raised. It didn’t need to be. “I’ll say this once, Aldric, and I’d ask ye to carry it back to the council with accuracy. Me personal life is nae the council’s domain. Me marriage, or the absence of one, is nae a matter for committee discussion or collective opinion. I am the Laird of this clan. Imake these decisions.” He closed the folder with a quiet, final sound. “If this subject is raised again, by ye or by anyone else on that council, there will be consequences that I promise nay one will find pleasant. Are we clear?”
Aldric’s colour had shifted, but his back remained straight. “Aye, me Laird. Perfectly clear.”
