But before he could say another word, Camron had raised his sword and brought it down with a crash. Archie only just managed to lift his in time to deflect it, and he let out a chuckle once he had managed to ground himself once again from the surprise.
“Ah, I see that marriage has no’ dulled yer instincts, my Laird.”
Camron lunged at him again, and this time Archie deflected with ease, casting the blow to the side before attempting one of his own. Camron ducked to the left, leaving Archie’s blade to dip uselessly into the ground, before he kicked the other man’s legs out from under him and sent him falling to his knees.
By the time he had rounded on him once more, Archie was up, dusting the dirt from his trousers. Much to Camron’s annoyance, he hardly looked thrown by the attack at all andlifted his sword to once again assume the training position; one shoulder back, the other thrust forward, feet planted firmly to ensure that Camron could not knock him over again.
The two paced around each other, their footsteps in tandem, and Camron flicked his gaze across Archie’s stance to find some weakness that he could exploit.
“Is this for show, my Laird?” Archie teased, though there was an edge to his voice that told Camron this was more than just cheerful joshing. “Are ye afraid of what the others might think if they saw me and yer wife together?”
“Careful how ye speak of her, Archie. Blood only buys so much mercy,” Camron growled, unable to keep his frustration in check. He lunged, a flash of rage obscuring his vision, and Archie dodged with ease, sliding his body out of the blade’s way so that it swept through open air.
“Or is it perhaps that ye’re worried she prefers my company to yers?” he continued, flicking his tongue over his lips lasciviously.
Camron clenched the blade in his hand so tightly he was sure that the handle would leave an imprint on his palm. He dived at Archie once more, his body slipping into a practiced fight routine that even his white-hot anger would not let him forget.
Their swords came together over and over again, the sound of the metal clashing ringing out across the courtyard—a few people had gathered to watch them battle one another, but Camron could pay them no attention. His vision had narrowed to the sight of his cousin standing before him, the impossibly smug expression on his face as he knew that he had managed to get under Camron’s skin.
Camron finally knocked his sword aside, sending it crashing to the earth below, and brought the tip of his blade to his cousin’s throat. For the barest moment, he imagined running him through with it, right then and there, putting a stop to all thenonsense he had been spouting about Isla once and for all; but, drawing back, he gathered himself, reminding himself of what it would have looked like to anyone else.
It would have looked like Archie was right. And he could not stand that, not for a moment. Every strike had been fueled by a raging jealousy and the nagging concern that Isla might never forgive him for the way he had claimed her. His wife would never look at him as anything other than a cruel invading force, rather than the partner he longed for.
“Careful, Camron,” Archie taunted as he rose to his feet, dusting himself off, seemingly unbothered by the fact he had just been roundly beaten. “A man desperate for an heir makes reckless choices…”
“She’s my wife, ye best remember that, Archie.”
Camron’s jaw tightened, another flash of fury crossing his face, he wanted to say more, to threaten his cousin, to scare him enough to never look at her again. But instead he turned his back on Archie and stormed towards the Keep before he could try and coax any more of a reaction out of him. He was distantly aware of those gathered to see what all the fuss was about, but he paid them not an ounce of mind.
“Camron!”
Just then, Isla’s voice cut through the rush in his head, and he snapped his gaze up to meet her, his fury blazing in her direction before he could stop it. She lurched back, as though fearful of him all of a sudden. Perhaps she was right to be. She had no idea what he was capable of. Desire, rage, and a crushing sense of obsession weighed down on top of him for a moment as he stared at her.
What could he say to her? Without another word, he brushed past her and into the Keep. It seems that he had made a habit of leaving the things that tormented him behind in fear of exposing himself.
He needed her, and it was more than just for the birth of an heir. No, it was because he could not stop wanting her—and he knew that wanting left him vulnerable. Vulnerability was hardly a positive thing for a Laird like him. And he could only imagine that a woman like Isla would be the first to exploit it.
Chapter Nine
Isla reachedthe top of the stairs, letting her skirts drop back over her ankles. It felt as though she had been trying to find him for hours, scouting out Camron in every corner of this place, to little end.
Ever since she had witnessed the fight in the courtyard, she had known something was wrong with him, whether he was willing to admit it or not. It might have been easy for him to convince himself that this was just how a Laird acted, keeping his subjects in line, making sure no one dared step out and cause him trouble. And it was undeniable that he had some impressive skills with a sword. But why did he seem so determined to turn them on Archie? And why had the look in his eyes spoken to a rage darker than anything she had seen from him before?
Finally, she noticed firelight spilling from a half-open door at the end of the corridor, and she made her way towards it. His study.
That must have been where he was hiding after the events of the day, though she hesitated before she stepped inside. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with him, not after what she had seen. Would she be putting herself in impossible danger letting a man like Camron lay eyes on her once more?
She brushed it aside as she stepped over the threshold. This was her husband, was it not? She was entirely within her rights to see him, to speak with him, to demand an explanation as to why he had acted the way he had out there.
Inside, the fireplace cast long shadows against the walls, and the sharp scent of ale hung in the air. Camron was sitting with his back to the door, facing the flames. She could make out the darkness cast across half of his face, and, as she approached, he lifted his cup to his lips, not bothering to turn and acknowledge her.
“Camron,” she demanded, planting her hands on her hips and glaring down at him. He took a long sip before he raised his gaze to meet hers.
“Aye?” he muttered.
The casual tone in his voice only served to irritate her further. How could he speak in such tones when he knew what he had done? She had tried to catch him before he had made his way back into the Keep after that fearsome fight with Archie, but he had practically brushed her off, not so much as acknowledging her presence there at all. She had tried her best not to let it get under her skin, but she could not help but feel stung by it. Was there any part of her that her husband could stand, or was he just putting up with what he had to in order to get an heir out of her?
“What on earth was all that today?” she retorted, raising her eyebrows at him pointedly.
