Page 16 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

“Are ye settled?” he asked. The question sounded stiff. As if he had not wished to ask it but could not stop himself.

Ailis turned the cup between her fingers. “Adjustin’ to the scents of the kitchens,” she said lightly. “Positively enchantin’.”

Marion made a small choking sound that might have been amusement.

Gordon’s expression did not shift. He turned to his cup and lifted it. Before he drank, he said, “Ye ken, it was me chamber for many years.”

Ailis’s smile faltered. The words moved through her slowly, rearranging the insult she had been so certain he intended by giving her that chamber.

His chamber.

That small, low chamber beneath the proper wing. The one warmed by the kitchens and dressed with plain furniture. The one she had thought he had given her to humiliate her. It had been his?

Her gaze flicked to his face, checking to see if he meant those words.

Gordon took a sip of ale, watching her over the rim of his cup. His eyes were dark, steady, and unreadable. He lowered the cup.

“Welcome to me home,” he said.

Ailis did not answer at once. The words should not have unsettled her. Yet something in her chest gave a small, unwelcome twist. She imagined him younger, sleeping in that narrow room while grander chambers stood above.

Had he chosen the room or been placed there? Had he hated it?

Had he lain awake listening to kitchen sounds below, as she had done for an hour before supper, and felt forgotten?

Nay. She would not soften or allow her thoughts to wander about him. What use would that be?

She would be gone soon anyway, and none of it would matter. If he intended to unsettle her, he would simply have to try harder.

Ailis lifted her cup. “Then I shall do me utmost nay to ruin it.”

At that, something moved at the corner of his mouth.

Marion leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Gordon chose that chamber for ye specifically. It will suit ye better when we are done with it. I have already sent for fresh coverlets from the linen chest and more flowers if ye need them.”

Ailis turned to her, grateful for safer ground. “Ye are very kind, Marion.”

“Nay, I am practical. That old bed should have been carried out years ago. I told Gordon as much.”

Gordon reached for the bread. “More than once.”

“And ye ignored me,” she pointed out.

His stony expression did not soften as he answered again. “More than once.”

Ailis looked between them. There was no warmth in Gordon’s tone exactly, but there was familiarity buried deep beneath his solemn manner. Marion did not seem afraid of him. That alone made Ailis curious.

“Then perhaps,” Ailis said, breaking a piece of oatcake, “I have arrived as an answer to yer prayers.”

Marion’s lined face brightened. “Aye. At last, someone in this keep with sense.”

Gordon glanced at Ailis. “That remains to be seen.”

Ailis placed one hand over her heart. “How swiftly ye wound me, Me Laird.”

“Nay swiftly enough, I suspect,” he countered, making Ailis scoff.

There it was again.