Page 24 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

Ailis froze. So did he. For one suspended moment, the chickens vanished. The courtyard vanished. Malcolm’s poorly hidden laughter vanished. There was only Gordon’s hand at her waist, his body close behind hers, and the fierce, sudden awareness that he could have drawn her back fully against him with the smallest pull.

He did not. His fingers flexed once, though, then he released her.

Ailis stepped forward quickly, color climbing her throat before she could forbid it.

“I wasnae scared,” she said, clearing her throat. “I was merely taken aback.”

“Of course.”

She cleared her throat again. “What else do ye need me to do?”

“Once the hens are fed,” he said, “ye’ll help Beth count stores.”

Ailis’ smile faded. “Stores?”

“Grain, salt, fish, dried apples, candles, linen. Keep numbers.”

She stared at him. “Ye mean to make me count candles?”

“The Lady of the Keep must know what her household holds. Every single item.”

Her hands flailed in the air now as she released that exasperated breath. “Ye are a tyrant.”

“Aye,” he said simply.

Ailis looked at him for one long moment, scoffing as she realized he would not back down.

She finally smiled slowly, knowing what she must do.

Let him think he has won this mornin’. Let him drag her through chickens, stores, linens, and every dull duty in his grim castle.

She would make a mess of something sooner or later.

One so grand he would grow weary of her. Then he would send her away, and he would tell Rowan and Callan no alliance was worth her chaos.

Gordon told himself he had business in the solar the next morning.

There were letters spread before him after all. Three from the village, one from a neighboring laird, and another from Rowan that Gordon had opened and then regretted, for his brother had filled half the page with counsel Gordon had not asked for and the other half with mention of Sorcha’s delight over Ailis’ letters.

He had business, important business to attend to.

Yet the ink blurred whenever laughter rose from the garden. Ailis’ laughter came through the open window like sunlight through a chink in stone, bright enough to reach him even over the scratch of his quill and Marion’s quiet movements near the shelves.

The sound had no place in this keep. Not in his drawing room, not beneath his roof, not tangled with the voices of servants and bairns as if it had always belonged there.

Gordon dipped his quill again then did nothing with it.

The laughter came again, this time joined by a child’s shriek of delight.

What is she laughin’ at now? That was the only reason he rose. Curiosity, nothin’ more, he told himself as he crossed to the window and stood partly behind the heavy curtain like a man inspecting the weather.

Below, the little garden spread along the inner wall where Marion grew herbs, flowers, and vegetables in neat beds edged with stone.

The morning was clear, the sky washed pale blue above the keep, the grass still silvered in places with dew.

Ailis stood in the middle of the lawn with a scarf tied over her eyes.

Gordon stilled at the sight of her wide smile. It stretched across her face, making her breathtakingly beautiful; his chest ached just from looking at her.