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Ainsley hurried down the staircase from the nursery floor and turned into the east wing. With the exception of the earl and countess, the family was situated in this wing of Kinglas, although most of the bedrooms were currently deserted. Braden’s room, next to Royal’s, had been hastily converted into a bedroom for Ainsley. Since Braden spent most of his time at university in Edinburgh, that arrangement made the most sense.
Or it would have made sense, if she and Royal enjoyed a conventional marriage. As it was, having her husband so close was more than enough to keep her awake at nights. She didn’t know what ruffled her more—her anxiety over conjugal relations or the almost overwhelming desire to initiate such relations. The confusing mix of emotions had obviously turned her into a melodramatic ninny, so she could hardly blame her husband for finally snapping.
Time to make it up to him, my girl.
Ainsley almost skidded to a halt when she saw her nemesis parked in a straight-backed chair outside of Royal’s bedroom, one of his scruffy dogs stretched out at his feet.
Hell and damnation.
She hadn’t seen Angus since she and Royal returned to Kinglas late this afternoon. The old curmudgeon had pitched a fit when he laid eyes on his grandson. The castle’s redoubtable housekeeper, thank God, had intervened with her usual brusque efficiency, but it had been quite the chore getting Royal up to his bedroom.
By the time Royal, with the help of a brawny footman, finally staggered upstairs to his bed, he looked close to collapse. Ainsley and Angus had hovered about him like a pair of old biddies until Mrs. Taffy had finally ordered them from the room.
She and Angus had parted ways in the hall with a silent understanding to avoid each other whenever possible. So far, she’d managed that by staying with Tira and having her dinner sent up to the nursery. Unfortunately, her luck had finally run out.
Squaring her shoulders, Ainsley marched down to confront the results of her bad decisions.
The truth was it was time to stop acting like a spoiled child, pitching Royal into the middle of one conflict after another. Besides, if she kept forcing him to choose between her and various members of his family, he might someday pick them over her. And the idea of losing her husband’s regard was too painful to bear.
You love him, you jinglebrains, so start acting like you do.
Staggered by the simple clarity of the revelation, she almost tripped over her own feet.
ShelovedRoyal. It wasn’t just the gratitude, admiration, and affection she’d felt for him in the past. She loved him the way a woman loved a man, with all the messy, glorious bits that went along with it. It had taken her much too long to finally realize how lucky she was that she did.
After gloomily regarding his disgusting but thankfully unlit pipe, Angus glanced up with a scowl. “Yer lookin’ buffled-headedSassenach. What’s amiss?”
She stopped in front of him, crossing her arms. “You mean besides the fact that your grandson took a terrible fall, and that you and I are the stubborn donkeys who caused it to happen?”
He regarded her modest peace offering with suspicion. Even the dog—probably Tina, although they all looked alike—seemed suspicious, warily sniffing the toe of her shoe before resuming a slumberous pose.
The old man’s scowl became slightly less wrinkly and he gave her a nod. “Aye, besides that. Problems with the wee lassie, mayhap?”
“Believe it or not, Tira let me rock her to sleep tonight. She went down with nary a peep.”
“Likely worn out by all the commotion today. Poor bairn was probably too tired to kick up a fuss, even with ye.”
Ainsley counted to five before she answered. “No doubt.”
Surprisingly, Angus flashed her a grin. “Nae, I wasna tryin’ to insult ye. But ye must admit the two of ye have had a rocky start.”
She settled into the scroll-backed antique chair on the opposite side of the hall, wincing at the hardness of the seat. Much of the furniture at Kinglas was ancient and uncomfortable. She’d come to the conclusion that romantic old castles were generally more appealing in fairy tales than in real life.
“I’m feeling quite confident that the situation will be much improved from now on,” she replied in a bracing tone.
Angus looked dubious.
“Is the surgeon still with Royal?” she asked, glancing at the bedroom door.
“Gone well-nigh a half hour. Taffy and Brody are applyin’ ointment to the bruisin’ and gettin’ the lad set up for a wee rest. That old sawbones tried to dose him with laudanum, but Royal wouldna take it. He hates it, ye ken. Says it makes him feel out of his head.”
“Oh, blast. I wanted to see Mr. Dillon before he left. What did he say? Does . . . does he think there will be any permanent injury?”
Angus waved his pipe dismissively. “His hip took most of the fall, and he’s got a crackin’ bruise or two but no broken bones. Strained his muscles, but Brody’s liniment will set that to right.”
Deeply relieved, Ainsley pressed a hand to her lips for a moment. “Thank God. When I saw him go flying like that—”
She couldn’t continue.
