Chapter 6

"Are ye considerin' fittin' glass in any of the windows before the winter, M'Laird? The gale blows more fiercely inside than outside."

Alex had only just ridden into the courtyard of the castle before he heard the words floating across the cobblestones toward him.

Isobel was making her way through the many workmen between them with a grim expression, her hair tied away from her face, her eyes flashing at him as she advanced.

He glanced about him at the state of things and had to admit that her remarks were well-warranted. He had not realized how dilapidated the castle had become.

"Did ye nae say ye wished to reside in the treetops, M'Lady?" he asked as he dismounted. "I thought ye would welcome the fresh air."

He suppressed a smile, feeling a tingle in his chest as she scoffed in exasperation. Her skin was glowing in the sunlight, her red lips pouting beautifully—she looked every bit the lady of the land.

Alex found his mind wandering to his late mother as he stood in the courtyard she had once called home. He wondered what she might have thought of his new bride.

He felt a stab of pain deep in his chest that he would never know. Standing in a place so linked to his past, he felt the loss of his family more acutely than ever before.

"Would ye like to see the list I have written up of all the repairs that are needed?" Isobel asked, pulling him out of his melancholy.

She stood before him with her hands on her hips, entirely dwarfed by her surroundings and more formidable than any force he could imagine.

"I would much rather ye show me. If ye willnae get lost."

She frowned at him, looking as though she wanted to stomp her foot in frustration. She turned around without another word, leading him across the courtyard and through a low door that opened into a crumbling outer corridor that had once led down to the cellar.

"Flooded," Isobel said pointedly, indicating a staircase going down into the gloom below them. "Haunted too, most likely. I shall happily swim through it to dispel the ghosts, but the standin' water will need seein' to. I've been told it is recent, from the rains, and will need to be drained."

Alex was going to ask a question but did not have time to reply as she barreled on, not giving him a moment to gather his thoughts. She continued across broken slabs and through an archway, her skirts disturbing the dust and gravel as she went.

"These flagstones have already injured two men, and me sisters have nearly broken their legs tryin' to get to their rooms."

Alex looked down at the flagstones beneath his feet. Only one seemed to be flat against the earth. The others were stacked and chipped, lying higgledy-piggledy along the full length of the corridor.

He sighed, feeling overwhelmed already at the amount of work that would be needed to get the castle up to the mark. He looked up at the broken roof above them and winced at the large hole in it, quite open to the sky.

He looked back at his bride, and his eyes caught on something behind her. He had never been so grateful for a distraction.

"And what is that in aid of?" he asked, indicating the archway ahead of them that led into the rear of the keep, where several targets had been set up in some kind of makeshift arena.

To his delight, Isobel's cheeks flushed when she turned to look at what he was referring to. She gathered herself quickly, but her embarrassment was clear.

"It was a bit of fun," she replied defensively. "I had been travelin' for hours, and I wanted to do somethin' practical."

Alex walked past her, under the arch, and over the tufts of grass and ivy scattered across the floor. The targets had been set up in a small square open to the sky, and a few arrows were still littering the ground.

"Och, aye," he said. "Are ye tryin' to attract another husband ye havenae told me of?" he asked. "Perhaps ye have yer sights set on one of the guards in the keep?"

He had meant it in jest, but he felt irritation rise in his chest at the thought. He stopped, looking back at Isobel in consternation. He was unaccustomed to feeling possessive, but right at that moment, the idea of a young, handsome guard winning his future bride's attention made him want to hold her close to his chest and never allow her to look at another man again.

He shook himself to dispel the strange feeling and frowned down at her as she shook her head at him.

"I have me hands full with me future groom, thank ye, M'Laird. And I was merely showin' the guards how to shoot straight," she retorted, sticking her chin out defiantly and looking up at him with contempt.

Alex surveyed the discarded arrows and bows that had been left on the floor and picked one up.

"Maybe I can finally help ye with yer form," he mused as he tested the tension of the bow. He glanced at her, noting her withering look.

"What was it, M'Laird? Me legs arenae far enough apart, was that it?"

"Dinnae forget yer shoulders should be more relaxed when ye shoot," he added helpfully, amused by her fury. He hadn't enjoyed himself so much in a long time.

Isobel pushed past him, grabbing a bow from the floor. She placed a few arrows beneath her arm and glowered at him as she walked to stand at the edge of the square, facing the target.

"Ye should get out of the way if ye dinnae wish to get an arrow in yer leg."

"Me leg? Are ye aimin' at the target or the floor?"

She almost growled at him, notching the arrow and pointing it at him without delay. He swiftly moved aside and stood by the wall, watching her with that same foreign feeling of amusement. He did enjoy riling her up.

"I'll show ye good form," she muttered under her breath as she loosed two arrows within ten seconds of each other, hitting the bullseye each time and turning to him with a satisfied expression.

He unfolded himself from his position and approached her, noting the way her boldness dissipated a little as he towered above her. He waited until she met his gaze.

"Again," he said softly, watching her eyes widen at the obvious command in his voice.

He thought she might refuse at first, but after a moment's hesitation, she selected another arrow and turned to face the target once more.

"I am meant to be showin' ye the castle," she muttered as she took her position, the bow raised in front of her.

"Aye," he replied, looking over her figure a little longer than was necessary. "We'll get to that."

He placed himself behind her as she straightened her back, her elbow pulling the bow back to her right ear, her fingers poised on the string.

"I remember yer words at the tournament," Alex said softly, "and I dinnae wish for ye to cut off me hand. So, I am askin' ye if I have yer permission to touch ye, just a little."

Her gaze flicked back to him, her eyebrows raised, but she gave a clipped nod in response.

"I willnae have ye beg just yet," he added.

"Ye'll be waitin' a long time for that."

Alex slowly placed his calf against hers, rubbing against her so that her stance widened a fraction. He was gratified to hear the hitch in her breath as he did so.

"Now, lass." He placed his hands gently on her shoulders and felt her shudder beneath them. "A little lower."

She tensed as he pushed down, but eventually, they sank an inch lower, and he felt her muscles relax beneath his fingers.

"There," he said, with some satisfaction. "Try again."

He watched her throat as she swallowed convulsively at the instruction, but she aimed and let the arrow fly all the same. It landed in between the two she had already shot, a perfect center.

She lowered the bow and looked back at him. Her face was upturned toward him, those berry lips slightly parted, her eyes wide and questioning. It would take so little to bend down and claim her mouth.

"Let's see ye try, then," she returned boldly.

She moved away as Alex stepped up to the mark. The bow he had chosen was too small for him, and he could hear it creaking as he pulled it back. He looked carefully at the target, intending to fire an arrow right through the center of hers, as he had done before.

As he was about to loose it, however, he felt fingers brush lightly against his lower back. His léine had ridden up, and for a splintered second, her skin touched his own. Losing all concentration, he released the bowstring without thought, the arrow flying wildly off course, plunging deep into the tuft of grass to the right of the target.

He frowned angrily as he heard a quiet ‘tsk' from behind him and turned to see Isobel shaking her head.

"Maybe it is ye who are aimin' at the ground." She looked up at him with a smug expression and then threw her bow onto the discarded pile at their feet as she moved away from him. "Are ye ready to see the other repairs? I believe ye have shown me everythin' I needed to see for today."

She sauntered away before he could reply.

Alex lowered his bow, feeling the tingling trace of her fingers on his skin. He cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to dispel the fog that her mere touch had triggered within him.

* * *

"Good mornin', M'Laird. I trust ye slept well."

Alex looked back to see Lionel coming up behind him.

After Isobel had finished her teasing, they had examined the remaining requirements for the castle repairs. The list of repairs was long, though Isobel had seemed to enjoy the wing her chambers were located in. She had even called the way nature interfered with it "beautiful." It was the best he could get out of her, but he was glad she could grow comfortable in her new home, eventually.

Still, he felt exhausted at the prospect of all he had to get done in such a small amount of time. However, he took solace in the fact that at least he had men he could trust to make some decisions for him.

He had been strolling through the villages, observing his people, gratified by the progress as he watched his orders being carried out.

Everyone was on the move, baskets and carts rolling past at every turn.

As Lionel approached, Alex immediately slowed his pace. The old man was half his height and stooped forward at such an angle that it made Alex's back ache just to look at him.

Lionel came alongside, and they nodded at one another in greeting. As they did so, Gavin appeared at Alex's shoulder, a hand on his sword, watching Lionel suspiciously. Alex gave his man-at-arms a weary look—Gavin was more worried about Alex's safety than Alex himself.

"What news, Lionel?" Alex asked, eager to know what steps in his plans had already been set in motion.

"Word has been sent to all the men who once made up yer crew, M'Laird," Lionel said carefully.

The man was a master of diplomacy. Alex had never heard him utter a phrase that had not been carefully crafted.

"Many were keen to move to their new lands. However, some questioned the need to do so now."

"Because I tell them to," Alex growled. "That is all they need to ken."

"Of course, M'Laird. Of course." Lionel was shuffling along so slowly that Alex had reduced his usual brisk pace to a stroll. "Many of the maids and servants are making their way to the castle as we speak. Several trunks have been sent ahead of ye."

Alex nodded, pleased that his orders were being followed as he had expected.

When he had first arrived and taken ownership of this place, he had wondered whether anyone would respect his authority, but it seemed, even in death, his father's bloodline carried weight.

"There was just one trunk of clothing for yerself, M'Laird." Lionel hesitated. "I wished to confirm that was correct."

Alex cleared his throat. So many lairds in the Highlands would have hundreds of items of clothing—dozens of léines and tartan trews to be lugged from pillar to post as their needs dictated.

He had barely any clothing to speak of, having lived a minimalistic life onboard his ships, with barely a single shelf to store his meager belongings.

He supposed, as Laird, he should learn to dress the part, but the idea grated on him. If he could have walked around shirtless from dawn until dusk, he would have done so.

"Aye. ‘Tis all I'll need."

Likely Isobel would have multiple dresses in every color imaginable. He felt a heat stir deep within him, thinking of how he would have the pleasure of peeling them off her—at least after she begged him to, that is.

In just a few more hours, she will be me wife. Isnae that a strange truth to acknowledge?

"Very good, M'Laird," Lionel replied.

If he thought it odd that his laird had three léines to his name, he said nothing more about it.

"And what about me bride? How has the news been taken?"

"Well, from what I hear, the Knox family is respected among these parts. Yer people are pleased to see ye married." Lionel glanced at him quickly. "Perhaps ye were right, M'Laird. Kennin' ye have a new bride may lead to yer people seein' a softer side to ye. They may even begin to trust ye over time, just as ye said."

Alex looked back at him, taking in the mischievous glint in the old man's eyes. He played the part well, but there was a sharp mind in that old head.

"Many are pleased there will be a new leader of Clan Clyde," Lionel continued. "The previous laird was a blaggard, overturned by Laird MacRoss. The match, and the subsequent merging of the clans, has broadly been well received."

"What do ye mean, their laird was a blaggard?" Alex asked, his heartbeat quickening.

"Geoffrey was a harsh master, and he treated his people, and all four of the Knox sisters, very badly indeed. Despite the disarray that has been left after his death, many are happy that Clan Clyde will be joining ours."

Alex was desperate to hear more. Gavin had told him only a little of the history surrounding Clan Clyde, but his man-at-arms had been stingy with the details. Alex didn't like the idea that Isobel had lived under the thumb of a bad man.

She deserves to be free, as wild as the wind.

As they walked, his eyes landed on Rory in the distance, and he approached him. He was seated outside a small cottage, weaving a wicker basket, yet his eyes were watching two children play in the street. His fingers moved dexterously over the material in his hands like water. It was impressive to watch.

"Rory," Alex called. "Ready for yer journey?"

Rory looked up, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, showing his sparse teeth. He put down the basket he was weaving and rose to his feet to shake Alex's hand.

He was clearly waiting for the carts to arrive to take him to Clan Clyde. He had a single bag at his feet and a cloak draped over it.

"Ready when ye are, M'Laird." He stepped back, glancing at Lionel uneasily. "What needs to be done in Clan Clyde when I arrive? Give me a task, and I shall see it completed."

Alex nodded approvingly. "Ye always were good at chivvying people along. If anyone is reluctant to make the journey, explain to them that the place I have chosen is a fertile valley around a deep lagoon. They will have everythin' they could ever need at their fingertips."

"Save the wind and the sea air, aye?" Rory added, clapping Alex on the shoulder, and picking up his bag as the rolling of a cart could be heard in the distance. "I'll make sure the lads are on their way before sundown."

"Thank ye, Rory," Alex said, feeling sorry that he could not speak to every member of the crew directly.

He was not used to leaving his orders up to others, and he felt sad that he had been unable to explain their circumstances more clearly to men whom he had sailed with for so many years.

Rory gave him a nod and hefted his bag over his shoulder. As he did so, Alex's gaze shifted to the vivid burns across his right forearm.

Many years before, Rory had pulled Alex from a fire in the hold. A candle had been unwisely placed near a bundle of tarred rope—without Rory's swift actions, Rothach would have no laird, and he would have had no ship, let alone a crew.

Alex watched until Rory was out of sight, hearing his bellowing voice ordering those around him to load up the carts and get moving. He was lucky to have him on his side.

"Is everything prepared for the wedding?" Lionel asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"From what I hear, her sisters have arrived," Gavin piped up, giving a gentle huff of laughter.

Alex fixed him with a glare. "Aye. They have. I am glad me bride is with her family. They'll see to the arrangements, I am sure," he replied defiantly.

Gavin's smug expression was not helping Alex's mood.

They walked a little further for a time, speaking of how the arrangements for the new castle were progressing and discussing how Alex intended to lead his people alongside his new bride from their new seat.

As Lionel took his leave, Alex dismissed Gavin and walked further through the houses and up a hill behind the ruins of his castle. From this new vantage point, he was able to see where Clan Clyde met Clan Rothach.

He stared at the spot for many minutes, unable to reconcile what would take place on the morrow with his feeling of melancholy. Isobel would make a good wife for him, and yet he was filled with uncertainty.

His eyes wandered to the borders of the forest, the twisted husk of a dead oak tree rising above the canopy like a beacon. He knew that tree well, he had seen it throughout his youth.

His father had been a brutal man, hard and unfeeling with both of his children. Alex's older brother had often taken the brunt of his wrath when he was around to protect him, but the former Laird Rothach had reserved a special level of hate for his youngest son.

"Kill it, boy."

Alex closed his eyes, his mind taking him back once again to that awful afternoon.

They had stood for hours, waiting in the dewy darkness, listening hard to find anything that his father could kill. Finally, they had heard movement in the undergrowth, and his father had wrenched the rabbit from the earth, its tiny hind legs kicking helplessly in his grip.

Alex could not have killed the wee thing, not even if his own life had depended on it. His father had railed at him, furious and bitter, his face almost purple with rage as he told him how weak he was.

Despite his refusal to hurt the rabbit, Alex had not been able to save its life. His father had slit its throat, forcing him to watch, teaching him a valuable lesson—there was little mercy to be found in this world.

"Am I a man now?" he asked softly into the wind. "Have I made ye proud, Faither?"

He shook the thought away. He did not need his father's approval to live the life he must. He would carve out his own path. If marriage to a good woman would be the beginning of it, then so be it.

He thought of Isobel's sharp features, her intelligent eyes, and the fierce loyalty she had for her people. He had never known a woman like her.

If he had any chance of winning her respect, then he would have to become the laird no one believed he could be. Honest, true, and dedicated to his lands and his people.

He looked out at the undulating hills of Clan Clyde, at the waterfalls he could see tumbling down into the glens on the edge of the territory. It was a beautiful spot, and he intended to make his people happy here—giving them stability and a place that could be called home, not just for them but for him as well.

He had been drifting for too long. Perhaps it was time for the land to come to meet him and for him to finally leave the accursed sea behind.

This marriage could not come soon enough.