Chapter 9

For a blissful moment, Isobel was lost in the kiss, drowning in the strength and power of her new husband as his hands tightened around her waist. He pulled her toward him, taking her full weight in his arms. As he gently ground his hips against hers, he bent her backward, taking control of the kiss, a moan escaping his lips.

Suddenly, however, he broke away from her, lowering her to her feet and stepping back. His eyes were dark and wary as the wind whipped through the trees above their heads, the weather turning in an instant, black clouds visible in the distance.

Isobel could hear the heavy crashing of the waves on the shore below.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to steady her breathing after the abrupt end to their long, passionate kiss.

"We should return to the wedding party before we are missed," he said, his eyes fixed on the ground as he reached blindly for the horse's reins. "Come on now, Jock," he called to the horse, which was stomping its hooves as Alex yanked the bridle toward him.

Isobel pushed down her desires. She could see that Alex was acting oddly, and she did not wish to cause another disagreement between them. As Alex yanked on the reins for a third time, she stepped forward, smoothing down the front of her gown and approaching Jock.

He was a magnificent beast, with a white stripe down his nose and white spots on the right side of his rear flank. She stroked his nose and scratched his jaw as he finally quieted.

Alex huffed irritably and walked around him, mounting the stallion too quickly, startling him even further as Jock skipped backward with a whinny of protest.

"Be gentle with him," Isobel said, confused as to Alex's change of mood. She felt nerves erupt in her stomach.

Is he displeased with me?

Alex looked down at her, his dark green eyes reflecting the treetops behind him, his expression one of disdain and anger now, making her feel even more uneasy.

"Dinnae tell me how to calm a beast, lass," he snapped. "I may be a pirate, but I've kenned horses longer than ye."

With that, to Isobel's utter dismay, he flicked Jock's reins and set the horse to a trot, riding away from the cliffside and into the woods, leaving her alone as the first drops of rain began to pelt the land around her.

Isobel looked out at the sea, the waves making for a tumultuous companion as the wind picked up speed around her. Feeling unhappy and disquieted, she walked slowly to her mount, soothing the flighty mare with a single word, and swinging herself into the saddle.

Did he nae enjoy the kiss? Am I nae ladylike enough for him?

She kicked her heels into the horse's flanks and rode through the forest, listening as the waves pummeled the shore behind her, as though their intent was to grind away the very cliffs beneath her feet.

As the horse moved forward, she found herself amongst the trees, making her way through the heavy undergrowth. As she took deep breaths of the musky air amidst the branches, she felt a calm rush through her. She had always loved the forests on her lands. There was a quiet solitude in a woodland, a gentle stillness that she cherished above all else.

As she emerged from the treeline, she was surprised to find Alex waiting for her, his back to her as he stared at their castle in the distance. As he heard her approach, he turned his face toward her slightly, his expression brooding, his mouth turned downward into a scowl.

Something had severely disrupted his happy mood, and Isobel could not help but feel she was to blame. As she came level with him, he glanced at her, his jaw tense.

"Away, lass. We should return." His gaze went back to the wide landscape ahead of them.

He said nothing more as he steered his horse forward and broke into a full gallop, heading back to the flags and streaming ribbons that could still be seen in the distance.

Isobel followed at a slower pace, her anger rising at being treated so callously.

Is this how it will be? Am I to be shunned when he has nay good use for me?

Whatever hope Isobel clung to that Alex's mood might improve as they returned to Rothclyde Castle died quickly. As he had bid farewell to the remaining wedding guests, he had been courteous, if not cheerful, but the closer they got to the castle, the blacker his mood became.

Once they were in the center of the courtyard, Alex dismounted, his civil mask falling away, as though it had never been there.

Isobel guided her horse up behind him, and Gavin came forward, as though to assist her in dismounting. She was about to protest that she needed no such assistance when he simply took hold of the reins and gave her a nod of acknowledgment. She smiled as she jumped down—clearly Gavin had the measure of his master's new bride and knew she needed no man's help.

Alex was already striding ahead of her into the main part of the castle. She hurriedly followed, irritated beyond bearing at being forced to chase her husband, only hours after their wedding.

As she entered through the main doorway, she gazed up at the large window to her right. It was entirely devoid of glass and fully exposed to the elements. The smattering of rain they had encountered on the way back to the kirk had morphed into a wild storm, and now the rain was falling through the window in sheets, covering the floor with dark puddles even as she watched.

Alex was walking at such a pace ahead of her that she struggled to keep up with him, forced to break into a trot to match his speed. He pushed through a heavy oak door at the other end of the entrance hall, and almost slammed it in her face before he noticed she had followed him.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice low and accusatory, as though she had no right to be in his presence at that moment.

She scowled. "Four hours, and ye are tired of havin' a wife. Is that it?"

It was Alex's turn to glower at her, and he scoffed, looking down the long hall and away from her. "Am I nae allowed a moment's peace? I have been with ye all day. Do ye nae have wifely duties to perform? Perhaps ye should finish yer needlework by the fire and wait for yer Laird to join ye."

Isobel felt heat bloom across her cheeks as she looked up at him. His eyes did not meet hers, and she could not fathom what had prompted this change in his mood.

"If ye need yer wife," she replied, her voice cold as the grave, "ye can find her doin' her duty, M'Laird. Sharpening her dirk and arrows, should she need them."

She whirled away, the many layers of her gown rustling behind her as she stormed back in the direction she had come.

She had never felt fury like it. As a red rage washed over her, she could barely see where she was walking. She was halfway down an unfamiliar corridor before she realized she had stepped into a part of the castle that had no roof at all, and the driving rain had soaked through her wedding gown, darkening the bottom with a deep black stain.

She sighed, looking down at herself, taking in the intricate fabric and the beauty of the dress. It made her feel like a stranger in her own skin.

Was me wedding really only this morning? Some bride I am.

She looked back, knowing that he would not follow her. The castle felt gray and cold, the walls closing in on her as she imagined what her life with Alex Bain would be like. If he continued to treat her in this way, it would be no life at all.

She sniffed, setting her jaw, and hiking up her skirts, determined to find another way to her rooms. Her fingers gripped the sodden fabric, and she could feel the twining leaves that had been sewn into it beneath her palms.

Isobel Knox doesnae need a man. I have the woods and the wind for company, and they have been me companions far longer than any other.

She looked up at the stars. They were visible at intervals between the scudding clouds, like pinpricks in a huge black cloth above her head.

She walked slowly through the gloom of the corridor, toward a door that she thought must lead outside. The wood was still intact, and as she pushed it open, she found herself in an open courtyard covered with moss and weeds, bricks and mortar all around her. Ahead of her, however, some torches could be seen in the keep, and she recognized the way to her rooms.

Let him stew wherever he chose to be, then. She would show him what a wife's duties were.

* * *

Alex fell heavily back into a faded armchair before the fire, gripping the glass in his hand so tightly that it almost broke.

He stared into the fire, suppressing the urge to hurl his whisky into the flames.

Goddamn the woman. Could she nae give me three minutes to meself?

"Lovers' quarrel?"

He turned his head, seeing his man-at-arms standing in the doorway, observing him with a knowing expression.

"Away with ye," Alex grunted.

But Gavin took no heed, walking into the room and dragging an old bench up to the fire beside Alex. It barely looked strong enough to bear his weight.

He sat down, the wood creaking and groaning beneath him, but he said nothing more. He had always had a way about him, able to read a situation and bide his time before making any remarks. He did so now, sitting in silence for so long that it put Alex on edge.

"What?" Alex asked gruffly, kicking an old piece of timber at his feet.

He surmised it may have once belonged to the ornate fireplace in front of him, but time had taken its toll on this castle, slowly stripping away any beauty over the past years.

"Ye tell me. Ye're stewin' over somethin'," Gavin said.

Alex took a long draw from his glass. "What do ye ken about it? Ye took a wife in the last two days I dinnae ken about?"

Gavin scoffed. "I dinnae see how ye've managed to fall into a fray with her so soon. It's been hours, man."

"If ye ken what's good for ye, ye'll shut yer mouth."

"Och, aye? And what will ye do if I dinnae?"

Alex sprang from his chair, his glass tumbling to the floor and clinking forlornly against the stone beneath their feet, but it did not break. He wished that it would—he felt like destroying something.

Just as I've destroyed Isobel's life.

Gavin was on his feet, too. Alex was a good head taller than him, but Gavin was a formidable presence in any fight, almost as wide as he was tall.

Alex advanced on him, landing a punch on his jaw before the other man could prepare himself. But Gavin rallied quickly, driving his knee into Alex's torso.

Alex grunted as he staggered back, but his blood was up now, and he launched himself at his friend, landing another blow on his left eye, before receiving one to his own.

The two men faltered, stumbling away from each other. The howling wind blew a gale down the chimney and nearly doused the fire as a blast of freezing air hurtled into the room.

Alex grimaced, spitting blood onto the filthy floor, looking over at Gavin, who cracked his neck and rubbed his jaw before he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Feelin' better?"

Alex brushed himself down, wiping the blood from his mouth. "Ye're a bampot."

"Ye've been lookin' for a fight since we left Clan Clyde. Ye're a laird now, ye cannae walk into any random bar and start a fight anymore, can ye? I thought I might oblige."

Alex glanced at him, feeling the corner of his mouth curl into a small smile against his will.

"Call that a fight? A bairn has more strength in their fists." He stretched his arms behind his back, settling himself. "Besides, I reckon I won."

"If ye say so," Gavin grunted as he bent down to pick up Alex's discarded glass, the whisky in it all but gone. "Where's the bottle?"

Alex nodded toward the door to the kitchens. It would be some weeks before they had the appropriate equipment that a laird and lady would need. The kitchen had a functioning fire pit, but little else. But they had liquor, and that was all Alex required at that moment.

Gavin left the room, returning in a few moments with the bottle and another glass. He filled their glasses, and then they sat down, easing into their chairs with care. He swore colorfully as he ran a hand over the bruise forming over his eye.

"Ye had it comin'," Alex said quietly.

"What's the bother?" Gavin asked, looking at him intently. "And dinnae say it's yer bride. I dinnae believe she started this."

Alex sighed, swirling his whisky as the glass sparkled in the half-light.

"Ye were against me takin' her for a bride from the start," he pointed out reproachfully, as though it were Gavin's fault that he had Isobel for a wife.

Trapped. That's what she said to me. A prison of a marriage, in the ruins of a keep.

"Aye," Gavin replied. "Ye kenned that from the beginnin', but ye did it all the same. The Alex Bain I ken doesnae ask permission."

"That's nae what I'm doin'," Alex grunted.

"Is it nae? Ye took a wife. Plenty of men before ye will have done worse by a lass, ye're nae the first."

Alex didn't look at Gavin, his brooding gaze absorbed in the flames, feeling nausea roil in his belly at the thought that he had robbed Isobel of her choices. He glanced at the moldering ceiling above him, dark brown stains stretching over his head into the beams.

Somewhere in her room, Isobel was probably wondering why he had acted the way he had on the cliffs. She wouldn't understand, and why should she? It wasn't as though she knew anything of the life he had led.

Their kiss lingered in his mind like a shaft of sunlight, refusing to fade. He remembered how her mouth tasted, how her hands had moved over his shoulders as she succumbed to her desire. It had sent heat through his whole body that it was he who had caused her to react in such a way.

He shifted in his seat, taking another long gulp of the whisky, snorting loudly as Gavin refilled it.

"I'll have a thick head come mornin'," he muttered.

"No thicker than usual," his man-at-arms drawled as he pulled the bench further toward the fire. His gaze turned thoughtful as he glanced back at Alex. "I dinnae think many men could force Isobel Knox to do somethin' she dinnae want to do."

"Ken her well, do ye?"

"Will ye listen, ye stubborn arse?" Gavin's voice rang out loudly in the quiet room. "She chose this life, ye said it yerself. She'll live it, with or without her Laird beside her. She doesnae strike me as a woman who needs a husband, any more than ye need a wife."

Alex shook his head. "She said I trapped her," he confessed.

"Did ye nae?" Gavin raised an eyebrow. "Ye needed a wife, now ye have one. Whatever ye do from now on will be shaped by that. Ye cannae take it back. Ye are nay longer on the ship, Cap'n. Ye have to draw yer own course." He cocked his head as the wind howled above them. "Sails go where they're guided."

He downed his whisky in one go, clapped Alex on the shoulder, and then departed, leaving him to his thoughts.

Alex listened to the howling of the wind, wondering if Isobel was listening to it too.