Page 14 of Much Ado About a Scot

He skimmed past Isobel and her crossbow to the bedchamber door. He opened it with his foot to see a neatly stacked pile of kindling and wood next to the hearth as she’d claimed. “I didn’t see it there. It was dark,” he said, hoping she believed him.

She lowered the weapon with a sigh of exasperation.

“Are you always this vigilant during the night?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve caught someone intruding where they should not.”

Xander frowned, but refrained from asking more as he studied the woman before him. The light from the dying fire played off the gentle contours of her face and highlighted her barely parted lips. “I apologize if I woke you.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor. “Now that you have the resources, I trust you can build a fire?”

“I assure you I am quite capable—”

A scream came from abovestairs.

“Jamie.” Isobel met Xander’s gaze once more. Her face was ashen.

Xander dropped the wood next to the hearth then drew his sword as he headed down the hallway and toward the stairs.

“There is no need. ’Tis no intruder.” She tugged at his shirt from behind him. “The child has nightmares.” She pushed past Xander, heading up the stairs. “Only I can settle him when he cries out in the night.”

Xander watched her disappear into the shadows, but not before he noted that her feet were bare and that she wore a thin night rail that revealed a hint of the slender form beneath.

Who was this woman he had married? For she was unlike any other woman he had ever met. One moment she was a tender mother, the next an angry tempest, and also a fierce warrior. She was both gentle and strong—and far more capable than even she realized. The thought sent a strange ache into his heart, and Xander tried to banish it. It didn’t matter what she was or wasn’t. She was only a means to an end.

He would keep reminding himself of that fact every day if he had to until he accomplished what he’d come here to do.

To spy. Not to be distracted by Isobel. He couldn’t afford to alter his path now. Not for her, not for Jamie, not for anything.

The king’s life was at stake. Nothing was more important than that.

Chapter Six

Isobel had a restless night and was up before dawn. She was surprised when she entered the kitchen to find Xander already there. He had prepared a pot of oats and a kettle of tea. “I owe you an apology for waking you last night,” he said, setting the kettle back down after pouring two cups of the rich, dark brew. He added a splash of milk and motioned for her to sit before sliding a cup in her direction.

“I suppose you do.” She accepted the cup and took a long sip of the full-bodied liquid with its coppery undertones.

“I apologize.” He turned to the hearth and scooped oatmeal from a pot over the fire into two bowls. He returned to the table and set one before her then sat across from her with a bowl of his own. “Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, let’s eat.”

Perfectly cooked oats filled the wooden bowl. “I’ve never had a man cook for me before.”

He shrugged as he brought a spoonful to his mouth. “You wanted to start early. Seemed the most expedient way to achieve that goal.”

“Thank you,” she said simply.

“Eat.” He nodded to her untouched bowl. “You were the one who was eager to save the harvest.”

“It’s more than the harvest we will be saving. It’s Jamie’s legacy.”

“The estate.” His tone was dry.

She frowned. “It so much more than that. Gladmuir Hall gives him roots that go back through our family for three generations.”

“You find it comforting to have roots.”

Her frown deepened. “Everyone has roots of some sort.”

He was silent for a heartbeat before he said, “For some people it’s better to live without a connection to anyone else.”