Chapter 8 #2
Emma let her smile fade as she studied the portrait.
Her eyes studied the look on Jack’s face, the sinews of his forearms, and the gleam in his eyes.
She felt heat touch the tips of her ears, but tried her best to ignore it.
Instead, she shifted Stella higher and turned a little toward the next wall.
“What about her maither?” she asked eventually, the silence daunting. “Was her portrait nae taken?”
Catriona stopped walking. Emma felt it before she saw it. She looked up and found the older woman still as a statue.
She glanced around the gallery. She noticed an empty space on the wall. “Shouldnae there be a portrait of the baby’s maither as well?”
Silence.
For a minute, Emma wondered if Catriona was going to speak at all.
“Did ye hear what I—”
“Absolutely nae,” Catriona replied, her words hitting hard and sharp as a dropped knife.
Emma blinked. “Why nae?”
“We willnae have her portrait anywhere in this castle.”
“Why?” Emma asked again. “Is it too painful to ken that yer son… hurt her?”
Catriona’s eyes darkened. The warmth vanished, only to be replaced by something colder. Her mouth opened.
“Ye shouldnae ask such questions to anyone but me, lassie,” a voice came from behind.
Emma turned fast, her face paling. Jack stood near the arch, his figure framed by light from the next window. She had not heard his footsteps. She felt heat crawl up her neck and settle on her face.
“Give the baby to me maither,” Jack ordered calmly.
Emma did as she was told and turned back to him. “I-I’m sorry. I didnae mean—”
“Save yer breath,” Jack cut her off.
He reached for her arm before she could blink. His grip was firm, and the touch sent a quick shock through her all the same. Catriona made a small sound, but he only gave her a look that seemed to say, Later. Then, he turned and walked away, pulling Emma with him.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” she asked.
“Ye’ll see,” he muttered.
They left the gallery and made their way down the corridor. His stride was longer than hers, yet he did not drag her. Instead, he matched her pace without seeming to.
“If ye plan to kill me before the wedding,” she said, voice tight with nerves and pride, “then there is something ye need to ken—”
He stopped so quickly that she bumped into his shoulder. Then, he turned until his face was an inch from hers. The air between them suddenly felt thin.
“Stop that,” he grunted.
“Stop what?”
“Ye ken what.”
“Do I?”
He gritted his teeth. “Stop implying that I’ll kill ye.”
“Will ye nae?”
“What use is a dead bride to me?”
The line landed wrong, and Emma wasted no time in calling that out. She lifted her chin, her eyebrow already arched. “Well, that doesnae sound ominous in the least.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it and took a deep breath.
“Ye must admit that this was the wrong thing to say, Laird MacLeod.”
He clenched his fists, then unclenched them. “Well, ye will find that it is hard to say the right thing when ye’re accused of something ye didnae do.”
“Then tell me the truth,” she said after they had been standing for almost a minute with nothing but silence between them.
“In there.” He nodded toward the door of his study.
He opened the door and let her enter first. The room smelled of ash and ink. There was another scent she couldn’t identify yet, mixed between the two. The fire was burning low, and a map hung on one wall.
Emma was still looking around when she heard him shut the door behind them. She stood with her back to the fire and kept her eyes focused.
Jack set his palms on the edge of his desk for a moment. He did not sit. Then, with utter determination in his eyes, he turned to face her.
“We’re about to set some rules, lass,” he announced, his voice low and even. “For as long as ye’re mine.”
“Rules?” she echoed. “Yers?”
“Aye, and ye will adhere to them.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I daenae joke.”
Emma swallowed, inhaling the scent of ink. “This is nowhere near what we discu—”
“Number one,” he started, raising his hand in a bid to keep her quiet. “Ye’re nae to ask about me past. I’ll tell ye what ye need to ken, but that’s it.”
“Ye said I could ask ye about anything.”
“Anything but that.”
“So this is a joke.” She stepped forward, her arms folded. “Of course I am going to ask about yer past. Ye have a reputation, for the love of God.”
“Ye can ask me about anything but that.”
“Jack—”
“I mean it.”
Emma reared back, her arms still folded.
Jack continued anyway. “Number two. When we marry, ye’ll care for me daughter, but ye’ll stay away from me. Number three—”
“Is that how it is now?”
“Emma.”
“Ye, setting rules? I specifically asked ye—”
“Ye didnae think anything would be off limits now, did ye?”
A tense silence settled between them, but she kept her eyes narrowed. “Ye think ye’re the only one who can play this game?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “What are ye talking about?”
She lifted her chin. Heat rose under her skin, but her voice stayed level. “Well, if we’re setting rules, then I have a few of me own.”
His eyebrow rose. “Do ye now?”
“Aye,” she said.
“Emma—”
“First!” Her voice was louder than she had intended, but it kept him quiet. “Ye willnae scare me like that again.”
“When have I ever scared ye?”
“Second!” Emma continued, ignoring his question. It was clear he was trying to bait her, but she wouldn’t fall for it. “We’re nae married. By the end of these five nights, ye need to have earned me trust. That is the only way we will wed.”
“Emma—”
“I cannae marry a man I daenae trust. And third, ye’re never to grab me or drag me anywhere again.”
Jack leaned back a little and studied her, a surprised smirk on his lips.
He then moved away from his desk and crossed the space between them.
Before she could protest, his hand settled on her waist, light over the fabric.
She felt the shape of his palm through the fabric and felt something quiver inside her.
“So I’m nae allowed to do this?” he asked, sliding his palm around the small of her back.
“Nay,” she uttered. “Remove yer hand.”
He removed it at once, but his expression did not shift. He lifted a finger to her chin and raised her face to his. There they were, those shiny green eyes.
Those shiny and mischievous green eyes.
“What about this?” he asked.
“Nay,” she said, her voice sharper. “In fact, ye’re nae allowed to touch me.”
He stayed where he was for a heartbeat, then stepped back. Her cheeks felt hot, and she hated that he might see it.
Jack’s lips twitched. “Fine. I willnae touch ye. At least nae unless ye ask for it.”
“Oh, I willnae,” she said confidently. “That is never going to happen.”
“Is that what ye think?”
“‘Tis what I ken.”
The words hung between them like a line on a map. A line neither of them could cross for some reason.
Emma kept her eyes on him. “Me rules stand, Jack.”
“And mine,” he added, unable to hide the surprise on his face at the mention of his name.
“Then we agree on one at least.”
“Aye.”
For a brief moment, none of them spoke. The moment felt too hot, too tense for any of them to break for some reason.
She wanted to look at him with nothing but venom, and yet the only thing she could see was him shirtless.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the fight she had seen that morning, and she hated just how cocky he looked at the moment.
“I’d better get back to breakfast,” she muttered, exhaling before her mind could stray even further.
She turned around and opened the door, feeling the cooler air of the corridor hit her face. She stepped out and pulled the door shut. Then, she stood for a moment longer outside the study to catch her breath.
What in God’s name is wrong with ye, Emma?