Chapter 9
Five Days to Her Decision
Jack sat at the long table, the ledgers pushed aside so Troy could spread his reports. The fire burned steadily, warm against the stone floor.
Dinner that evening was not a grand affair, even though Olivia and Catriona were present. Jack could feel their eyes on him even as they conversed.
Troy was speaking about patrol routes, and Jack listened, though his eyes were fixed on the flames.
The discussion was familiar. It was about protecting their borders, the welfare of the riders, and other things he normally would be more interested in if he weren’t distracted by something else entirely.
As if the universe had listened to his innermost thoughts, a shift in the air suddenly pulled his gaze to the far doors, and his eyes landed on her as she walked in.
The light caught her first. Her gown shone faintly with each step she took, in the bright blue quiet. Her hair was pinned loosely, and a ribbon lay on the curve of her neck. The noise in the hall seemed to die down, and for a moment, Jack forgot the map, the guard list, the hour.
Troy continued speaking, but Jack heard none of it.
Emma crossed the hall, offering a nod to his mother and a faint smile to Olivia. When she reached the table, she hesitated for a second before taking the seat beside him. Her scent—soap, smoke, and something light—reached him before her voice did.
“Ye look beautiful tonight,” he complimented, his voice low for her ears only.
Her eyes stayed on her plate. “Blackmail didnae work, so now ye’re tryin’ to seduce me?”
“I daenae need to seduce ye, lass.” He let a corner of his mouth lift. “Ye and I already make a fine match.”
Her glare faltered, and he saw a blush touch her cheeks, quick and unwilling. She turned away, finding safety in the bread before her.
Jack glanced at Troy. “Continue.”
“Two men at the southern border by dawn,” Troy said. “Another pair at midday, switch the guards so they daenae tire.”
“Aye.”
The plan passed easily between them, but Jack’s thoughts kept circling back to the woman at his side. The soft sweep of her hand as she lifted her cup. The small, deliberate calm she wore like armor.
Across the table, Catriona and Olivia had fallen into lively talk.
“A few white blooms would suit her hair,” Catriona said.
“Or something soft, like roses,” Olivia suggested, her tone warm.
“Look at her face. Something soft isnae going to flatter that facial structure.”
“Hm, perhaps ye are right.”
Jack saw Emma’s fingers tighten around her cup. She looked as if she would rather face a full room of judges than this.
“What about the dress? I have a feeling that a few flowers might adorn it. Perhaps nothing too serious.”
“Aye. Something different, ye ken?”
“Stop,” Jack blurted.
The word cut through the noise, and the two women looked up, startled.
“If me bride wants yer opinion on something,” he said, his voice calm and clear, “she’ll ask for it.”
The silence that followed was brief.
Catriona’s eyebrow rose. “Fair enough,” she relented. “We’ll save our advice for later.”
Olivia smiled, unoffended. “We still have time, do we nae?”
Jack looked at Emma, and she met his eyes only for a moment, confusion there first, then gratitude. She gave a small nod and lowered her gaze again. The tension in her shoulders eased.
Troy cleared his throat softly, waiting. Jack nodded for him to continue.
“The west ridge—”
“Will hold till the next rain,” Jack said. “Shift two men from the north post.”
“Aye, me Laird.” Troy bowed his head and said no more.
The low hum of the hall resumed as servants passed with jugs of wine and fresh bread. The air was warm and clear, despite the dimming fire. Jack took slow sips, more to fill the silence than from thirst.
Across the table, the two mothers had moved to another topic—candles, guests, the sort of chatter that filled long evenings. He let them talk while he watched Emma’s hand as it rested against her glass, her fingers still pale from the earlier strain.
He opened his mouth to speak when a sound cut through the air. A familiarly high laugh. One that belonged to a familiar child.
Jack turned, and at the edge of the hall, a small figure crawled in on hands and knees, face bright with effort.
“Stella,” Catriona breathed, half amused, half alarmed.
A young maid hurried behind the child, tripping over apologies. “I’m sorry, me Lady. She slipped past me—”
Emma, however, was already on her feet. Her laughter came soft and real, unguarded for the first time, and it reached Jack before she even spoke.
“Who let ye escape, wee lass?”
The maid stopped short, still uncertain, until Emma waved her off gently and bent to lift the child. Stella went quiet at once, nestling into Emma’s arms, her small hand closing around the ribbon at Emma’s throat. Emma smiled and pressed a hand to the baby’s back.
“She’ll have every woman in this hall wrapped around her finger by the time she’s two,” Catriona laughed.
“Already has,” Olivia murmured.
Jack said nothing. Instead, he watched Emma’s hand as it steadied the child and the warmth in her eyes. The sight felt out of place in his hall, and yet it fitted it too well.
The maid came forward, hesitant. “Shall I take her, me Lady?”
“In a moment,” Emma said, still smiling. Then, she turned back to Stella. “Ye’ve had yer adventure. Time to rest now.”
Jack felt Troy glance back at him, waiting for an order, a word, anything to ground the scene, but he ignored him.
“Go on,” Catriona said from her seat. “She’ll sleep better if ye take her.”
Emma nodded. “I’ll carry her up meself.”
She turned toward the corridor, and the maid hurried right behind her. Jack’s eyes also followed her. Soon, she disappeared beyond the door, and he could finally return his attention to Troy, who remained beside him, waiting for his instructions.
Emma returned to the table not long after, her expression calm again, though the color remained in her cheeks. The conversation had already turned light. They were speaking of bread and travel now more than anything else.
Jack watched his mother lean toward Emma, a curious smile on her lips. “So tell me, lass. Do ye miss the north? Or have ye already grown fond of our damp little castle?”
Emma smiled politely. “‘Tis… different. But the people are kind.”
Olivia laughed softly. “Careful. If ye keep being polite, they’ll have ye runnin’ the kitchens by the week’s end.”
Laughter rippled around the table, easy until Catriona spoke again, her tone too casual. “And how long do ye think it’ll take before we have a new bairn at the castle?”
The laughter died down, and Emma’s smile faltered.
“I—”
Jack set his cup down. “Maither.”
Catriona looked up, startled by the edge in his voice. “It was only talk.”
“Talk she didnae invite,” he retorted. He turned to Emma, his voice softening. “And ye’ll nae answer that.”
“‘Tis all right. I can just—”
“Ye willnae answer that.”
Emma nodded once, grateful and pale in the candlelight. The air had gone taut enough to still every hand.
Jack opened his mouth to change the subject, but a noise interrupted him, and the hall doors swung wide open again.
His brother, Duncan, stepped inside, broad-shouldered, his hair windswept, his face half-shadowed by the torchlight. For some reason, the air seemed to shift with his presence.
“Braither,” Jack greeted evenly.
Duncan’s nod was short. His gaze flicked straight past him to Emma. “Evening,” he clipped.
“Good evening, Duncan,” Emma replied, still courteous.
Duncan didn’t return the smile. Instead, he sat at the far end of the table without invitation, reached for a cup, and poured wine like he wanted to drain the jug.
Jack felt the shift around them immediately. He felt the quiet curiosity and the way their mother’s hand hovered over her bread.
Emma tried again. “I havenae exactly seen ye since we arrived. Have ye been busy?”
“Aye.”
“I see. Did ye do something with yer hair? I remember it was a bit shorter—”
“That is enough,” Duncan interrupted loudly.
The words rent the air, and the table went still.
Jack clenched his jaw. “Duncan.”
Duncan’s eyes stayed on his cup. “What?”
“Outside. Now.”
For a moment, Duncan didn’t move. Then, he rose, his chair scraping across the floor. He set the cup down with deliberate care and followed Jack out into the corridor. The doors closed behind them, and the air grew even colder.
Duncan turned, and before he could speak, Jack grabbed him and shoved him lightly against the stone wall. “What are ye playin’ at?”
Duncan regained his balance, his voice low. “Could ask ye the same.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Me?”
“Aye, ye. How can ye bring her back here after what she did to ye?”
“That is none of yer business.”
“Is it nae?”
“Aye. ‘Tis between me and her.”
“She humiliated ye, Jack! Ye cannae just pretend it never happened. Bringing her back here and calling her yer bride again? ‘Tis nothing but madness.”
“Watch yer tongue,” Jack warned.
Duncan leaned closer, his face tight. “If ye wanted a lady, ye could have one tomorrow. Half the women in the clan would offer themselves up in the blink of an eye. The older ones might even line their daughters up at the door, and ye ken it.”
“I daenae want that,” Jack rumbled.
“Well, what do ye want?”
Jack swallowed, the question pressing down on him harder than he had expected. “I want a lady with nay expectations or ulterior motives. Just peace.”
“Peace?” Duncan let out a sharp laugh. “Ye’ll find none with that one. She’s got her own fire, and ye ken it. Look at ye already—”
Jack frowned. “What about me?”
“Ye’re already lookin’ at her like that,” Duncan said, his voice low but sharp. “The same way ye looked at the last one before she—”
Jack’s hand closed around his brother’s arm. “Enough.”
Duncan tore free. “Aye. I’ll leave ye to it. But when hell breaks loose again, daenae say I didnae warn ye.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, his boots echoing hard down the corridor until the sound was swallowed by the stone.
Jack stayed where he was, feeling the cold from the wall seep into his back. Duncan’s words lingered, bitter as they were true.
When he returned to the hall, the sound of quiet laughter met him. The fire had burned even lower, and the plates were almost cleared. Emma looked up as he entered, concern written plainly all over her face.
“Is all well?” she asked.
“Aye,” he said, retaking his seat.
Her eyes lingered on him for only a minute before she looked away.
Catriona resumed talking about flowers as if the interruption had never occurred, and Olivia nodded along, her voice soft to keep the peace. The hall found its rhythm again, though it was quieter now.
Jack reached for his wine but did not drink.
His appetite had vanished in his anger. He could hear Troy speaking to one of the guards near the door, but caught none of the words.
Emma’s voice joined softly in their mothers’ conversation, and he leaned back in his chair, Duncan’s words still echoing in his mind.
He looked toward her again. She was smiling faintly at something Olivia said, her hands folded in her lap and her head bowed so the light caught the curve of her neck. He turned his gaze back to the fire, his jaw tight and his eyes narrowed. The warmth there did little to soothe him.
By the time all the plates were cleared, Jack hadn’t said another word. But every time Emma’s voice carried softly across the table, it found him, and he knew.
Deep down, it didn’t matter whether he wanted to admit it or not, but he knew. Duncan was right.