Chapter 11
Four Days to Her Decision
The morning light spilled across the long table, catching silver and the rims of cups. Steam rose from the porridge and disappeared into the air. Emma sat opposite her mother and tried to listen.
Olivia turned a page in her pattern book. “Ivory would suit ye better than white. And a soft ribbon…”
“Mm,” Emma murmured, her spoon barely moving.
Her thoughts were nowhere near the table.
No matter how hard she tried, they strayed back to last night in Jack’s study…
the feel of his hand on her waist, the press of his mouth, the tickle of his breath against her skin.
Every time the memory came, her stomach would tighten as if bracing for a step she could not see.
“Emma, are ye listenin’?” Olivia asked, shooting her a mild glare.
Emma flinched, then mustered a smile. “Of course, Ma.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Ye look pale. Did ye sleep poorly?”
“Nay. There’s just too much on me mind.”
Olivia studied her daughter, unconvinced, then set the matter aside and returned to fabrics and flowers.
Emma nodded where it seemed right and stirred the porridge until it cooled. One thing rang true in her head over and over through the multitude of words and thoughts that continued to crowd her.
Jack had been right about one thing: she had four more nights to go.
Four nights until she made her decision and chose whether to be or not to be with him once and for all. When the servants began clearing the plates, she rose, unable to take the stale air anymore.
“I think I need a walk.”
“Shall I come with ye?” Olivia asked.
“Daenae worry, Ma. I willnae be long.”
Olivia nodded as Emma stepped out of the dining hall.
She hurried out of the corridor and eventually out of the castle. The courtyard felt newly washed as damp earth scented the stone, and a gust of cool wind ruffled her hair. She breathed it in until the warmth she had felt in the dining hall completely left her skin.
She stood by the garden closest to the kitchen and watched a young maid kneel with a basket of seedlings. She pressed the small stems into the soil with heavy thumbs, burying them deep and patting the tops flat with her palm. A laugh escaped Emma’s lips as she stopped beside her.
“Ye’re doing it wrong.”
The maid looked up, her eyes narrowing. “I—”
“Ye’re settin’ them too low,” Emma explained. “They’ll drown before they bloom if ye continue to do it this way.”
The maid swallowed, the apology on her face growing by the second. “Forgive me, me Lady. I’ve never planted before.”
I am nae yer lady.
Emma wanted to say it aloud, but then thought otherwise. For now, she needed to save the flowers. Correction of honorifics could come much later.
She crouched, tucking the hem of her skirt clear of the dirt. “Watch.”
She coaxed the stem back up, gently lowered the soil in from the sides, and left the crown in the air.
“Like that. Hold it firm, but daenae press it shut.”
The maid copied her, clumsy at first, then grew steadier. “Like this?”
“Aye.” Emma’s hands moved without thinking, righting one, then another. “Flowers are like people. Ye push them too hard, and they break before they’ve had a chance to grow.”
The maid looked up at her, as if to ask whether Emma meant more than seedlings.
Emma only nodded toward the row, and together they set the rest. The dirt cooled her knuckles, and the simple work eased a tension she had been feeling all morning.
“Thank ye, me Lady,” the maid said at last.
“‘Tis tender work,” Emma answered, standing and brushing off her hands. “And it is always worth it.”
The morning light had brightened at this point, and the chill from earlier had lessened. She fell into a slow walk, at least until she heard voices from across the yard. She paused to look ahead.
At the far end of the courtyard, in an open space, stood two men. Jack and his brother, Duncan.
Duncan’s arms were crossed, and his shoulders were raised high, while Jack’s hands were open. She couldn’t hear them, but it was evident they were discussing something urgent.
She wanted to keep walking, but her feet failed her. So she kept watching them for a moment too long. Long enough to draw attention.
Jack turned as though he had felt her gaze, and her throat bobbed.
Good God.
She didn’t know whether his eyes had found her, and she didn’t wait to confirm. The cold iron of the nearest door gave under her hand, and she slipped inside almost immediately, letting the warmth of the corridor envelop her.
The corridor was dim after the pale sun outside, and she kept walking as fast as she could until her footsteps grew too loud. Her breath grew even at one moment, then uneven at the next, but she didn’t stop.
Once she was out of range, she pressed her palm against the wall, as if the cold could silence the heat that had risen up her neck.
It wasn’t sensible to care whether Jack Barkley quarreled with his brother before noon. It wasn’t sensible to let a look across a yard undo what the garden had set straight. Still, the memory of his kiss refused to settle in her stomach like something she had done once and forgotten all about it.
The last thing ye want, Emma, is to let a man like Jack have this much control over ye.
She took the back passage toward the guest chambers, avoiding the Great Hall where she knew their mothers would be. Her hands were still faintly smudged with the soil she had helped the other maid with, so she knew she had an excuse to retire to her room. She just needed to find Lara first.
She rubbed her thumb across her palm and left a pale streak on her skirt.
“Get a hold of yerself, Emma,” she breathed, stopping once she got to her room.
At her door, she stood a second longer than necessary, then went in, crossed to the other side, and poured water from a jug Lara had brought that morning. The dirt slipped away, and the cold water replaced the heat in her fingers.
She dried her hands, folded the cloth, and set it straight. It was a small, ordinary motion, but it helped.
She reached for her shawl, meaning to wrap it around her body as she looked out the window, but then thought otherwise. The room was warm enough. There was no need of a shawl.
She touched the cold windowsill with two fingers anyway, her thoughts crystallizing in her head. She just needed to get through three more nights. And if she played her cards right, she should be able to do that successfully, without any more entanglements.