Chapter 12 #2
Emma blinked. “At the training grounds?”
“Aye.” The hint of a smile again, gone as quickly as it came. “There’s more to explore in this betrothal than rules and defiance. Tonight. Daenae be late.”
She meant to laugh. She meant to tell him no, but for some reason, her throat had other plans. “And if I am?”
He leaned a bit closer, his voice lowering further. “Then I’ll come find ye.”
Ava’s fingers caught Emma’s sleeve, a light tug that felt like a rescue and mischief at once.
“Come on,” she said, her voice clear. “We’ve yet to see the west wall, and Ma willnae take it kindly if we miss lunch with her.”
Jack didn’t move. He rested the flat of his sword against his shoulder and let them retreat, his small grin still there, like a dare he had no intention of taking back. Behind him, Duncan swore under his breath and went to fetch his blade.
Emma let Ava pull her away while the garden swallowed the clang of metal.
Ava waited until they were behind the wall before turning to her sister, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“Ye’re meetin’ him.”
Emma kept her eyes on the path. “He asked.”
“And ye’re going.”
She meant to say no, but what came out was thinner. “Kenning Jack, he probably only wants to talk.”
Ava’s mouth curved. “He wants to talk to ye at night on the training grounds. Emma, ye cannae possibly be this na?ve.”
Emma breathed slowly. “I daenae ken what to tell ye.”
Ava’s laugh was soft and brisk, almost like her footsteps. “Then it seems the monster and the temptation are the same man, after all.”
They stepped out of the shade and back into the light. The sky had begun to darken, color warming its edges. At the far end of the castle, a bell rang, indicating that another hour had passed.
Ava squeezed Emma’s arm as they walked further down the path leading to the Great Hall. “If ye daenae like what ye hear, leave. If ye do, ye’ll still leave. Let him work toward the rest.”
“He means to,” Emma stated, before she could think better of it.
“Good,” Ava said. “It’ll be nice to see a man sweat for something worth having.”
Emma exhaled but said nothing in response. Now wasn’t the time to argue or say anything contrary.
Ava had always believed that it was better to settle with the best of men or not to settle at all. How would Emma describe Jack to her without compromising that notion?
The truth was simple—she couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Before trying to convince Ava of what kind of man Jack was, Emma needed to see for herself. And that meant she needed to see just what he had planned for her tonight.
The clang of steel still rang in the air when Jack dropped his sword. A cloud of dust rose around his boots, and he rolled his shoulder once, working out a kink.
Duncan bent over, hands braced on his knees, gulping in the air. When he looked back up, there was a grin on his face.
“Enough, aye? Ye’ve already made me look a fool in front of the ladies.”
“Aye,” Jack uttered. “That was the plan.”
Duncan snorted and straightened, brushing dust off his tunic. “At least we willnae have more of that tonight.”
“Aye.” Jack reached back for his sword, ignoring the burning ache in his biceps.
“There is something else,” Duncan added, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a short stack tied with twine. “A few letters came for ye.”
“Oh,” Jack murmured, staring at the letters.
“Aye. One from yer friend in Inverness, another from Stella’s grandsire.” Duncan held up the last letter, sealed with dark wax. “And this one… it doesnae have a name on it.”
Jack took the stack, the dark seal heavy on his thumb. “Who delivered it?”
“Just a courier,” Duncan responded.
Jack nodded. “Can ye make sure that the men finish their drills?”
“Aye, me Laird.” Duncan gave a two-fingered salute and headed for the racks, still muttering about unfair fights.
Jack stood there a moment longer, the sealed letter sitting cold in his hand, then turned toward the castle.
The stairs to his study were quiet. A pair of maids walked past him, bowing their heads. In the warm room, he relaxed into his chair and set the letters on the desk. A slow breath escaped his lips as he cut the twine and worked through what he knew.
Inverness first. The letter from his friend mentioned something about trade, gossip, and a joke that didn’t land.
The note from Stella’s grandfather came next.
It was, as usual, stiff and polite. It was all about the old man asking after the child’s health and sending a blessing she would never hear.
Jack set both aside and reached for the last letter, feeling the wax give way with a dull crack.
“Hm. Cheap paper.”
He unfolded the letter. There was nothing on it but a sentence. One that was written with a bold hand that must have pressed too hard on the paper. He stared at the letter hard, as if the words would jump out and try to attack him.
If ye marry Lady Emma, she’ll meet the same end as yer first wife.
He read it again. Then again, slower. The words did not change, and his breathing grew shallow. He called for the nearest maid and asked her to fetch Duncan.
When the maid left, he stood and walked to the fireplace, staring at the coals and the way they burned bright red. The question played in his mind over and over again, and he hated the simple fact that he had no answer to it. His eyes were still on the fire when he heard a knock at the door.
“Enter,” he called.
Duncan stepped in, his hair still damp from training, although he had changed into a clean shirt. “Ye sent for me?”
Jack held up the half-folded letter. “Did ye see who delivered this one?”
Duncan shook his head. “I told ye earlier, I didnae.”
“Aye. But did ye see anything? ‘Tis important.”
“Nae at all. The lad who gave it to me said that he was paid to hand it over at the gate; that is all. Why? What is wrong?”
“Nothing,” Jack replied. He refolded the letter neatly. “See to the men. We’ll ride to the gate at first light.”
Duncan didn’t move. “Jack, if there’s trouble—”
“Daenae worry, I’ll handle it.” Jack met his brother’s eyes. “Go on.”
A beat passed before Duncan bowed his head and left the study.
Jack stood where he was until the door clicked shut.
He moved even closer to the flames. He could keep the letter as proof.
He could show it to Duncan, send men to the gate, turn over stones until some rat emerged.
But the thought of this ink lying around in his home was worse than the thought of starting from nothing.
So he did the next best thing and fed the letter to the fire.
It curled fast, the flame darkening the edges first, then licking through the words. The line about Emma blackened and turned to smoke, and soon, the whole letter was gone.
“Over me dead body,” he said, almost too quiet for the room to hear.
He poured a finger of whisky and downed it standing at his desk, feeling the first mouthful burn a clean line to his stomach. He set the glass down and capped the bottle.
He thought of her on the garden path with her sister, the sun on her hair, the dirt brushed from her dress where his brother’s blade had stopped at her feet.
He thought of the way she looked at him in the yard and how furious she had been with herself for it.
He didn’t even need to speak before he felt determination rise within him.
Nothing, and he meant nothing, would happen to Emma under his watch.