Chapter 19
Dusk settled over the castle, and the torches along the walls glowed brighter with each passing second. Jack led his men toward the study and shut the door quietly. The fire there had dimmed into coals at this point, but the air was still warm enough.
As Duncan followed him inside, Jack made a mental note to stoke the fire when he finished speaking with the men. Troy stood straight by the wall, his sword tucked under his arm, and Duncan stepped forward, his hands tucked behind his back.
“So, tell me. What do I need to ken?” Jack asked, folding his arms and staring at them.
Troy spoke first. “The body is gone, me Laird. Burned beyond the walls. The ashes scattered where nay scavenger will find them.”
“Good,” Jack said.
Silence followed for a minute too long, and he could tell the men were debating who should speak next.
“I will check the watch again,” Troy added. “The north and the east first.”
Jack nodded. “See to it.”
Troy bowed his head and left.
Duncan did not move, broad and tall, his arms now folded across his chest. He watched Jack expectantly as he rounded his desk. The silence stretched on for a few more minutes before he decided to break it.
“What do ye hope to gain by all of this?” he asked. “What if the man was nothing but a thief after some gold or even food?”
Jack kept his eyes on the coals. “I have fought too many wars to mistake desperation for design. This was deliberate.”
“Or ye are seeing ghosts again?” Duncan prodded.
“Nay. Daenae bring her into this,” Jack muttered, pushing away the memory of his late wife.
“Ye must forgive me if I daenae ken what to think, Jack. One might even say ye are trying to guard a woman who hasnae even agreed to be yer wife.”
Jack looked up. “I will protect everyone in this castle. It is me duty as the Laird.”
Duncan’s lips thinned. “And what if ye are wrong?”
“Then I will answer for it,” Jack said. “But nae tonight.”
He crossed over to the map table. His finger traced the outer wall and the bend where the slope fell toward the mountains they usually saw on the horizon from the tower. A part of him wondered if there were extra security measures he had not put in place yet.
“Check the fences,” he ordered without turning. “Watch the areas that the invaders may think are worth exploiting. If the prisoner was afraid of ratting out whoever had sent him, it means we cannae leave anything to chance.”
“So I am to walk the line,” Duncan said dryly. “While ye sit with yer doubt.”
Jack looked over his shoulder at him. “While I sit with me work.”
Duncan dropped his arms to his sides and stepped closer to the table. “Ye burn a body at dawn and call it work by night. That is nae doubt, Jack. That is just fear with a clean shirt.”
“Call it what ye like.” Jack shrugged. “It keeps the hall quiet.”
“For now,” Duncan said. “But I hope it willnae backfire.”
“It willnae,” Jack stated flatly.
They stood there for a moment, with only the crackle of the fire punctuating the silence. Duncan’s eyes searched his face as if the answer was there and might reveal itself. It did not.
“Right,” Duncan uttered, the word carrying both surrender and a warning as he turned toward the door. “I will walk the line.”
“Do it twice,” Jack instructed. “And post two men at the birches. The ground is soft.”
Duncan paused on the threshold. “Ye ken what soft ground does.”
“I daenae. And I daenae intend to,” Jack said. “Go.”
Duncan nodded and stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.
After the door clicked shut, Jack stood still until he could hear the corridor beyond and the faint click of the guards’ boots.
Among other things, he could also hear the footsteps of a maid passing with a tray.
He exhaled slowly and set his hand on the edge of the table so he would not ball it into a fist.
He then stepped away from the table and crossed to the narrow window. The sprawling fields stared back at him as he placed his hand on the sill. The hills were dark and close, and the sky grew even dimmer with each minute. Soon, it would be fully dark, and he would meet with Emma as arranged.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued to watch the grounds below. A maid walked across the courtyard, a bag slung across her shoulder. He watched her stop and talk to one of the stable boys grooming a white mare.
He tried to think in straight lines and focus on what needed his attention. More men at the north wall, the birch stand outside the gates, and the hedges that provided perfect hiding spots for intruders. He tried to think about that and let it steady him for a while.
However, there was only so much he could do, and the thoughts he had pushed away all afternoon flooded back.
Emma with the baby in her arms.
Her voice when she soothed the child.
The way she hid her care, and the way the child trusted her anyway.
He had not meant to notice any of it, but here he was, realizing he had noticed all of it.
“Fool,” he muttered to himself.
Dropping his hand from the sill, he left the window and sat at his desk. The ledger waited where he had left it, staring back at him like a puzzle that needed to be solved.
He opened it to a clean page and tried to read the last set of figures. They would not stay still. He pressed his thumb to the margin and counted to ten before trying again.
Coal.
Grain.
Wages.
The words made sense, but the sums did not.
He shut the ledger and breathed once, but no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts would not settle. All that kept filling his mind was her. He could still smell the lavender on her skin and hear the airiness of her voice.
The thought sent unwelcome heat through his body. His hand, resting on the desk, curled into a fist so tight that it made his knuckles whiten.
“For the love of God,” he hissed, feeling his trousers grow tight.
Warmth pooled between his thighs, and he could feel himself growing stiffer with every passing second. He tried to press his palm hard against the bulge in his trousers, but it only ratcheted up his arousal.
His eyes settled on the fire, and he tried to find some sense of normalcy in the way it flickered in the grate. None of it did him any good.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he reached for the string across his waistband and undid it.
His trousers slackened, and the ache lessened just a little.
He slid his hand beneath the fabric and wrapped it around his throbbing member.
The touch sent waves of pleasure through his body, causing him to close his eyes again.
He thought of the light and how it had danced across Emma’s curves the first night she spent in his castle. He thought of the look on her face that seemed to dare him every time she spoke.
His hand moved rhythmically around his member, each stroke increasing the pressure in his gut. He could feel himself getting slowly to the edge. A few more strokes and he would—
A knock at the door rattled his thoughts. He straightened at once and leaned forward so the desk hid him. A slow breath escaped him as he snatched a book and trapped it between his thighs. It was a boy’s reflex, and he knew it, but nothing else could help.
He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat. “Enter.”
A maid opened the door and bobbed a quick curtsy. “Will ye be dining with the others, me Laird?”
“Nay,” he replied. “I have work to do. Tell them to dine without me.”
She hesitated before speaking again, the uncertainty in her voice more evident than anything. “Do ye require anything, me Laird?”
“Nay,” he said. “Is Stella asleep yet?”
“Aye, me Laird,” she responded, her voice quiet. “I tucked her into bed meself.”
He gave a short nod. “Good. Keep the corridor outside her door lit and have the nurse look in twice.”
“Aye, me Laird.”
She left as quietly as she had come, and Jack watched as the door clicked shut behind her.
Silence fell over the room again as he sank back into his chair. The heat from the fire sat close. The rest of the air felt cool and thin. He waited for one long breath and then another. The tight pull in his chest eased, though it did not vanish.
He opened the ledger again. This time, he forced each line to stay where he put it. He wrote down the sums and checked them twice. When his thoughts tried to stray, he steered them back.
It was slow work, but in this particular instant, it was necessary.
He finished writing down the sums in silence and felt the air brush his cheeks. He closed the ledger, eventually, and set both palms flat on the desk.
He did not like the change in him. Desire did not frighten him. It only made a mess when a man let it control him.
He had never been the kind of man who left order to the ache between his thighs. He would not let it ruin him now. A man is what he does, not what he hides.