Chapter 26
The castle was quiet under a bright moon. Jack stood at her door and listened to the silence on the stairs. Then, he knocked once. He waited, then knocked again.
The lock lifted, and Emma stood there in a pale nightshift, her hair hanging over her shoulders like a shadow caught by the candlelight.
“Lass,” he said. The word felt rough in his throat.
“If ye’ve come to plan another kind of training, ye can do it without me,” she said dryly. “I’d like a one-night respite from yer experiments in persuasion.”
He let a low laugh slip. “I cannae grant ye that, lass.”
She stepped aside, and he entered.
Her chamber, for some reason, seemed to settle around them at the same time. One candle burned on the table, and another rested on the fireplace. The light touched the book she had left open. Jack didn’t need to see the cover to know that it was the same book he had given her back in the library.
He nodded toward it. “Ye ken there is a poem in there where the lass finds herself pressed against a wall.”
Color rose to her cheeks. “I havenae reached that page.”
“Then ye’ll enjoy it when ye do,” he said.
“I am sure I will.” A soft laugh slipped out before she could catch it.
For a moment, nothing pressed on them. Not the castle, nor the cold night air. Jack wanted nothing more than to tell her just what a magnificent sight she was. It was like watching an angel gain its wings and fly into the surreal sky.
The silence, however, was deafening, and another matter needed to be discussed. More urgent than how her hair made him feel.
He looked at her face and felt the weight in his own bones. “I came to apologize,” he began, his voice soft. “For this evening. For snapping when ye asked about her.”
“I understand,” she said, the edge gone from her voice. “Still, if ye ever wish to speak of it, daenae hesitate.”
Jack let out a breath and sat on the edge of her bed. The sheets felt rough under his fingertips, and he traced one line in the weave as if the thread might steady his focus during the conversation. He might as well just tell her the whole story. There was no reason to hide anything anymore.
“It was a marriage of duty,” he started, his voice low.
“Her name was Moira. Me maither thought it wise, and her faither thought it wiser. I agreed because the clan needed peace, and I could offer land and coin. She came here with a chest of fine gowns and a heart that wanted nothing to do with any of what I had to offer. Perhaps I should have seen it coming. I should have seen just how sad and miserable the castle made her. How sad and miserable I made her. Maybe I could have stopped her or even tried to…” He exhaled.
Emma remained standing near the table at first, with one hand on the back of the chair, but then took a step closer to him, as if to offer silent encouragement.
“She was kind at first,” Jack continued.
“Or perhaps I only called it kindness because I wished to. I was in the saddle more than I was at the castle, so we kept different hours. She missed the town. She missed the light and the noise and the flattery. I missed the signs of what grew in the quiet between us.”
Emma’s gaze never left his face. “Ye loved her?” she asked.
He weighed the word and left it where it lay. “I wanted to,” he admitted. “I tried to. But I just couldnae.”
He rubbed his thumb over the hem of the blanket.
“There was a man. One of mine, Jeremiah. He was me former man-at-arms, and I had trusted him since we were lads. They found each other during me absence, I suppose. Then, they started havin’ an affair. It went on longer than I kent.”
Emma swallowed. “I daenae ken what to say.”
Jack laughed. “Nor did I when I learned the news. Or even the plot.”
Emma frowned. “The plot?”
“Aye. One night, I came back from patrol and found the chamber door open. She had a blade. A little one meant for cutting fruit, but it was as sharp as anything. She held it as she had held her own mind for months—hard and close. She said she would rather kill me than let me stop her from loving Jeremiah.”
Emma clenched her fists.
“I kent they werenae her thoughts. Moira wasnae perfect, but she definitely wasnae evil. I kent she was being influenced. Then, me friend came in with her. He had given her the knife and asked her to kill me. Ye see, Jeremiah never loved Moira. All he had ever wanted had always been me position. He kent that if I died while married to Moira, he would become Laird MacLeod. It didnae exactly help matters that Moira only gave birth to a lass.”
Emma swallowed.
“So at the very last minute, when Moira was about to kill me, she stopped. She couldnae go through with it. Said I was the faither of her child, and killing me would do her more harm than good. That angered Jeremiah a lot. I kent he was angry. I didnae ken just how angry he was. I should have done something when he stormed off, but I didnae. I didnae think me best friend was capable of something so… so heinous.”
“What did he do?” Emma asked, her heart pounding in her chest. Something told her she already knew the answer.
“That night, I walked in on Jeremiah… he had just stabbed her with his dagger. I watched her bleed out and die on the floor. Jeremiah, angry that I discovered him, tried to kill me as well. But I killed him anyway.”
Emma sighed and watched as he closed his hand to hide the tremor there.
“Me maither cleaned the floor, and Duncan helped dispose of the bodies. We buried her at first light. I told the church what it needed to hear. Folks recounted the tale they wished to recount. I have only ever told the truth to me braither and me maither.”
Emma crossed the floor and sat beside him. The mattress dipped slightly under her weight. She turned her face toward him. The candlelight made her eyes look warmer than he had ever seen them.
She put her hand on his and did not rush to fill the silence. Jack exhaled. In telling her the truth, something felt incredibly freeing.
“I am sorry for judging what I didnae ken,” she murmured.
He nodded once. “Oh well, I am sorry for asking ye to trust me while keeping the door shut on the one room ye wished to see.”
Her fingers were gentle on his knuckles. “Did she try to take the baby?” she asked softly.
“She didnae get the chance,” he replied. “Stella slept in the next room with the nurse. She never woke. I kept the cries from reaching that door.”
Emma’s shoulders relaxed a little, then rose again. “And the portrait?” she prodded. “The empty space in the gallery.”
“I took it down,” he admitted. “Nae out of hate—ye must understand that I never once hated Moira, even after her demise. It was out of mercy. Trust me, the castle does better with fewer ghosts on the walls.”
Emma looked at the small book on the table as if the right word might be tucked there. “Folks say what they will,” she sighed. “They always do. But if that is true, then what is it ye want from me, Jack?”
Jack felt the truth arrive before he could name it. He kept his eyes on hers so he would not look for another answer in the dark.
“This,” he said.
He lifted her hand and laid it flat on his chest. She could feel his heart thud against his ribs.
That was what he wanted. He also wanted to draw her close and kiss her. He wanted nothing more than to pull her in and claim her mouth like he had done in the library.
But then he thought otherwise and decided to do the first honest thing he had done in years: to wait.
“I still daenae understand.”
Jack exhaled. “I want a partner, Emma. I want ye.”