Chapter 35 #2
The moment his touch left her, the air shifted. His shoulders set like stone. He looked past her, not at her, and the muscle in his jaw worked once, then went still.
“Thank ye,” she said, her voice raw. “For saving me life.”
“Thank ye for caring about me daughter,” he returned, looking ahead. “But this was a mistake.”
Her fingers tightened on the saddle. “Excuse me?”
He clicked his tongue to get the horse moving. “I should never have brought ye here. I should have kept me distance.”
“Jack, what are ye talking about?” Emma asked, the urgency in her voice more prominent than anything.
“Ye were right. And I suppose I just needed to see that properly. I will set ye free when we get back to the castle.”
“Jack, what are ye talking about? I daenae want to leave.”
“Well, ye should. Ye deserve to live the life ye want, nae stay bound to me all the time. Ye daenae deserve to marry Scotland’s biggest villain, Emma. Ye deserve to be a proper poet. The best one in the Highlands, too.”
The words struck her hard.
She stared at him, stunned, then her anger rose hard and fast. “Ye’re sending me away? After everything? After Stella? After the promise we made? The promises ye made?”
He said nothing. He lowered his gaze to the trail and let the silence do the work. They rode in silence until the trees thinned and the path ahead grew more visible in the weak morning sun.
Intense pressure built up inside her. One that broke when they got close to the lake near the castle gates.
“Stop,” she snapped.
He drew the horse to a halt, and they both dismounted without looking at one another. She went to the water, scooped a handful, and splashed it over her face. The shock steadied her voice.
She turned back to him. “Ye cannae touch me like that and then tell me what I deserve or daenae deserve.”
“Emma—”
“I heard ye talk, did I nae?”
He swallowed.
“Ye cannae give me a child to love, then take her from me. Ye cannae save me from death, then throw me back to an uncle who will sell me by the pound. Ye should have just let Arthur kill me at this point.”
He flinched as if the last word cut. “Daenae say that.”
“What do ye think awaits me if I go back?” she asked. “What life, Jack? Tell me!”
He looked over her shoulder to the far edge of the woods. “I am sorry. I cannae put ye in more danger. We cannae marry.”
Her next breath shook, and she squared her shoulders. “Ye are right. I daenae want a man who thinks distance is the same as protection.”
The silence that fell was heavier than the sky. She broke it first.
“I will pack when we reach the castle.”
His expression shifted in the space of a heartbeat, softer, younger, almost afraid. Then it shuttered again.
He gave a short nod. They mounted again and rode on, the wind colder than earlier.
At the gates, she slid down before he could reach for her, and she did not look back.
She crossed the courtyard at a run and found her mother and Ava near the doors to the Great Hall.
She threw herself into their arms at once, shaking with the woods still in her bones and the new wound he had put there.
Olivia held her tight while Ava whispered comforting words that did nothing. Eventually, Emma pulled away and climbed the stairs, needing to see the child.
In the nursery, Stella saw her and lifted both hands. “Ma-ma-ma.”
The small voice broke what was left of Emma’s pride. She gathered the baby close, kissed her warm forehead again and again, and said sorry for her curls because she could not say it to anyone else. Her cries faded into hiccups soon enough, but the pain did not ease one bit.
“I have to go for a little while,” she whispered. “I will come back if I can.”
The words tasted like lies. They tasted like hope, too.
She laid Stella in her cradle, tucked the blanket to her chin, and watched until her lashes drooped. Then she went to her chamber. She opened the small trunk and began to pack her clothes. One dress. Then another. She pressed down each one with a palm that would not stop trembling.
A ribbon went in.
A book.
The book.
Each small thing felt like a wire pulled tight through her chest. Her tears came quietly and steadily, and she did nothing to stop them.
Across the castle, Duncan shouldered into Jack’s chamber hard enough to rattle the iron lock. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped until his knuckles turned white, and his eyes hollow from the run and what he had done with his mouth on the ride home.
“What in God’s name is wrong with ye?” Duncan barked, stopping before him. “Speak.”
Jack’s jaw worked once, but no sound came out.
“Ye brought her back,” Duncan pressed, his voice low. “Ye killed for her. Ye held her like a man who means to keep what he has. Now ye send her off as if she were a thief at the gates. Why?”
Jack kept his gaze on the flagstones. “She isnae safe here.”
“She isnae safe anywhere without ye.” Duncan took a step closer. “Do ye care for her or nae?”
Jack let out a slow breath. “Aye.”
“Then why would ye let her leave?”
Jack closed his eyes and saw the cut on Emma’s palm where the stone had torn it. He saw the spot on her cheek where a branch had scratched, and he saw Arthur fall.
The answer to Duncan’s question was simple. It was what he had been telling himself over and over since he got back to the castle with Emma.
“Because every man who hates me will try to hurt her. I willnae make a widow of a bride.”
Duncan stared at him, something akin to pity warring with anger in his eyes. “Ye cannae punish yerself for what other folks might do.”
“It isnae punishment,” Jack said. “It is mercy.”
“Mercy would be telling her the truth of what ye fear and letting her choose.”
Jack’s mouth tightened. “I have chosen for her.”
“Because ye are afraid,” Duncan bit out. “That’s what this has always been about, is it nae? Fear.”
Jack stood up. “I am the Laird. I bear the burden so they daenae have to.”
“Ye are a man,” Duncan said. “And the man I ken is about to throw away the only thing that has made him breathe like something other than a blade.”
Jack looked toward the far wall, where his sword hung. He had carried it into the woods and brought it back wet. He had carried Emma out and set her on a horse and spoken words that cut more than steel.
He felt the cut now, but he kept his voice even anyway. “She will be safer with her family.”
Duncan snorted. “She will be sold by her family. Ye ken that. Ye have eyes.”
Jack said nothing.
“Ye think this keeps her from harm?” Duncan continued. “It only puts it out of yer sight.”
Jack’s hands opened and closed. “What would ye have me do?”
“Ask her to stay,” Duncan urged. “Nae as a prisoner, but as yer wife. If she says nay, ye will at least have failed for honesty, not for cowardice.”
Jack’s head snapped up at the last word, but Duncan held his ground.
“Go,” he said, his voice quieter. “Before she is gone from the castle and all ye have left is a story ye will tell yerself to make the nights quiet.”
Jack’s throat bobbed, but he did not move.
“Listen to me,” Duncan sighed. “Ye love the lass. She loves the bairn and may love ye. If she walks out now, ye will spend the rest of yer life guarding a castle that feels like a tomb. Intruders will be the least of yer problems.”
He stepped back to the door and pressed his palm to the wood.
“Ye are about to lose everything.”
The words hung in the air just like his sword.