Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Me wife is up to somethin’.
Archer was doing his very best to control his expression, his mind working as quickly as it could to figure out exactly what it was his wife was trying to do.
She was pretending. That much was certain.
He had suspected it for days now. But the things that she had said while they were on the walk had confirmed it.
It had started with the thing about the dahlias. Everyone in Scotland knew that the flower would not grow there. It didn’t get warm enough, and it rained far too much.
It had been the part about the chickens that had solidified his suspicions.
He had seen too much of Emilie when her guard was down to think that she was stupid enough to try to teach chickens how to sing.
So, his wife was trying to make him think that she was a dolt. The only thing that Archer could not figure out was why.
He no longer suspected that Paisly’s suggestion was true, though. He did not believe that it had anything to do with her not knowing how to act around men. No, this was something else, entirely.
“And the bannocks,” Emilie continued, her voice breaking as she said the final word.
He’d noticed that too. That, no matter how much she was pretending that this high-pitched tone that she was putting on was natural, it was not. And it was straining her vocal cords.
I wonder how long she’ll keep up the farce.
Amusement sparked inside him, and Archer had to fight off a ferocious grin.
Whatever game his wife was playing, he was certain the very last thing she suspected was for him to play along.
“The bannocks?” he asked, careful to allow his voice to sound curious rather than judgmental. “The bannocks at the abbey were good?”
“Aye,” Emilie all but moaned, the sound of it calling to his desire for her.
Even in this dumbed-down state she was in at the moment, his need for her was running rampant. When Emilie had draped her arm through his, the touch and the warmth of her had threatened to overwhelm him entirely.
“They nearly melted in yer mouth,” she continued on, gazing up at the sky as if remembering the taste of the pastry on her tongue.
She licked her lips, the sight of it drawing Archer’s attention to her mouth.
He’d tried to avoid focusing on it the entire time that they had been walking. Had been doing his very best not to look at her any more than was absolutely necessary. But now?
Now that his attention had been fully drawn to Emilie’s lips, it was nearly impossible for him not to want to lean in and kiss her.
Archer shook his head, reminding himself that there were other things that he needed to be focusing on at that moment.
“The cook here makes delightful bannocks,” he said. “We could have him make some for ye. I’m certain they’re better than what ye had at the abbey.”
Emilie’s head snapped to him, surprise written clearly on her face.
“Ye want the cook to make bannocks for me?” she asked.
In her surprise, she had dropped the act for the briefest of moments. Her voice was no longer so high-pitched; it was grating. And her eyes were clearer than he’d seen them all day.
There ye are, he thought, allowing just the corner of his lip to tick up in a smirk. I ken ye wouldnae be able to keep it up this entire time.
Almost as if she could read his thoughts, Emilie seemed to realize what she had done. She shook herself, her eyes taking on the dull look of stupidity once more.
“I would love to try the bannocks,” she gushed, clearly trying to recover from allowing her guard to fall a split second before.
Before Archer could respond, a clap of thunder echoed through the sky. Both of them turned their eyes upward at the same time, and Archer wanted to curse as he noticed the dark, swirling clouds that were beginning to barrel down on them.
“We’ll need to make our way inside,” he explained, just as a fat rain drop fell down and splattered directly on the center of his forehead.
He looked at Emilie. Already, a few drops had found their way to her.
The light, yellow dress that she was wearing already contained a few dark spots where the drops had struck her.
“All right,” she murmured, nodding her head quickly.
Archer pointed toward the castle, toward the door that he knew was through the training courtyard. It led to the servants’ quarters, but it would be the quickest way for them to get inside.
They hurried across the grounds, making it to the door just as another crash of thunder sounded behind them, and the heavens truly began to pour down.
Archer shut the door behind them. The corridor they were in was long and narrow, forcing them to press in tightly as they walked down it.
Only a few sconces lined the walls, making it dim. But even in the flickering, low light, he could see drops of rain glimmering on Emilie’s skin.
Archer swallowed hard, the air between them suddenly becoming thick. The desire that he had been fighting for their entire walk welled up inside him again.
Glancing down at her, he found Emilie staring up at him. Her lips were parted, nearly begging to be kissed.
Archer knew that he shouldn’t. He knew that he had promised himself that what had happened on the cliff’s edge a few days ago would not happen again.
And yet, there he was. Unable or unwilling to fight off his desire for her. His hand began reaching out, ready to pull her into him.
The moment he moved, however, Emilie blinked rapidly, shaking her head as if to clear it.
She took several quick, retreating steps, moving herself along the slim corridor and out of his reach.
“Bannocks,” she cried out, the excuse falling from her lips. “I’m goin’ to go try those bannocks. I’ll see ye at supper.”
She turned on her heels, moving so quickly she was almost running as she disappeared down the corridor, leaving Archer so confused by her retreat that he didn’t even think to call out for her when she turned the wrong direction when she reached the very end.
“Why is this castle so big?” Emilie grunted, taking what she was certain was another wrong turn.
She was unsure how long she had been walking, and she’d gotten herself well and truly turned around. At least it was good for giving her time to think.
On their walk, Emilie had been entirely certain that she had done it. That her words had been stupid enough to convince Archer that she was not worth being married to.
But now she couldn’t help but think she had gone too far.
“It was the chickens,” she said out loud, doing her best to keep herself calm as she struggled to find her way to a familiar part of the castle. “There’s nay way anyone would believe I tried to teach chickens how to sing. Nay one is that stupid, and I bet that gave it away. That had to be it.”
She reached the end of the hall, stopping long enough to contemplate each direction.
Emilie was astonished that she hadn’t yet run into anyone who could point her in the right direction. But every place that she had walked down had been entirely empty.
She paused for a moment, listening intently. Up until now, every time she had done this, only silence had greeted her. But now, there was a soft tinkling to her left.
The sound of pots and pans clanging as they were being used.
“The kitchen,” Emilie breathed, immediately turning to her left.
Her pace picked up as she followed the sound, much more enthusiastic now that she had a direction she knew would lead her to where she was headed.
She had no intention of trying the bannocks or of convincing the cook to try to make her some. But she did at least want to grab a snack.
The twins had eaten most of the strawberries.
At the thought of the berries, her stomach gave a hungry growl. The berries had long since been packed up.
When she and Archer had started on their walk, Emilie had tried to stall by telling him she needed to clean up their picnic supplies and return the book to the library. Archer had quickly been able to find one of the maids to take care of it.
“It’s all right,” she murmured to herself. “I’ll be eatin’ in nay time at all.”
She turned a final corner, and there it was. The threshold in front of her had no door, and beyond the open space was the kitchen.
Emilie stepped into it, gratitude and hunger coursing through her.
The cook was at the stove, eagerly stirring a pot of stew. The smell of it was enough to make her mouth water.
“Me Lady?” The cook asked the moment their eyes landed on her. “Is there somethin’ I can help ye with?”
“I’m just lookin’ for a bit of bread,” Emilie explained in a friendly voice. “Just a little somethin’ to tide me over until that delicious supper ye’re cookin’ is ready.”
“Bread’s over there, on that counter by Lady Paisly,” the cook nodded her head toward the far corner of the kitchen.
Emilie whirled, finding another woman standing exactly where the cook had indicated. Sure enough, there was a fresh loaf of bread sitting on the wooden counter. And the woman standing beside it was heavily pregnant, ripping hunks from the bread and chewing them with gusto.
Emilie approached the counter, but the woman seemed not to notice her at all until she was mere inches away. When the woman’s eyes flicked up, Emilie realized that she recognized her.
“Oh,” Emilie said, surprise flickering through her. “Ye were at me weddin’.”
The woman stared at her, clearly shocked to find Emilie standing there before her. She swallowed the piece of bread she’d been chewing on quickly, though, and allowed a friendly smile to tug up the corner of her lips.
“I was,” the woman chimed. Her voice was lovely and deep. The friendly expression on her face made Emilie immediately warm to her.
“I’m Paisly. Me husband is Marcus, Laird McGregor’s man-at-arms. Ye’ve probably seen him around.”
Emilie nodded, immediately recalling exactly who Paisly was talking about.
“Do ye mind if I get a bit of bread?” she asked, pointing to the loaf directly behind her.
“Of course!” Paisly said quickly, moving her pregnant self out of the way as fast as she could. “Me apologies. The bairn in me belly demands bread every hour on the hour.”
She patted it affectionately, taking another bite from the hunk of bread gripped in her hand.
Emilie laughed as she moved past her, ripping off a piece for herself.
The bread was still warm, and she sighed as she bit into it. Turning her gaze back to Paisly.
“So,” Paisly asked around a mouthful of food, “are ye enjoyin’ yer time here so far? How are ye gettin’ settled in? And how have things been since the weddin’?”
Emilie blinked at the woman as she fired questions at her, unsure of which to answer first.
“Things are all right, I suppose,” she answered honestly. “Aurora dinnae seem to like me at first. But she seems to be warmin’ up to me now.”
“Ah,” Paisly responded, nodding her head as if she expected nothing less. “The lass is protective, especially of her brother. Smart as can be, though.”
“I think she might be the smartest one in this castle, if I’m honest.”
Paisly laughed, a rich throaty sound that made Emilie like her even more.
A smile spread across Emilie’s face. It was nice to talk to someone her age who wasn’t Archer. It was nice to have an actual conversation where she wasn’t catering to children, or to Catherine, who seemed to only want to talk about the castle or the clan.
“Ye’ll be hard pressed to find anyone in here that disagrees with ye,” Paisly answered, giving Emilie another warm, affectionate smile.
The two women stood for a moment in companionable silence, each one chewing their bread. And, for the first time since arriving at Castle McGregor, Emilie began to feel as if she might have just found a friend.