Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“Ye’re makin’ a mistake,” Marcus hissed, but Archer refused to listen to him.
He walked around the carriage once more, ensuring that the straps that secured the massive thing to the horse were sturdy. He’d checked them three times already, and each time he’d not found anything wrong with them.
Archer knew he should get inside. He didn’t want to be here when Emilie came out. He didn’t think he could bear to see her leave, as much as he knew it was the right thing to do.
“What about all the things ye’ve been talkin’ about?” Marcus continued badgering Archer, following after him as he went round and round the carriage. “What about the way ye look at her? Or the way she looks at ye? What about…”
“Enough,” Archer hissed, finally whirling to face his cousin. “I willnae be hearin’ anythin’ else about this, Marcus. Me mind is made up. She’s been tryin’ to get me to annul the marriage the entire time she’s been here. I’m just givin’ the lass what she wants.”
Immediately, Marcus began to shake his head.
“I daenae believe that,” he said stubbornly. “I’ve seen the two of ye together. And I’ve seen her with the bairns. There is nay way that she’d want to leave all that behind.”
“Well, believe it,” Archer growled.
He couldn’t rationalize checking the straps to the carriage another time. So, he turned and began walking back toward the castle.
“How do ye ken?” Marcus called after him.
The sound of boots on gravel filled the air, and a moment later, a hand landed on Archer’s shoulder, forcing him to turn.
Marcus was standing behind him, glaring at him with hard eyes.
“How do ye ken?” he repeated, staring at Archer and imploring him to speak.
Archer shook his head. “Ye remember me tellin’ ye all about her bein’ daft, how she told me that she was tryin’ to teach a chicken to whistle?”
Marcus took a step back, blinking at Archer for a moment before finally nodding.
“I remember,” he admitted. “But what does that have to do with anythin’?”
“She was tryin’ to annoy me,” Archer explained gruffly. “She thought that if she made me believe she was daft, if she made me believe she was too foolish to be trusted with me bairns, that I would annul the marriage.”
“How do ye ken that for sure, though?” Marcus continued to argue. “Because that just doesnae make sense. She might as well have just asked ye for an annulment. Or, continued to tell ye that she dinnae want to be married to ye. Eventually, ye would have sent her back to the abbey.”
Archer growled low in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He was done talking about it.
After he’d told Emilie to pack her things and left the library, Archer had retreated to find Marcus. He didn’t trust anyone else to take her to the abbey, especially not this late at night.
Especially not when there were still so many questions surrounding Finlay and what he would or would not do to stop Archer from outselling him.
He’d found Marcus in his workroom, bent over his sword as he sharpened it. And, the moment Archer had told his man-at-arms that he’d granted Emilie an annulment, it had been an argument.
And he was tired of it.
He’d done his very best to ignore Marcus, to evade his questions in the hope that his insistence would eventually wane. If anything, though, it had done the opposite.
Marcus only seemed more adamant that Archer talk and tell him everything.
“I daenae want to talk about this,” Archer hissed, “I’m done. Daenae bring it up again.”
Marcus opened his mouth to argue just as the doors to the castle opened. Archer’s heart dropped. He knew exactly who would be standing in the doors, and he didn’t want to see her.
And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from looking.
Emilie was standing at the top of the staircase, her frame silhouetted with the light of the castle. She looked like an angel, standing there and clutching something white to her chest.
“Where are yer things?” Archer asked as she began walking down the steps, more and more of her face coming into view as she stepped out of the shadow. “Are ye havin’ the servants bring them down?”
“This is all I’m takin’ with me,” Emilie murmured, dipping her head to indicate the thing she was gripping in her hands.
Archer glanced down, and it took him a moment, but eventually he realized what it was.
“Yer habit?” he asked, unable to stop the confusion from seeping into his voice. “Ye’re only takin’ yer habit? What about yer other things?”
Emilie turned to face him head-on then, and for the first time, he was able to take in every part of her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, telling him just how much she’d been crying.
Her cheeks were also puffy, and a dot of blood danced on her bottom lip, as if she’d been chewing on it.
“I have nay other things,” Emilie answered in a hollow voice. “And besides, this is all I want to take.”
Archer gulped, imagining the swaths of dresses still in his bedchambers, the ones that he’d had made especially for her. He didn’t want them to remain up there.
He didn’t want to walk past the armoire every day and stare at it, knowing the contents resting behind its doors. He didn’t want the constant reminder that she had been there.
“I daenae want to keep them,” Archer said. “I’ll have a maid pack them and have them delivered to the abbey for ye tomorrow.”
Emilie shook her head.
“The nuns willnae allow me to keep any of it,” she said. “And I daenae want to take it. Donate it to someone in Thrums, if ye must. Or give them to Catherine. The girl would likely appreciate them.”
“Emilie…” Archer began, but she did not listen.
Instead, she turned away, walking past him. She was still clutching the folded habit to her chest as she reached the door of the carriage. Stopping before it, Emilie stared at the door with straightened shoulders.
Even at a distance, Archer could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her back was to him now, so he couldn’t see her face. But he got the distinct impression that she was once again fighting back tears.
“Thank ye for everythin’ Archer.”
The words were so soft that for a moment, Archer wasn’t certain that he had heard them. But when Emilie turned and glanced at him over her shoulder, giving him a soft, tentative smile of goodbye, he’d known that he had.
Marcus stepped forward, glaring at Archer before he pulled open the door to the carriage.
“I’ll be takin’ ye back to the abbey,” he explained in a gentle voice, waving his hand in front of him in a welcome for Emilie to climb up the stairs.
She did so, and when Marcus closed the door behind her, he turned and glared at Archer once more. He stalked toward him, shoulders squared.
For the first time since they’d been nothing more than hot-headed teenagers, Archer was almost certain that Marcus was going to hit him. But Marcus stopped a few feet shy of him, glaring at Archer.
“Ye cannae tell me that this is what ye truly want,” Marcus hissed, keeping his voice low so that Emilie wouldn’t overhear where she was tucked away within the carriage. “Nae after the way ye looked like ye were goin’ to vomit by simply watchin’ her leave.”
“It doesnae matter,” Archer growled back. “I have made me decision, and I will nae be swayed. Nae by her and certainly nay by ye. So, ye will do as I told ye and take her to the abbey, or tomorrow I will be findin’ meself a new man-at-arms. Do I make meself clear?”
Archer didn’t wait for an answer before he turned and walked back up the stairs and into the castle. He did not so much as glance over his shoulder.
He didn’t need to. He heard it as Marcus turned and walked across the gravel to the carriage.
And right before he closed the doors of the castle, he heard the snap of the whip as Marcus spurred the carriage on. Taking Emilie back to where she came from and making him feel more and more ill with every additional second that passed.