Chapter 10
Emma wasn’t surprised when she dreamed about the kiss.
The dream itself was confusing and disjointed, as dreams often are, but somehow the chaos all resolved itself into Thomas, with that smug smirk on his face.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him again.
They were face to face, noses almost brushing together, and she could almost taste the sweet softness of his lips when a banging sound jerked her out of the dream.
She jerked upright, blinking in her gloomy bedroom, sheets twisted and knotted around her legs. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, which was a surprise—her room was usually cold.
The banging came again, and she realized in surprise that it was a knocking at her door.
“Emma?” Delphine called, her voice muffled through the wood. “It’s past breakfast time. Are ye well?”
A flash of panic went through Emma. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, leaping to her feet and grabbing up her clothes.
She’d overslept by a good long stretch. Usually, she was up at least an hour before breakfast, making up the fire and setting the porridge pot to bubble and simmer.
She would review the day’s tasks and maybe get a head start on cleaning up the chamber or preparing more herbs and potions.
And all that was before Delphine usually rose in the morning.
Emma cursed herself and Laird Thomas MacPherson with all her might, hopping around the room and pulling on her clothes. She would just have to wash and brush her hair later. Her hair still hung down her back in the rough, uneven plait she had slept in.
She flung open the door, finding herself face to face with a surprised Delphine. “I’m so sorry.” she gasped. “I… I must have slept in.”
Delphine frowned, eyeing her closely. “Ye don’t seem yourself, lass. Ye never sleep in.”
Emma swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry, truly.”
“Are ye feeling well? Ye can always rest today if ye don’t feel right.”
“I’m fine, honestly. Just a wee bit tired.”
Delphine clearly wasn’t convinced. She pressed her cool palm to Emma’s forehead, checking for a temperature.
“See?” Emma said, hoping that she sounded collected and healthy. “I’m fine.”
“Hmm. Well, come on and eat breakfast, lassie.”
Emma followed Delphine into the main room and saw with shame that the pot of porridge was already bubbling over a good fire.
With a flash of guilt, she imagined the frail Delphine hauling the heavy pot into place over the fire.
After a few near misses of burns and scalds, Emma had quietly but firmly taken over the business of cooking.
“I have patients to see in the Keep today,” Delphine said, lowering herself into her usual seat with a wince of pain. “I was going to take ye with me, but…”
“I can still come. Honestly, Delphine, I—”
“Nay, nay, lass,” Delphine said firmly. “There’s work to be done here. Medicines to be prepared, and so on. My hands are too old and frail to do all that, so I’ll leave ye to do that.”
Emma bit her lip and said nothing, spooning two portions of porridge.
The truth was that she intended to be the Chief Healer one day.
No day soon, of course. She would never—and could never—take the position from Delphine.
But being a healer’s apprentice did not guarantee that you would take their position whenever it was left vacant.
Emma needed to be visible, somebody the officials and nobles in the Keep trusted with their health, as well as the peasants and common folk out in the crofts and fields.
There were still people in the Keep who politely but firmly requested Delphine to attend them rather than Emma.
She would never gain their trust if she spent her time grinding herbs and powders in the Chambers. Not, of course, that Delphine meant any harm. She probably just wanted Emma to rest—she was a kind woman.
“I’d like to stay busy,” Emma said carefully, setting out the two bowls of porridge and taking her seat opposite.
That was true in more ways than one. The thought of spending all day alone with her thoughts was a recipe for disaster because a certain handsome, infuriating laird would undoubtedly come creeping in.
She couldn’t tell Delphine that, of course.
“Ye will be, I promise.” Delphine chuckled, scooping a spoon of porridge into her mouth. “I’ve left a list of medicines we’re running low on, as well as the herbs ye will need to prepare them.”
“Aye, very well.”
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Emma kept her gaze on her porridge, conscious of Delphine’s eyes on her. The older woman was no fool. Quite the opposite, after decades as an experienced Keep Healer. She could read a room and a face just as easily as she could interpret a set of symptoms.
Delphine had once said that gut feelings were more than just feelings. The intricacies of a human gut were a huge, complex thing, and Delphine had gone as far as to compare it to a second brain. That didn’t seem right to Emma, but she trusted Delphine and her expertise.
“If yer gut tells ye something, for the sake of all the gods, listen, lass,” Delphine had said once after a patient’s drunk, violent husband had come home unexpectedly and burst into irrational rage at seeing the healers tend to his wife’s wounds, wounds that he himself had caused.
Emma hadn’t quite understood the connection, only that Delphine had certainly seemed more prepared for the violent fool than anyone else.
“Are ye sure that everything is well with ye, lassie?” Delphine asked, cutting into Emma’s thoughts.
Emma glanced up from her porridge, forcing a smile. Delphine’s gaze narrowed.
“Aye, of course. As I said, Delphine, I am just tired.”
Delphine didn’t look convinced. Far from it, but she only sighed and shook her head and resumed eating her porridge.
Emma paused in her grinding to wipe sweat from her brow.
She was using the largest pestle and mortar, which was a vast, ancient granite bowl with a pestle the size of a forearm.
She couldn’t lift it herself and had to enlist two soldiers to lift the thing from a shelf in the corner to the main table.
The morning was well alone, and bright sunlight streamed in through the vast glass windows, making the chamber too hot.
She sweated over the pestle and mortar, grinding up large quantities of newt’s eye seeds and dog’s-tongue, carefully scraping out the precious powder into vials and jars to be used later.
It was hard work but not quite enough to keep her thoughts occupied.
A knock on the door made her jump.
“Coming,” she called, replacing the pestle and wiping the sheen of greenish powder from her hands onto her apron. She moved towards the door, but it opened before she could reach it.
She stopped dead. Thomas stood in the doorway.
For a moment, there was silence between them. She was sure, just for an instant, that his face was open and nervous, with no trace of his habitual self-confidence.
Then, the instant was gone, and Thomas flashed her a smirk.
It was both infuriating and alluring, and Emma hated both of those emotions.
“How can I help ye, Me Laird?” she asked frostily.
He stepped inside, still grinning, and closed the door behind him. “Well, first of all, I’m here to apologize for… for last night.”
Emma didn’t miss the way his gaze darted around the room before he finished that sentence, as if afraid he might be overheard. Somehow, she just knew that he knew that Delphine was not here.
She folded her arms across her chest, conscious of her untidy hair, freshly green-stained fingers, and herb powder dusting her clothes and probably her face.
“Apology accepted. Is that why ye are here?”
“Not just that. I wanted to assure ye that it won’t happen again, aye?”
Emma rolled her shoulders, eyeing his face for… well, she didn’t know what she was looking for. She ought to be reassured that he wouldn’t try to kiss her again. It was a mistake, they both knew that, so why did it hurt that he admitted it?
“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, although she was sure of no such thing. “It certainly won’t happen again.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on her face. The air between them crackled with something, although Emma could not have said what. She felt that as soon as one of them spoke, shifted, or even breathed, the moment would be gone, and there was no telling what would happen after that.
She broke away first. She dropped her gaze, turning back to her pestle and mortar. There was a pile of yellow-green herbs inside, half pounded into powder. They would need to be ground finer and then finer still so that they could be stirred into a mug of hot water and easily drank.
“What else can I help ye with, Laird MacPherson?” she asked, not looking back at him.
He was still there, she knew it. Not only had she not heard the tell-tale sound of the door opening and closing, but she could feel his presence.
It was the strangest thing. Delphine might have told her to listen to her gut, but Emma had no idea what hers was saying, only that it was insistent.
“My arm is stinging again.”
She did glance over at him at that. Sure enough, his forearm was pink and angry, which was to be expected after all those nettle stings.
“Please tell me ye didn’t go rifling around in the nettles again.”
He snorted. “No, I didn’t. I took a hot bath only an hour or two after I left here, and I think that washed away some of the salve.”
Emma sighed, rolling her eyes. “Aye, that’ll do it. That’s my fault. I ought to have warned ye. Come here, Me Laird, and I’ll put some more salve on it.”
“Could you just… call me Thomas? I beg of you.”
She didn’t know what to do with that.
Emma hastily turned her back, pretending to glance through the shelves for burdock salve, when she really knew exactly where it was. She heard Thomas cross the room, settling himself into a seat. When she turned back with a fresh tin of salve, he was peering curiously into the pestle and mortar.
“It smells like sage,” he commented.
“We add a sprinkle of sage to make the taste more palatable. These herbs make up a tea, and it can be sour,” she explained. “Hold out yer arm.”
He obeyed, and she set about rubbing a good amount of salve over the reddened, nettle-stung sting. If she rubbed the ointment in more carefully, more gently, or took longer than was necessary, that was nobody’s business but her own.
Thomas didn’t speak while she worked, and she felt grateful for that.
“Do ye have a dress, then?” he asked as she was replacing the tin of salve.
Emma paused, glancing back over her shoulder. “What?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Do ye have a gown suitable for the event? For the thing I told ye about last night?”
She turned to face him, incredulous. “Ye cannae be serious.”
“Of course, I am serious. I am often serious.”
“I am nae going with ye to… to whatever this event is. I thought that was clear.”
Thomas held her gaze, and she felt color rise to her cheeks. She hadn’t been that clear. In fact, she’d allowed him to kiss her.
She might even have kissed him back.
She cleared her throat, tossed back her hair, and forced herself to hold his gaze. “I cannae go with ye. Delphine wouldnae let me.”
Ah, that was inspired. Thomas might run roughshod over Emma’s excuses, but would he defy Delphine? Probably not.
He frowned, pursing his lips. “Hmm. So, if I could get Delphine to agree, ye would come with me?”
Emma hesitated, wavering. This felt like a trap. If she said yes, and Delphine did agree, she would have to go.
But Delphine wouldn’t agree. Emma was sure of that.
“Fine,” she muttered, shrugging. “But she’ll nae agree, I ken that.”
“We have a deal, then,” Thomas said, grinning.
He had teeth that were just a little too pointed, giving him that oddly vulpine look, which made her heart pound faster than it should.
“Now, if ye don’t mind, I have work to do,” Emma said briskly, dusting her hands together, even though there was no more powder on them. “I’m sure a laird like ye is very busy…”
Then, the door opened, and Delphine walked in. Emma’s heart sank, and she could have cursed aloud.
“Oh, Thomas, ye are here,” Delphine said, mildly surprised.
“The nettle stings.” Thomas raised his slimy arm by way of explanation. “I am glad ye are here, Delphine. I have a favor to ask.”
“Oh, aye?”
Emma swallowed hard, widening her eyes at Delphine. Hopefully, her facial expression would convey that she did not want to go to this event.
Unfortunately, Delphine’s eyesight was not what it had been, and it was likely that she could not see Emma’s face from this distance.
“I am invited to a small family event at the Sinner,” Thomas explained. “Ye know the place. Colby, Veronica, and Dominic are expecting me.”
“Aye, I know them. What of it?”
“Well, I would like to bring Emma along. As my guest. She seems tired and overworked, and I thought a good night out would refresh her.”
Curse the man.
Emma felt a mix of irritation and admiration. It was as if he’d known exactly what might sway Delphine. She could already see her mentor wavering, worries flashing up behind her eyes.
“Well, the lass has worked very hard lately. She was tired this morning, too tired to do her morning chores. And that’s nae like Emma at all, mind ye,” Delphine admitted, chewing on her lip.
“The Sinner isnae a bad place. And I can assume, Me Laird, that she would be entirely safe with ye, and from ye, aye?”
“Of course,” Thomas assured her. “Ye have me solemn word, Delphine. I have never lied to ye.”
“No, ye certainly havenae,” Delphine said, looking reassured. “Well, then, ye can have my permission. Emma, ye can go with the Laird to this… whatever it is. Enjoy yer night off, and don’t think of waking early the next morning, aye? Ye have earned this.”
Emma wanted to scream. But there was also a tiny flare of excitement, deep inside, something hidden and almost shameful.
Might it be entertaining? For all Thomas was a wild rake, he was also said to be good company. He was fun.
Either way, it would make a pleasant change from digging through wet earth and thorny bushes to harvest endless herbs. So, Emma only sighed, rolled her eyes, and nodded.
“Fine. I will go with ye.”
Thomas gave a crow of triumph. “Ye willnae regret it, lassie. Now, as to yer gown—”
“I have dresses.”
His gaze traveled pointedly down her worn brown dress, which was mostly covered by a much-darned apron.
“Aye, I can see that. But let’s get ye something better, eh? Clothes are more than just something ye sling on yer back. Good day, Emma. Good day, Delphine.”
Then, he was gone, striding out of the door and leaving it swinging behind him. Delphine watched him go, sighing. She turned back to Emma and raised her eyebrows questioningly.
“Care to explain what just happened?”
Emma was watching Thomas go, his broad shoulders disappearing down the hallway. “I have nay idea,” she admitted.