Chapter 22
Thomas’s men, along with Dominic and Flora, were waiting for him when he stepped outside McCade’s study. The gray-haired man was being restrained by two of the men. Flora kept shooting him quick, nervous glances, but the man hung his head as if he were ashamed and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Is he dead?” Dominic asked.
“Aye, he is. Ye can check if ye want.”
Dominic shook his head. “No, I believe ye.”
The pain and exhaustion finally washed over Thomas, and his knees crumpled. Dominic dived forward to support him, letting him sag to the ground.
“Emma, where is Emma?” Thomas managed, clapping a hand to his side.
The wound on his arm was still bleeding freely, sticky blood congealing on his forearm and hand. The hilt of his sword slipped from his bloody fingers, landing on the floor with a clang.
Dominic glanced at Flora and gave her a nod. “Go on, then.”
Flora turned and walked back towards the entrance hall.
The hall was filled with clutter, including a battered, half-moldy old rack of hat and coat pegs attached to a wooden box to sit and pull boots on or off.
She grasped the side of the rack, feeling up and down from something.
There was a muffled click, and she began to pull.
Slowly but surely, with a nasty screeching sound as the wood scraped over the stone floor, the wooden rack began to pull forward until it stood away from the wall to reveal a narrow wooden door.
“Clever,” Dominic remarked, hoisting Thomas up onto his feet. “We wouldn’t have found that. Although she probably could have just told us where it was.”
“Aye, but then she wouldn’t have got her lover off scot-free,” Thomas groaned. “She’s clever. I’ll give her that.”
“I don’t have the key,” Flora said. She paused, knocking on the door. “Is someone in there?”
Emma didn’t know whether to be thrilled or disappointed when she heard Flora’s voice. She couldn’t hear much through the thick stone and heavy wooden door, but she clearly heard Flora say, “I don’t have the key.”
“I have the key!” Emma gasped. “Gregor… Gregor had it.”
She glanced nervously over her shoulder to where Gregor lay staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, bloody foam around his mouth. She darted back down, reluctant to touch him at all, expecting at every moment for him to lunge upright and grab her.
He stayed dead, thankfully, and she all but stumbled up the stairs, clutching the keys retrieved from his pocket. She undid the stiff, rusty lock with shaking hands and stumbled forward into the light.
Not exactly light, though, as it was now dark outside. A few candles had been lit here and there, and it seemed almost unbearably bright.
The first face she saw when her eyes adjusted to the light was Thomas’s. He stood there, pale-faced, dripping blood onto the floor, bracing his arms against either side of the doorframe.
“Emma,” he gasped, his voice raspy with relief.
Emma opened her mouth to say something, but all that came out was an incoherent gurgle. She reached forward for him, grabbing at him as if he might melt away in her hands. His arms went around her, and she would have hugged him tightly if he hadn’t suddenly given a smothered cry of pain.
“Sit down, ye fool, before ye collapse,” Dominic said sharply, coming forward to support Thomas. Emma saw the full extent of his injuries and felt sick.
Her legs sagged, and she would have crumpled to the floor, face-first, if Flora hadn’t grabbed her arms, easing her down.
“I’m sorry,” Flora gabbled. “I’m sorry I betrayed ye and did all that, but Lachlan made me. I swear, I never meant—”
“It’s all right,” Emma said, her own voice sounding distant to her own ears. “I know what he’s like. I know what ye must have gone through. I don’t blame ye, so don’t blame yourself.”
Flora gave a small sigh of relief, smiling weakly. “I’m glad ye are alive. I think Laird MacPherson would have torn this place apart brick by brick if ye had been harmed.”
Emma looked at Thomas. “I can see that.”
Thomas took her hand and squeezed it. “Can ye blame me, Butterfly?” he asked, his voice a low, exhausted drawl. “Took me a good long while to find ye, but no harm done, eh?”
“No harm done?” Emma gasped. “Look at the state of ye! Wait… where’s McCade?”
Thomas jerked his head towards the study door, which had been kicked in, and was ominously silent. “In there. I wouldn’t suggest ye go in, by the way. He’s well beyond the help of even a healer like ye.”
“He’s dead,” Dominic chimed in, in case Emma hadn’t gotten the message.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” Emma said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand and focusing on Thomas’s injuries instead. “What’s wrong with yer side?”
“Broken ribs, I think. I’m fine, I’m fine. See to him first.” Thomas made a vague, lazy gesture towards a young man sitting up against the wall with a bloody nose and a minor wound on his shoulder. “Oh, and then there’s Dominic’s leg—”
“My leg is fine,” Dominic retorted, in the process of tying a torn piece of cloth around his injured thigh. “And the lad is stable. Ye, on the other hand, are set to pass out at any moment.”
“I must speak,” Simon said suddenly, lifting his head.
Thomas glanced his way. “Go ahead.”
“I don’t much care what ye do to me. It’s probably deserved. But Flora here must go free. She is a victim of all this and entirely innocent. I’ll confess whatever ye want, Me Laird, but let Flora go.”
Thomas sighed. “Ye are too late, Simon. It is Simon, isn’t it?”
Simon blinked. “Aye, yes.”
“Flora already made a bargain for your life in exchange for helping us. I’m a man of my word, and ye are both free to go. Your heroics are entertaining, though.”
Simon seemed a little taken aback. “Oh. I… Flora, is this true?”
Flora nodded. “I thought… I thought it was time that I helped ye a little.”
Emma was sure she saw the sparkle of tears in Simon’s eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.
“Thank ye,” he said hoarsely. “Both of ye.”
Dominic moved over to the open door, peering down into the hidden room. “Is that… ah. Thomas, I’ve found Gregor.”
Thomas sucked in a breath, trying to sit up. “Gregor? Where?”
“He’s dead, I think.”
He sagged back with relief, glancing over at Emma. “Did he hurt ye?” he asked, his voice cracking.
Emma shook her head. “Nay, he didn’t. He tried, though.”
“Did ye kill him?”
“Aye.”
“How?”
“I made him eat yellowberries.”
Thomas gave a chuckle. “That sounds like a fine story. I’d love to hear that one day.”
He leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. His skin was worryingly pale. Emma felt a pang of fear.
“I need bandages, or at least clean rags. I need shell-root and lionweed, and maybe… Oh, these.” She took out the handful of brass berries, which were a little battered and worse for wear after the time in her pocket. “Take one of these, Thomas. They’ll help with the pain.”
“Will they make me sleep?” Thomas asked.
“Aye, they will. Ye will wake up in the Keep, safe and sound.”
“Then I don’t want them.”
Emma sighed, glancing up at Dominic for help.
“Don’t be difficult, ye wretch,” Dominic snapped.
Thomas shifted himself around, trying to reach for something in his pocket.
“I need to speak to ye, Emma, and I can’t do that without a clear head.” He paused, glancing up at the others. “I can’t do it with a damn audience, either.”
Dominic rolled his eyes. “Fine, message received. All right, everyone out. I’ll fetch those herbs. Ye can have ten minutes before I come back in to check on ye, aye?”
“Aye,” Thomas responded comfortably.
Everyone filed out, and the other injured man was taken out by his friends. Flora and Simon walked out side by side, and Flora paused at the door, glancing back at Emma. Their eyes met, and she smiled. A look of understanding passed between them.
Emma knew that was probably the last time she would see Flora. They would leave the McCade pub forever and melt away into the night.
I wish ye well, Flora.
Then, she turned her attention back to Thomas. He was wriggling again, trying to pull something out of his pocket.
“Just lie still, ye will make the bleeding worse,” she soothed, smoothing back his hair from his forehead.
Her chest clenched, and she was struck by a powerful desire to lean forward and kiss him, to pull him close to her and hold him tight, and never let go.
That would probably jostle his broken ribs, though, so it was probably not a good idea.
“I should apologize,” Thomas murmured. “After… after the party at the Sinner, I avoided ye. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Emma swallowed hard. “It doesn’t matter, truly.”
“It does matter. It matters to me. I saw ye with a man on the hillside when ye were meant to be waiting for me in the carriage.”
Emma’s heart tightened. “Thomas, did ye think…”
He had the grace to blush. “Aye, I thought ye were meeting a fancy man. And then ye lied about it… I can’t stand liars. My father spent his whole life lying to me, and I couldn’t bear it.”
“I was lured there. It was—”
“McCade, aye. I know. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, and I shouldn’t have avoided ye.”
Emma sat back on her heels, surveying him. Thomas looked smaller than usual, slumped back against the wall. His injuries were bad but not fatal. If he could get to a good healer—and Emma was a good healer, and then Delphine would take care of him back at the Keep—he would survive.
Relief swept through her so powerfully that it almost made her shake. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt as though she could sleep for a week.
“I’m not upset,” she said. “After all this, ye coming to rescue me and whatnot, I don’t think I could hold a grudge against ye if I tried.”
Thomas smiled at that. “After… after our time in the Sinner, I did think that perhaps ye liked me more than ye let on.”
Emma suppressed a smile. “What gave ye that idea?”
He shrugged, wincing at the pain when it pulled on his bad ribs. “Just a hunch, ye know?”
She swallowed hard, reaching forward to smooth back his hair again. If only she had a cool, damp cloth, or if she had her herbs and potions at her disposal. Emma took out one of the brass berries, rolling it between her palms to warm and soften it.
“Take this,” she said brusquely, “for the pain.”
Thomas shook his head, mulishly pressing his lips together. “I’m not finished. I need to say this to ye, Emma. I never thought of myself as a cowardly man, but I can’t help but feel that if we don’t talk about this now, we never will.”
Emma bit her lip, nodding. “All right. Go on.”
He sighed, shuffling towards his pocket again. “Damn, I can’t get it out. Emma, there is a velvet box in that pocket. Can ye take it out, please? Don’t open it yet.”
“Of course.”
She reached forward, taking out the object in question. It was small, small enough to fit in her palm, and covered with rich, furry red velvet. She resisted the urge to rub it against her cheek, enjoying the softness of the material.
“Ye know that I tried to have Delphine dismiss ye shortly after ye arrived,” Thomas said suddenly, and Emma stiffened.
“Aye, I knew. But it’s water under the bridge.”
He nodded. “It was foolish, and I am sorry. But my reason for doing that, not that there was a good reason, was that ye made me feel strange.”
Emma lifted an eyebrow. “Strange?”
“Aye, ye heard me. Ye bothered me. Ye were on my mind when ye should not be. I found myself thinking about ye, going over our conversations in my head. I found excuses to go and speak with ye, and no other woman could hold my attention. Astrid found that out, which is why she was so jealous of ye.”
Emma considered this, nibbling on her lower lip. A flare of hope started up inside her, mingling with the gut-churning desire that swirled in her chest.
“What are ye saying, Thomas?” she asked softly. “Ye are Laird MacPherson. I’m just a healer.”
“Just a healer,” he repeated, chuckling. “Ye know what I think of that phrase. I’m trying to tell ye that I am in love with ye, Emma. If ye don’t feel the same, I understand, but I need ye to know how much ye mean to me.”
She swallowed hard, her tongue seeming to stick to the roof of her mouth. “Are ye making fun of me?” she whispered.
“Take that box in yer hand. I bought it when I bought ye that necklace. I meant to show it to ye before, but… well, I’m showing it to ye now. Open it.”
Emma stared down at the box. Her fingers seemed to tingle where they touched it. She reached out hesitantly and opened the lid.
Inside was more velvet, formed into a tiny cushion. Upon the cushion sat a ring.
It was silver, the band carved into what looked like tree branches, twisted and twining around the single jewel in the middle.
The stone was green, and upon closer inspection, it was made up of other shades of green, running through the jewel-like tendrils, for all the world like a piece of the woods had been made into stone.
“It’s… it’s beautiful,” Emma managed, her voice stuck in her throat.
“They call it moss agate,” Thomas said. “I don’t know where it comes from. It reminded me of the forest, of all those herbs ye bring in. Ye ought to be proud of yer healer’s hands, Emma, even if they are green. So, I bought ye a ring to match.”
Emma touched the cold silver with a fingertip, hardly daring to breathe. She longed to slip it on. She could already tell that the ring would fit her perfectly.
“What does this mean, Thomas?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Thomas smiled lazily. “I am asking ye to marry me, Emma Gallagher. I love ye, and I never thought I’d be a man to fall in love. I can’t imagine life with another woman beside ye.”
Emma gave a choking, hiccupping laugh. “Ye truly mean it?”
“I love ye, Emma. I love ye more than life itself. What say ye?”
She dived forward, clumsily fitting her lips to his. He tasted like salt and sweat, along with the coppery tang of blood, but she didn’t care. He lifted his good hand weakly to touch her cheek, his fingertips lingering there.
They moved apart, their foreheads still touching.
“Is that a yes?” Thomas murmured.
Emma laughed. “Aye, it is. Now, for the love of God, eat one of these brass berries so ye can go to sleep and forget all of this pain.”
Thomas chuckled, opening his mouth so that she could pop in a berry. His eyes crinkled at the bitter taste, but he chewed diligently.
“I thought brass berries tasted good.”
“Only when they’re dried. These are fresh. Lucky ye, eh?”
Thomas pulled a face. “Not so much.” His eyelids were already drooping, the berry doing its work.
There was a rap at the door from outside.
“Can I come in yet?” Dominic asked. “It’s just that it’s starting to rain out here.”