Chapter 6 #2
When Logan spoke again, his voice held the same level of command, despite it being a bit lower than before. David, on the other hand, nodded like a man who appreciated the way his Laird spoke.
The next day, Emma told Jenny she wanted a book that would keep her mind busy without inviting dreams. Jenny immediately pointed her to the library.
“The former Laird liked to collect books. Ye may find what ye are looking for there.”
“Thank you very much,” Emma responded.
She found the room still and bright, with dust that settled around the books, indicating that they had not been touched in ages. She grabbed a volume about the west coast from a low shelf.
Soon, she heard voices coming from the corridor while she stood on her tiptoes. David again. Logan with him. They were talking about MacTavish this time, the possible folding of an old quarrel into a newer alliance.
Was he just following her? Why couldn’t he use his study anyway? Why come to the library to discuss more of this alliance she knew nothing about?
She tried to hold still and listen to their words, but she couldn’t. At that moment, the book slipped from her hands.
No.
It fell and made a sound that the room did not allow. Silence followed, abrupt and absolute.
“Who is there?” Logan called.
Emma stepped into view at once because pretense would make it worse. “I beg your pardon,” she said. “I only wanted to grab a book. I will not disturb you.”
“Ye arenae—” Logan began.
“Please, continue,” she interrupted, lifting the book to show she had what she came for.
With that, she turned around and left.
The pulse in her throat did not slow until she had reached the safety of her chamber. She shut the door and pressed her forehead against the cool wood.
It was ridiculous to run from a voice, even if the voice belonged to a man who could silence a hall with a sentence.
She laughed at herself and opened the book about herbs. She read the same page twice and could not have said what it contained.
A day before the wedding, she sat with Isobel in the little sitting room that overlooked the large courtyard.
Isobel’s hands were busy with a ribbon, turning it into a shape that pleased her.
She spoke about things that greatly interested her and about the wedding.
Emma listened, grateful for the simplicity of it.
“I am excited,” Isobel said, and her candor made Emma like her more. “It will be a good day.”
“Should I worry?” Emma asked.
A part of her wanted the question to be blessed or rejected by someone who knew this place better than she did.
“There is nothing ye have to worry about. The people will be kind,” Isobel assured her. “They fear him enough to mind their words in public.”
“Thank you,” Emma said, letting the reassurance settle where it could.
They spoke a little longer, then Isobel rose. “Sleep if you can. I will see to a few things in the kitchens. Trust me. Tomorrow is a big day, and ye need to get as much sleep as ye can.”
Emma nodded, grateful again, and retired to her chamber for the night.
She took off her dress and folded it aside, then set out a shawl for the night air if she needed to think by the window.
She washed her face at the basin, dried it with a towel that smelled faintly of rosemary, and left the room dark except for the low fire.
The window showed the courtyard as the sky let go of its last light. The walls held their shape in a softer color, and torches were lit near the gate. Emma studied the thin flags of flame they made in the wind and realized this place looked even more beautiful at night. Even more peaceful.
It was peaceful enough to induce sleep. Until movement caught her eye.
A figure passed under the torch, then beyond it, toward the path that led down and out along the outer wall. The posture and the gait made her spine stiffen.
Is that—
She studied the way he held his sword in a grip that suggested use rather than display. The sight made something inside her go cold.
Was he leaving? Again?
The thought came too fast to soften. It did not matter that logic said that a laird who planned a ceremony would not sneak out at night to run from it. The church door had stayed empty once. Her body remembered that fact better than her mind could argue.
No.
She could still remember the fear that had overtaken her that morning in the church. She could still hear the murmurs and the way people had tried to console her. She could almost hear Melody telling her something must have gone wrong and that it would all be fine.
Was something going wrong now?
Was he trying to escape the wedding?
“Not on my watch, sir,” she breathed, the desire to follow him growing stronger than anything.
For a brief second, she thought of calling out to Jenny, but Logan was out of the gates at this point. If she didn’t hurry, she would lose him.
Again.
She reached for her shawl, wrapped it tight around her chest, and secured it with a pin she could work with cold fingers. She did not stop to think about boots or how her hair looked or anything. She just left her chambers, nothing but determination driving her.
She refused to do this again.
She refused to hear consolations about what she couldn’t control.
Not again.
Not anymore.