Chapter 21
Emma did not remember falling asleep. If she had, it could not have lasted more than a few minutes. Every time her eyes closed, she would see Logan’s lips on hers and would hear that one quiet sentence that had refused to leave her mind.
One last trip. In two days.
Her skin had still been warm from his touch, and her thoughts had gone completely flat. Abandoned again, her mind kept saying. She lay on her back beneath the blanket and stared at the faint strip of light along the edge of the shutters.
She caught herself counting couples she had seen who did not live like this. Melody and Calum, always close enough to touch at meals. Husbands in London who checked the weather so they could be home by dusk. Men who made every effort to stay.
She rolled onto her side and bit the inside of her cheek.
This was an agreement. She had stepped into it with a clear head. She had listened to his words, weighed her options, and chosen this life. She had wanted safety. She had wanted a name that could stand up in a drawing room. She had not demanded shared plans or warm hands over breakfast.
You cannot claim what you never set as a condition.
She had agreed that they might live as they pleased with no complaints from either of them. So where did this blooming ache in her chest come from, and why couldn’t she stop thinking about what life would be like if things were different?
If he truly loved her?
She let out a harsh breath and sat up. The room held the thin light of the morning, and the coals in the fireplace cracked rather weakly. Her head felt strange, as if some part of her had stopped arguing and decided to act instead.
If he meant to leave, he would. She could not tie him to a chair. She could choose not to sit and wait in a room that felt smaller every time he walked out of it. But that would clearly be to her disadvantage only. The only time he cared about her was when she was changing his castle.
As the morning light grew brighter, she pushed herself out of bed and went to take a bath.
She dressed without much care for what she put on, her fingers moving quickly over her laces and ties. When Jenny came in with a cheeky morning voice and a bright “Good morning, me Lady,” she answered with only a nod.
There was nothing good about the morning anyway.
Outside her door, the hallway held the silence of early work.
Emma watched the brooms move and buckets knock softly against knees.
She walked toward the breakfast room, smoothing her dress out of habit more than vanity.
She had almost reached the archway when a sound cut across the usual morning noise—a low, unsettled squawk.
She stepped onto the threshold and stopped, the sight grounding her to a halt.
They were taking the animals out.
Two men were leading the calf to the main doors, one on either side of its head. It dug in its hooves, puzzled, eyes darting around the hall as if looking for its usual corner. The chicken pecked at a maid’s ankles, wings half spread, squawking as she tried to catch it.
Emma’s chest tightened so fast it felt like a blow.
Her farm, as Logan had called it, was being pulled apart piece by piece.
She stepped further inside. “What are you doing?”
The nearest servant, a kitchen maid Emma recognized from the previous morning, jumped. “Me Lady,” she said, ducking her head. “We… The Laird gave orders.”
“What orders?” Emma asked.
“The beasts are to be kept outside,” the maid replied quickly. “Pens only. The hall is to be cleared. He said the castle must be put back to proper order.”
The words landed without surprise and still managed to sting.
Proper order.
Emma felt heat rise under her skin. For a man who would not spend the next full day in the castle, he seemed to have a great idea of what proper order looked like.
From outside, she could see what this looked like. An English lady arrived and filled the hall with creatures. The Laird came home, said one word, and it all disappeared. Her changes folded up like children’s things when parents called for dinner.
She hated that thought, and she hated the fact that she couldn’t do anything about it even more. The calf, which was now halfway through the courtyard, let out a soft, uneasy sound that tugged at a place in her heart she had not intended to expose.
“Can you handle Margaret gently? She is not stubborn. Please!” she screamed at the guards dragging the calf.
They looked at each other, confusion flashing across their faces.
Emma raised her hands, wondering if she had spoken in a different language. “Be careful with the calf!”
The guards nodded and went their way.
Her throat tightened as something small moved at the edge of her vision.
Near the long table, the cat had its front paws hooked into a wicker basket, belly pressed low, trying not to be lifted.
One of the maids had her hand under its middle, as gentle as she could be while still following instructions.
No.
Emma crossed the hall and reached for the cat. Its body was warm and tense as she drew it against her. Tiny claws caught in the fabric of her gown, and its heart fluttered against her palm.
“This one stays,” she declared.
The maid’s eyes went round. “Me Lady, the Laird said that all the—”
“I heard him,” Emma cut her off, her voice level. “I have made a change. This one stays.”
The maid glanced past her, as if measuring the distance to the door and to Logan’s temper. “I daenae ken if I am allowed,” she whispered.
Emma adjusted her hold on the cat. It tucked its head under her chin as if it had decided the matter for itself.
“I am Lady MacLellan,” she said. “If there is trouble, it will come to me. Take the others where they are meant to go. This one is mine.”
The maid swallowed, nodded, and turned back to the scattered feathers and flapping wings. The small procession toward the doors started again, and Emma watched the last of the animals left the room.
Her eyes burned, but she blinked back her tears.
So, her husband wanted the hall the way he remembered it. Bare wall, long tables, no disturbance.
She rubbed one finger over the cat’s head. It settled and started purring.
“If he runs this place like a ship,” she said quietly into its fur, “I will make it feel like somewhere people live.”
The words steadied her as she lifted her head and turned away from the doors.
Out in the corridor, two footmen were carrying a stack of folded linen toward the guest rooms. At the sight of her, they straightened, uncertain whether to stop or keep moving.
“You,” she said. “Both of you. Come here.”
They came at once. One of them was the same man who had helped her with the calf earlier that week. His gaze darted to the cat and then back up.
“I want to redecorate,” Emma declared. “The hall. These corridors. My chamber. The stone swallows every bit of light we have.”
They exchanged a look over the linen.
“Do ye want us to hang cloths, me Lady?” the taller man ventured. “Or… paint the walls?”
“Cloths to begin with,” she said. “See what we have in the storerooms. I want color on the walls. Lilac along the far side of the hall. A soft green near the windows. The rooms should look used, not stored for some children that are not even here yet.”
The shorter man shifted his weight. “I daenae ken what the Laird will say.”
“The Laird will hear it from me,” she assured him. “Not from you.” She shifted the cat to her other arm. Its tail thumped against her wrist. “I will also be moving some chests. You can help when you are finished with those.”
They both nodded, wary but also grateful to have been given clear work.
“Aye, me Lady,” the taller man said.
Emma dismissed them with a wave, then turned toward the stairs. The cat’s claws had snagged a loose thread and refused to let go. She did not try to free it.
Logan could keep his study as he pleased. He could stand on his deck with nothing around him but sky and water and his own orders.
She would see to the rooms he did not think about. If he wanted to treat their marriage like a map, she would leave her mark on every place she could lay her hands on.
She tightened her arm around the small, warm weight and climbed.
You want to play, Logan? Then we will play.