Chapter 26
Emma’s stomach dropped.
No.
Something told her this was going somewhere she would not like.
No, no, no.
She set her knife down carefully so it did not clatter. Then she lifted her chin a fraction and schooled her features into calm, as if he were about to say something about the quality of the meat.
He did not.
“You are leaving, are you not?”
Logan stared at her, and for the briefest moment, she could see something akin to regret flash behind his eyes.
“Emma—”
“You do not have to soften anything for me, Logan. Just answer my question.”
Tense silence fell between them before he eventually found his words again.
“I leave at dawn,” he announced. “I must ride to a neighboring clan.”
Of course.
He leaned back a little, fingers resting on the rim of his cup. His voice stayed even, as if he were speaking of fields and weather. He talked about the neighboring clan, men who had sent word, questions about borders and routes, and who had the right to which body of water.
“Things are tense,” he finished. “And unfortunately, they cannae wait.”
He sounded resolved, not eager and not sorry. Just done with deciding. This was what was happening. He was polite enough to say it aloud.
Emma laced her fingers together on the table. She pressed hard enough that the joints ached.
Under all that talk, she heard what mattered. Dawn. Horses. Men. His chair going empty again while she sat and pretended not to notice.
The image of the church in London came back unbidden. That long aisle. The empty space where he should have stood. The way Isobel’s voice had stayed so calm when she told Emma he was expected to leave. How everyone else had treated it as weather while she stood in the middle of it, soaked.
“How long will you be gone this time?” she asked, and her own voice surprised her. It was calm, almost bored. She took a small comfort in that.
Logan rolled one shoulder. “A day or two. Depends on how they greet me and how long they choose to talk.” He took a slow sip. “Depends on how stubborn they are.”
Depends.
She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth.
You could have told me earlier. You never stay. Do you decide, or do you simply drift where the wind pushes you?
These words hung on the tip of her tongue, ready to escape into the air. She swallowed them instead and decided on something entirely different.
“I would like to come with you,” she said.
He set his cup down. The sound was nothing but silence after it was not.
His gaze sharpened, and he looked at her the way she had seen him looking at the maps on the desk and checking for places he wasn’t familiar with.
“Why?” he asked, his voice flat.
Emma lifted her chin. “I have not seen anything beyond these walls since I arrived. I know the corridors and the yard and the path to the stables. I know how the light hits the lake if I stand in the right spot at the right time, thanks to Isobel.”
“Aye. She made me see that too, three weeks before me arrival,” Logan admitted.
Emma shrugged one shoulder. “It is not much of Scotland.”
He kept his eyes on her.
“I would like to see more than just stone and smoke,” she continued. “They say your land is beautiful. I have only met your walls and fireplace.”
She realized he could call that a child’s wish if he wanted. Tell her to sew castles on a cushion if she wished to see new views.
“I also love the beach,” she added. “At home, I escaped to the coast when I could. Ye have one, somewhere. I would like to see it. Even if it is cold and unfriendly and throws salt in my face.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“We arenae detouring for a stroll on the sand, wife,” he said. “This is business, nae a holiday.”
“I know that. I am not asking you to carry a parasol for me.” Her voice cooled. “I am asking not to be left behind without a word. Again.”
His eyes narrowed, and she let her words sink in. For a minute, nothing could be heard except the crackle of fire in the grate.
A part of Emma wondered if her words were enough or if he needed more convincing. She leaned towards the latter anyway.
“You spoke of tempers,” she said. “Of trouble. If there is danger, I would rather see it with my own eyes than sit here listening to whispers and wondering if every knock on the door is bad news.” She held his gaze.
“I am your wife. Whatever this is, I am not cargo to be dropped somewhere safe while you ride into storms you find interesting.”
There. As plain as she dared.
He watched her, and she had the odd sense that if he had been holding a map, he would be tracing every line with a finger, looking for hidden reefs. She kept still anyway, her feet flat on the floor and her shoulders squared.
“This place is full of talk already,” she murmured. “They watch you. They watch me. When you vanish, they watch me harder. If I sit here while you go, they will say what they like, and I will be expected to smile. I would rather you look me in the eye when you make a foolish choice.”
The hint of a smile curved his mouth.
“So that is why ye wish to come,” he said. “To scold me sooner.”
“Among other reasons.” She shrugged.
They sat opposite each other, the long table stretching out on either side, the hall back to feeling too big.
Logan could still tell her no. He could say that one more Englishwoman on the road was more trouble than she was worth.
He could leave her with her animals and a neat little promise to send word.
He could do all of that, and she knew she would not be able to stop him. She could throw tantrums all day, but that would not help anything.
Logan let out a slow breath, as if he had reached something he did not like but could not avoid.
“Very well,” he relented. “Ye can come.”
Emma held still. The last thing she wanted to do was show him just how much her happiness had revolved around whatever response he gave. “At what hour do we leave?”
“Well, usually, I would leave by first light, but some changes can be made.”
“I see.” She nodded. “This will affect my beauty sleep, but it is certainly a sacrifice I can make.”
He smiled again. “I am certain it is. Nay gowns with ribbons that will snag on every thorn between here and there.”
Any other night, she would have argued about the gowns. Now she only nodded again. “I will be ready.”
The worst shape of the story shifted. She would not wake up to a cold chair and absent horses. She would wake up to a road that led beyond the gate.
Logan pushed his chair back, and the scrape echoed. “Sleep. Ye will need it.”
It still sounded like an order.
Emma rose, too. Her legs felt a little unsteady, and she was not sure whether to blame the wine or the promise, or both.
“Good night, my Laird,” she said.
His gaze stayed on her a moment longer. Then he turned and walked toward the dark end of the hall.
The next morning, the early light poured in through the high windows in thin pale strips. It lay across the long table, caught in cups and crumbs and the hard edge of Logan’s jaw where he sat opposite her.
Breakfast this time was quiet, and every scrape of a spoon sounded sharp while servants moved in and out on soft feet. At the far end, Isobel chattered to David, his replies low and short. Between Emma and Logan, there was nothing at all.
He ate the way he did everything—with that taut control. Emma tore a piece of bread into small bits and studied the crust. She waited for talk of routes and clans and what she should or should not say when they arrived.
Instead, without looking up, Logan exhaled and drank some water. “I want to take ye to meet me men tonight.”
Her fingers stopped moving. “So, we are not leaving this morning?”
He lifted his gaze to her. “I figured ye could use the time to prepare. I would like ye to meet the men at the cove. Nay riding yet. Call it a trial.”
A trial.
Her heart lurched.
“‘Tis just a glimpse of what the road will look like,” he added.
“Yes. Of course. I would like that.” The words came out too fast. She cleared her throat and sat straighter. “I mean, I would love to meet them.”
He watched her over the rim of his cup, one eyebrow lifting a little. “They arenae gentlemen, Emma,” he said. “They are pirates. They talk loud, they drink hard, and they sound rather crass. Some of it willnae please ye.”
He said it evenly, but she could hear the warning beneath it. He was warning her about him with them as much as about them.
She set the bread down and met his eyes. “You will be there?”
“Aye.”
“Then I am not afraid,” she declared.
Something flashed across his face, but then quickly vanished. He tipped his head, as if her answer had landed in a place he had not expected.
“I can handle myself,” she added, a little too proudly.
His gaze stayed on her a beat longer, assessing her, then slid back to his plate. “If ye are coming, ye willnae wear those gowns.”
Emma blinked. “You know, it was too late to argue with you last night, so I said nothing. But really, what is wrong with my gowns?”
He put his knife down and let his eyes roam over her, slow and frank. “They mark ye like a banner,” he explained. “Soft English lady wrapped in lace. Ye walk into the cove like that, every eye will be on ye, and half of them will see ye as sport afore they see ye as me wife.”
Her shoulders tensed. Her gowns were the last reminders of London she had left. “I cannot stop being English, Logan.”
“That is nae what I said.” His voice stayed even. “Ye need to blend in a little. Look like a Highlander, nae a visiting prize. A dress that can take mud and leather boots that can take a knife. Ye cannae wear silk that will tear if ye breathe too hard.”
It annoyed her that he was right. It annoyed her more that he was the one to say it.
“I do not care to look like a target,” she said. “Or a prize. Or a banner.”
“Good. Then we agree.”