Chapter 26 #2
She could have argued that he did not own her wardrobe. She could have reminded him whose blood ran in her veins. Instead, she bit it back and nodded once. “Very well. I will find something more… Highlandly.”
Relief flickered in his eyes, but was quickly gone.
“Speak to Isobel,” he advised. “She kens what will pass.”
Later, when the hall had emptied, Emma went straight to Isobel’s room. Isobel listened with bright eyes while Emma told her about the invitation. Her hands flew to her mouth, then dropped as laughter burst out of her.
“He is taking ye to the cove,” she gasped. “Och, I would pay good coin to see his face when he realizes what he has done.”
Emma tried for a frown. It did not quite land. “You take far too much joy in this.”
“Aye,” Isobel tittered. “Ye in the midst of his pirates, and him watching every one of them like a hawk. It serves him right.”
“He says I must look like a proper Scotswoman,” Emma said. “Apparently, my gowns shout ‘English’ far too loudly.”
Isobel’s grin softened. “He isnae wrong. But it is sweet, in his own clumsy way. He wants them to understand that ye belong here. And to him.”
Emma ignored the flutter in her stomach. “He wants me not to be stabbed for my lace.”
“That too,” Isobel answered. “Come. I have just the thing.”
The dress she took out of her chest made Emma pause.
It was deep green wool, the color of the hills beyond the horizon.
It had a darker bodice, which was cut to the waist, with laces that would hold her firm.
The sleeves seemed narrow enough to move in, and the low end looked full enough to ride without showing anything she should not.
There was no fragile trimming or silk to catch on every rough edge.
When Emma stepped into it, the weight sat differently on her shoulders. The dress felt lighter than she was used to. In England, she would have thought she was wearing a nightshift.
Isobel braided her hair and tied it back with a matching ribbon, letting a few curls fall where they pleased. In the square mirror above the washstand, Emma did not see an Englishwoman anymore. She saw someone in between. Not wholly Highlander or wholly English.
Only her.
A part of her wondered what Melody might say about it if she were here.
By the time she reached Logan’s study, night had fallen. Her palms were clammy as she walked. It was only a dress, and a meeting. But it felt like more.
She stopped in the doorway and cleared her throat, causing him to look up from his desk. “So… what do you think?” she asked.
She stepped inside and, because she had promised herself she would stop creeping round him like a ghost, she turned slowly so the skirt flared around her legs. The bodice held her straight, and the laces crossed firmly over her front. Even her new leather boots made her feel anchored.
She gathered her skirt and bobbed a quick, theatrical curtsy.
“Well,” she drawled, “do I look bonny or nae?”
For a moment, Logan only stared at her. She watched as his hand went still on the parchment. His lips parted a little, and the usual mask on his face cracked. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and something between admiration and hunger flashed across his face.
She had seen that hunger before. It was the same look he had on his face when he punished her for redecorating his room.
He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “It will do.”
Emma’s lips curved. “That is all?” she asked. “After all this effort, it will do?”
His gaze ran over her again, slower now. “If I start praising ye, ye will become unbearable.”
“I am already unbearable,” she pointed out. “You tell me often enough. One more kind word will not bring the roof down.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he looked away, reaching for his coat. She tucked that small victory away.
They left the study together and walked toward the stables. The night air was cold and clean, and stars dotted the sky above. The smell of hay and horse met them as they drew near the open doors.
Emma’s eye caught the row of planks laid over the shallow run by the wall. They were set firm now. No wobble when a stablehand led a horse across.
“David told me a random man fixed that,” she said, nodding toward it. “It was loose before. Dangerous. I am glad someone noticed.”
Logan’s shoulders shifted, a small tightening and easing.
“A random man,” he repeated.
“Yes.” She smiled. “I should like to thank him. It would be a poor joke to break a leg there. Or a goat’s skull.”
He stepped ahead to offer his hand as she mounted. His grip was strong, warm through her glove.
“Aye,” he said dryly. “If only ye could find him.”
Emma laughed, missing the weight in his tone. “Perhaps he will appear the way my animals do—whenever I am not looking.”
Logan swung himself into the saddle behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of him along her back. One hand came forward to take the reins, the other steady on her hip. His breath brushed her temple, smelling of soap, smoke, and a hint of wine.
The horse moved off under his light command, its hooves soft on the earth as they left the yard. The castle dropped behind them, a silhouette of dark stone pricked with candlelight.
Emma sat tall, hands folded in her lap to stop them from trembling. However, her heart beat too fast for that. The darkness ahead held men she had never met and a part of Logan she knew only in ragged pieces. But at least she was not staring at a doorway while he walked through it alone.
She was about to share the next adventure with him. And a part of her wondered if she would like what lay ahead.