Chapter 29
Emma spent an hour with the women in the Great Hall before returning to the nursery. For the whole day, that seemed to be the only place where she could find some peace.
Evening was still creeping in, but for now, the afternoon light warmed the nursery walls. The silence felt kind in a way that seemed to soften the voices all around. A small fire burned in the grate.
The baby was still asleep, and a part of her began to wonder why Ava was correct. On the bright side, she would not be the only one unable to get some sleep tonight. With a day as mighty as tomorrow looming over her, it was hard to.
She stopped in the doorway, ready to embrace the baby, but someone had gotten there before her. She knew just from the air alone that it was Fiona, Stella’s grandmother. She hovered in the doorway, unsure whether to step inside.
The older woman seated by the cradle turned at once and offered a smile that lifted her cheeks but did not reach her eyes.
“Me apologies. I didnae ken ye were—”
“Ye have nothing to apologize for, lass.”
Emma nodded and watched Fiona play with the baby. Then, she heard a soft gargle and Stella’s voice. The little girl was awake.
Fiona turned to her. “Ye seem close with the baby.”
Emma nodded.
“It is clear she trusts ye, lass,” Fiona added. “She’s settled better with ye than with anyone I’ve ever seen. Even her faither.”
Emma crossed the threshold. “I’ll do me best by her. And thank ye for comin’. It couldnae have been easy for ye.”
“Nay,” Fiona said, her gaze returning to the child. “But it’s necessary. Whatever lies behind us, we’re allies now. Me daughter’s death was a tragedy, but we are still bonded by Stella. We must honor the peace.”
Emma swallowed, thinking hard about what to say. She could try to find a way to appease the older woman. Perhaps tell her how sorry she was for her loss.
Losing a child was incredibly difficult, and it was hard for her to imagine what Fiona had gone through when it had happened or was going through now, in the castle where it had happened.
Unsure of exactly how to articulate her thoughts, Emma drew nearer to the chair. “Would ye like a cushion behind ye?”
“I am fine,” Fiona answered, then touched the quilt, smoothing a crease with careful fingers. “She has her maither’s mouth when she sleeps.”
“A pretty mouth, that is,” Emma remarked.
“Aye.”
They fell silent for a minute, and Emma let her senses focus on the smell of fresh towels that lingered in the nursery. That was perhaps the one thing that quelled her anxiety.
“Ye ken, I never wanted to come.”
Emma swallowed. “Really?”
“Aye. But Arthur insisted. He had been planning this journey for quite a while. Thought we owed Stella the courtesy. As if the baby would ken what that is.”
A nervous laugh escaped Emma’s lips. Down the corridor, someone laughed and then fell silent. The baby’s lashes fluttered, and Emma folded her arms to keep from reaching for her.
“It’s nay small sacrifice,” she said softly, “for any lady to marry one of the bravest and most protective men in Scotland.”
Why would ye say that, Emma?
It took every shred of her will not to palm her face.
Fiona’s jaw tightened. “Protective,” she repeated. “He failed to protect me daughter, if he wasnae the one who…” Her voice thinned, and color drained from her face. “Forgive me. Grief makes a fool of me tongue.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Emma assured her. “Loss isnae and will never be rational.”
Fiona nodded once. “Ye’re right about that, me dear. Loss never leaves a maither. It only grows quieter, like breathing in the dark.”
Emma allowed a small pause. It was not her place to tell Fiona the truth.
The real truth. Plus, what good would it do?
Fiona and Arthur only knew the version of the story where Jack upped and killed their daughter for no reason.
To them, she was still a saint who never had an affair with her husband’s best friend or tried to kill her husband.
No, it would be merciful to let them keep that memory.
“I daenae ken what I can do to help. Ye must understand that I daenae—”
“I kent he would eventually remarry, Emma. Emma, is it?” Fiona asked, to which Emma nodded. “I was surprised he held out for as long as he did.”
“Aye,” Emma said. “This is more of an arrangement than it is a marriage.”
Fiona studied her. “I would like to think that ye ken the man ye’re about to marry.”
Emma held the look and shrugged. “I ken him as much as a woman kens a man she wants to marry.”
“So I daenae need to tell ye to be safe?”
“No, ye daenae,” Emma replied, her voice almost as thin as the air in the room. “I am well aware of what I am marrying into.”
Fiona leaned back as if weighing the words. “Do ye love him?”
Emma did not look away. “I daenae think that matters.”
“It matters if ye think he is worth it,” Fiona said. “To me, he will always be a killer. I ken that we never saw him and there was nay proof, but she died under his roof. He might as well have used the knife.”
Emma drew a breath. “Well, I ken that Jack wants peace, and he will fight for it when words nay longer work. I also ken that he is better with Stella than folks would expect. That is what I ken.”
“And what about what ye daenae ken?”
“I suppose I will just have to wait to find out.”
Fiona’s mouth softened. “Ye ken, ‘tis nae usual for me to admit, but I like ye, Emma. Ye seem to be the direct opposite of the Laird. Perhaps ye are exactly what he needs.”
“Aye,” Emma said. “Thank ye for saying that.”
They shared the smallest smile.
The baby stirred and made a soft sound, the kind meant to call for attention. Emma watched her tiny fist close and open.
“May I?” she asked.
“Of course,” Fiona said and sat forward.
For the next half hour, they shared stories about their lives and what had led them up to this moment. If she were being frank, Emma would say that this had been her favorite part of the day so far.
However, she kept it to herself.
When Emma walked out of the nursery a while later and headed down to Ava’s chambers, she felt free.
Perhaps it was something about the cold weather or her unmoored conversation with Fiona, but she felt different.
Maybe it was because she had learned more about Moira from her mother than she had from her former husband.
Maybe.
Emma stopped by the door after walking for a minute and stepped inside.
Ava was sitting by the window, a vase between her knees.
She pulled petals from wildflowers and laid them in a neat line on the sill.
The sea breeze lifted the curtains and brought the clean bite of salt with the sweeter smell of beeswax.
Ava glanced up. “Ye’ve been hiding again.”
“I was in the nursery,” Emma corrected. “With his late wife’s maither.”
Ava winced and dropped a petal. “Good God. I can only imagine how that conversation went.”
“Strange,” Emma admitted. She rested a hand on the back of the chair and looked at the scattered petals. “She thanked me for carin’ for Stella. Then, she warned me to be careful, as if sayin’ aye put a blade at me throat.”
Ava set the vase aside. “Did ye feel a blade?”
“Nay,” Emma murmured. “It was incredibly awkward, to say the least. And frankly speaking, I think I am beginning to understand her.”
Ava patted the bench. “Sit, Em. Tell me the rest.”
Emma sat, the wood beneath her warm from the sun. “She only told me things about love and loss. Ye ken, things ye expect from a grieving maither.”
Ava’s voice softened. “That sounds like the truth.”
“Aye,” Emma agreed. “It felt like the truth. She also asked if I loved him.”
“And what did ye say?”
“That it didnae matter.”
Ava snorted. “Coward.”
“I’m being careful,” Emma said, though a smile tugged at her lips.
Ava reached for another flower. “And do ye love him?”
Emma watched the petals twist between her sister’s fingers. “I daenae ken what to call it. He frightens me sometimes.”
“Because he’s cruel?” Ava asked.
“Nay,” Emma said. “Because he doesnae let his feelings show. Sometimes I can never tell what he is thinking, and that worries me.”
Ava leaned a shoulder against the window frame. “Maybe that’s the sort of man who will guard ye even from his own ghosts.”
Emma looked out over the courtyard, where the sunlight bathed the grass. “He would try. I ken that much.”
“So ye admit ye’re growing fond of him?” Ava asked, a soft smile on her face.
Emma picked up a loose petal and pinched it in half. “Fondness is a mild word for a hard place.”
Ava laughed under her breath. “Ye make everything sound like a law case.”
“Because everything feels like one,” Emma said. “Two sides, and nay judge but time.”
Ava tipped the vase and rescued a stem that had sunk too low. “What did the grandmaither want, aside from warnin’ ye?”
“Oh, ye ken. Just peace.” Emma shrugged. “She wants to let bygones be bygones.”
“That is a good thing, do ye nae think?”
“Aye.” Emma nodded. “I am surprised she is even taking it this well.”
Ava studied her. “Ye’re nae thinking of running again, are ye?”
“Nay,” Emma said at once. The vehemence in her voice surprised her. “Nay. I said I would stay. ‘Tis of me own volition this time, so I intend to keep me word.”
Ava’s eyes twinkled. “Good.”
The breeze drifted between them for a while, and Emma basked a little in the tranquility before she spoke up again. The silence felt threatening, like it was trying to peer into her innermost thoughts.
“Ye ken he gave me a book the other night?”
Ava’s eyebrows shot up. “A book. How romantic.”
Emma tried not to laugh. “It was kind.”
“What sort of book?” Ava asked.
“Poems. Some of them were nae very appropriate,” Emma admitted.
Ava grinned. “For some reason, that doesnae surprise me.”
Emma nudged her shoulder and rose to her feet. “Well, it surprised me. I need to go see how the maithers are doing with the preparations. Do ye want to come with me?”
Ava shook her head. “Nay. I think I’ll stay behind for this one.”
“Fine,” Emma responded before walking to the door.
Soon, she stepped out again, her thoughts still tangled with the weight of what Stella’s grandmother had said. The upper corridor was long and dim, lit only by the pale dusk light filtering through the narrow windows. She walked toward the stairs and counted her breaths.
Halfway down, she slowed.
Arthur, Moira’s father, stood at a tall window with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were trained on the courtyard below, and his lips were twisted into a grimace. Something about his rigid posture made the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end.
She hesitated as she drew closer. She could slip past him, or she could stand as the future lady of the castle and address this tension between them. She chose the latter and resumed walking.
A few paces from him, she cleared her throat. “Me Laird,” she greeted softly.
The older man turned to her, the striking grey in his hair sharp against his somber features. “Lady MacLeod.”
Emma swallowed. Something about the way he pronounced that title felt even more unsettling.
Now isnae the time to wander.
She cleared her throat again. “About earlier. I may have spoken too boldly. I wish to apologize.”
Arthur gave a nod that seemed to signify understanding but not pity. Emma felt her knees tremble under his stone-cold gaze.
“Aye,” he said. “Blunt, but honest. I can hardly fault honesty.”
Emma clasped her hands, waiting for a sign to leave. None came.
Arthur turned back to the window, and she followed his gaze. Below was the courtyard. From here, they could see the space that spread from the gate to the woods ahead.
Jack and some of his men were training below, swinging their swords with precision and force. The men seemed to target him, and he moved as fluidly as water in a stream. She was almost enchanted by the way he deftly dodged every strike or blocked it with his sword.
It was like watching an angel gain its wings.
Arthur spoke into the stillness. “Quite magnetic, is he nae?”
Emma kept her voice even. “Folks follow him. They trust him.”
“Aye.” Arthur’s mouth barely moved. “Me daughter thought the same. She praised his charm, his grace, and his leadership.”
Emma nodded. “Aye. He is respected.”
“Respected,” Arthur echoed. “Loved by some, feared by many. Strange thing, how one man can be all at once.”
She glanced at him. “We arenae all just one thing, me Lord.”
He raised a dismissive hand. “Ye speak fair.” His eyes stayed on the yard. “When Moira died, did ye ken that he sent a letter? Nothing but a letter. Did he tell ye that?”
Emma’s fingers tightened on her skirt as she shook her head. “I am sorry for the way he handled it.”
“A letter tells a fact,” Arthur continued. “It seldom tells the truth.” He drew a slow breath. “I hope, should any ill befall ye, that he does more than that.”
Silence fell between them.
Emma struggled to find her voice. “Do ye think ill will follow me here?”
“I think men make enemies faster than they make friends.” Arthur looked at her at last, his gaze sharp. “And the more a man holds, the more folks test the locks on his doors.”
She looked back down at the training yard. Jack had disarmed a man and handed the weapon back. He did it with such flourish that it felt almost theatrical.
“I daenae ken yet what sort of wife I will be,” Emma admitted. “But ye must ken that I mean to do right by the child. And by the clan.”
“A good aim,” Arthur acknowledged. “Just beware of the cost.” He shifted his weight as if the cold had found his knee. “Do ye read the room, lass?”
“I try,” she said, tightening her knuckles.
“Then read this.” His voice thinned. “There is love for the bairn in this clan. There is pride, and there is fear. And where fear sits, hard choices follow.”
Emma swallowed. “Are ye warnin’ me about something, me Lord?”
“I am giving ye what wasnae given to me Moira,” he said. “Some introspection. I am of the strong belief that a clan can be safe and still hold danger.”
Emma lowered her head. “Thank ye for yer candor.”
He gave a bow in return, quick and formal, and set off down the corridor with his cloak trailing behind him. Soon, he was out of sight, and Emma was once again left to her thoughts.
Was this Arthur’s way of telling her to be careful? Was he telling her that she didn’t know what she was walking into?
Emma remained where she was, staring down at the courtyard. Jack was still sparring with his men, disarming them one after the other.
Arthur was at least right about one thing.
“Quite magnetic,” she muttered under her breath, testing out the words. “Aye, that is true.”