He was wearing the great kilt made of her black-and-red tartan, a contrasting burgundy short-coat underneath, the length of plaid crisscrossing his chest.
She folded her arms. “Very well.”
He hesitated, jaw clenching and unclenching. A line creased his brow.
Something was wrong.
Part of her marveled that she knew this man well enough to divine his mood from such small signs.
The rest of her was terrified as to what he had to say.
He did not keep her in suspense. “Cuthie and Massey landed at Peterhead yesterday. The Admiralty has demanded we present ourselves before the Judge Admiral in Aberdeen tomorrow. Andrew managed to convince the government not to send naval officers to escort ye to the inquiry.”
“Escort me?”
“Aye. Apparently, Mr. Patterson hinted that Cuthie’s testimony will be somewhat damning. There were concerns that ye might try to abscond.”
Eilidh’s stomach plummeted.
“Mr. Patterson revealed nothing as to the precise contents of the testimony,” Kieran continued. “Just that we must present ourselves tomorrow afternoon in Aberdeen. We will depart after breakfast.”
She swallowed convulsively.
“Here now.” He stepped close and took her hands in his.
Only then did she realize she was trembling.
He pulled her into his arms, as if offering her comfort were as natural as breathing.
Itfeltas natural as breathing, which could be the only reason why she stepped closer and pressed her cheek to the slash of tartan, her hands tucked between them, palms against his chest.
“All will come right, lass. I have faith.” His words rumbled under her ear. “Andrew and Alex have both pledged to put the full weight of their combined political power behind ye. If Cuthie condemns ye, Andrew thinks he can convince the King to grant ye a pardon. We will fight with everything we have.”
Eilidh swallowed back a whimper.
But even in her distress, she felt the electric pull of him.
The way her body craved to be closer, closer, closer—
As Jamie, she had eagerly embraced the physical chemistry between them. But did she want that now?
The problem with numbness, she realized, was that it was just that . . . numb.
She moved her palms, intent on hugging him, but then . . . stopped. Her fingers splayed against his chest, noting something—
Kieran no longer wore her wedding ring. She couldn’t feel its clear shape under his shirt.
The fact should not have surprised her. Did she think that he would remain loyal to her forever?
And yet . . . part of her plummeted at the thought.
Is he giving up on me?
She rested her head against his chest for a moment, so impossibly tired of combating this barrage of feeling.
“Have ye told him?” Kieran asked.
No need to ask whom and what he referred to.
