If ye daenae want the bairn to get hurt, run.
She read it twice, and the words began to swim as if she had been staring too long at the sea. She felt the blood drain from her face. She reached for the arm of the chair and missed it, then found it again and stood very still, with the note clutched loosely in her hand.
“This must be a joke.” But she heard the lie before she even finished.
The ink had blotted in one corner where the quill had stopped writing, and the strokes cut thin as if the writer had been in a hurry, or afraid. The letters in her name looked odd, as if shaped by someone who had not written it before.
Who could this be?
She folded the paper and slipped it beneath the small book on her bedside table. The leather cover hid the threat like a lid on a kettle.
The room looked the same as it had an hour ago, but it was not the same. Emma stood there, shocked into stillness, with the warning sitting under her hand and the dark pressing close.
Who could have written the note?
CHAPTER 32
The dawn skywas only a thin streak of blue when Jack opened his eyes. Sleep never held him long, and that day it had teeth.
He sat up quickly and breathed through the knot in his chest. It should have been a day of certainty. Instead, a small itch sat behind his ribs and refused to fade.
He swung his feet onto the floor. Stone met skin, cold and steady. He stood up and crossed to the washbasin, where he splashed water on his face. The shock cleared his head. He gripped the rim until his knuckles paled, then let go and reached for a linen cloth.
“Enough,” he told the empty room.
His voice was even. That helped.
A fist thudded against the door.
“Jack,” Duncan called, too cheerful for dawn. “Rise, Braither. Ye’re getting married again.”
Jack sighed. “Duncan. Get out.”
The knob turned, and Duncan pushed in anyway, grinning like a thief. “Look at ye. Pale as a lad on his first night with a lass.”
Jack lifted a boot and aimed without much heat. “Get. Out.”
Duncan dodged and laughed. “A fierce throw, me Laird. Save it for the feast.”
Jack dropped the boot and rubbed the back of his neck. “Close the door.”
Duncan nudged it shut with his heel and walked further in. “I brought the belt and the pins. Maither says that if ye turn up wrinkled, she will claim the bride for herself.”
“Tell her that she will need to fight Emma for the right,” Jack said.
The answer steadied him more than it should have.
Duncan laid the folded garments on the chair with needless care. “Ye slept?”
“A little.”
“Dreams?”
“Nay.”
“Lies,” Duncan said, but his voice was soft. “I can see very clearly that ye dreamt of her. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”
Jack turned to his brother, his eyes narrowed. “Remind me again, why are ye still in me room?”
