The air seemed to close in on them. Her lips parted, but no words came out. He could see the disbelief in her eyes as the silence stretched out longer than usual.
“Ye seem incredibly sure of yerself, me Laird,” she whispered, her tone echoing the breeze around them. “Ye really are that certain that I would return to ye of me own accord?”
“As certain as I am of the ground under me feet,” he affirmed.
She shook her head as if to clear the air between them. “Ye think this is a game, do ye nae?”
“Nae a game,” he said. “A choice. One I’ll see ye make.”
Her chin rose. “Then ye’d be the most patient man on earth. For that time will never come.”
“I am,” he said. “Patience is a soldier’s trade.”
They walked on as the castle’s dark outline rose ahead. Lamps flickered along the courtyard, and he could still see rather faintly the smoke rising from the chimney and into the dark grey sky.
Neither of them spoke again, and for some reason, the distance between them felt smaller now. However, it was comfortable enough that he didn’t want to bridge it. And it was clear from the way she walked beside him that neither did she.
He cast one last look at her as they neared the gates. He watched the mud streak across her gown and watched her bright eyes, still blazing with rebellion. He felt the ache in his shoulder and smiled to himself.
He was right about what he had said, and he knew it.
He would win her, that much was sure, but he would not do it by force. He would make her come to him instead.
CHAPTER 4
One Month Later
Emma’s chambersreflected the flowing candlelight. The sky kept darkening by the second as she added the finishing touches to her dress.
Ava stood close, pinning a stray curl back from Emma’s temple with her usual care, her fingers light and her eyes unusually bright.
“Have ye heard from Laird MacLeod again?” she asked.
“Nay,” Emma replied, her voice flat as a slate. “And I’d love to keep it that way.”
Ava’s mouth curved. “Are ye sure that is the right thing to do?”
“I would cross continents if it meant I didn’t have to see his face again,” Emma responded somberly.
Ava chuckled under her breath.
The door creaked open at that moment, and Emma’s maid, Pamela, slipped in with a small curtsy. A satin ribbon was folded over her arm, a cool red that matched Emma’s dress perfectly.
“This was sent for ye, me Lady,” she announced, stepping forward. “The color suits ye.”
“Thank ye, Pamela,” Emma said, accepting it.
Ava took the ribbon at once and moved behind her, fussing until the bow lay neat and even at the nape of Emma’s neck. She smoothed the ends and then adjusted the fall of the dress at the shoulders.
“Hold still,” she instructed. “Beauty takes patience.”
“It also takes honesty,” Emma declared. “If I look like a mess, ye will tell me, will ye nae?”
“When have I ever nae done that?”
Emma shot Ava a glare in the mirror as her sister fastened the sash to her dress. “Do ye need me to start counting the instances?”
“Ye look fine, Emma. I am certain men will fall at yer feet tonight at the cèilidh,” Ava responded lightly.
