He lowered his head, already turning to leave.
“Laird MacLeod?”
He turned back to her. “Aye?”
A brief silence settled between them, and he saw something he rarely saw on her face—hesitation.
“Is this where she used to sleep?” she asked.
A frown creased his face. “Who?”
“The baby’s maither.”
He went still and felt his fists clench. The torch beside him flickered and sent a small hiss into the silence as if it had also heard her question.
“Am I right?”
He let the corner of his mouth lift, but it wasn’t a smile. “Ye’d better rest, lass,” he said. “Ye’ve had a long day. What ye need now is sleep, nae ghosts.”
She hesitated. “Aye. Ye’re right.”
He took a step back, meaning to turn again, but stopped one more time. “Stella.”
Her eyebrows drew in. “What?”
“The bairn,” he clarified. “Her name is Stella.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ah. ‘Tis a lovely name.”
He nodded once, taking her compliment in stride. “And I meant what I said before, Emma.”
She tilted her head. “About what?”
“The doors here lock,” he said.
Her eyes dropped to the lock on her door, and he watched her put her fingers on it. He heard the small gasp that escaped her lips as well.
“Goodnight,” he murmured, keeping his eyes on nothing but her face.
“Goodnight, me Laird,” she responded.
He nodded and stepped away from the door. He did not look at the bolt of light that came out of her room or the shape of her hand on the lock. He forced his feet forward instead and made his way to his chambers.
CHAPTER 8
Emma wokein a quiet room with a clear head. The fire had died to a soft glow, and the morning light pressed at the shutters.
For the first time in days, she felt rested. She lay still for a breath, then pushed the covers back and swung her feet onto the floor. The cold shot up her legs almost immediately.
She crossed to the window. The air on the other side of the glass looked washed clean, and mist clung to the glass. The clash of steel below drew her attention almost immediately. She unlatched the glass and leaned out a little.
Two men moved into the courtyard. A young guard she did not know, quick on his feet, and Jack. He was bare to the waist, and his skin looked rather shiny from sweat in the cool morning.
Even from afar, she could see just how sculpted his body was. There was a faint scar on his left shoulder and a mark that ran down his back and disappeared into his low-hung trousers.
She watched him longer than she meant to and felt the heat rise in her face. Good God, why was she staring so long?
She shut the window and stepped back, pressing her sweaty palms to her dress.
