“Absolutely nae,” Catriona replied, her words hitting hard and sharp as a dropped knife.
Emma blinked. “Why nae?”
“We willnae have her portrait anywhere in this castle.”
“Why?” Emma asked again. “Is it too painful to ken that yer son… hurt her?”
Catriona’s eyes darkened. The warmth vanished, only to be replaced by something colder. Her mouth opened.
“Ye shouldnae ask such questions to anyone but me, lassie,” a voice came from behind.
Emma turned fast, her face paling. Jack stood near the arch, his figure framed by light from the next window. She had not heard his footsteps. She felt heat crawl up her neck and settle on her face.
“Give the baby to me maither,” Jack ordered calmly.
Emma did as she was told and turned back to him. “I-I’m sorry. I didnae mean?—”
“Save yer breath,” Jack cut her off.
He reached for her arm before she could blink. His grip was firm, and the touch sent a quick shock through her all the same. Catriona made a small sound, but he only gave her a look that seemed to say,Later. Then, he turned and walked away, pulling Emma with him.
“Where are ye takin’ me?” she asked.
“Ye’ll see,” he muttered.
They left the gallery and made their way down the corridor. His stride was longer than hers, yet he did not drag her. Instead, he matched her pace without seeming to.
“If ye plan to kill me before the wedding,” she said, voice tight with nerves and pride, “then there is something ye need to ken?—”
He stopped so quickly that she bumped into his shoulder. Then, he turned until his face was an inch from hers. The air between them suddenly felt thin.
“Stop that,” he grunted.
“Stop what?”
“Ye ken what.”
“Do I?”
He gritted his teeth. “Stop implying that I’ll kill ye.”
“Will ye nae?”
“What use is a dead bride to me?”
The line landed wrong, and Emma wasted no time in calling that out. She lifted her chin, her eyebrow already arched. “Well, that doesnae sound ominous in the least.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it and took a deep breath.
“Ye must admit that this was the wrong thing to say, Laird MacLeod.”
He clenched his fists, then unclenched them. “Well, ye will find that it is hard to say the right thing when ye’re accused of something ye didnae do.”
“Then tell me the truth,” she said after they had been standing for almost a minute with nothing but silence between them.
“In there.” He nodded toward the door of his study.
He opened the door and let her enter first. The room smelled of ash and ink. There was another scent she couldn’t identify yet, mixed between the two. The fire was burning low, and a map hung on one wall.
