Across the table, the two mothers had moved to another topic—candles, guests, the sort of chatter that filled long evenings. He let them talk while he watched Emma’s hand as it rested against her glass, her fingers still pale from the earlier strain.
He opened his mouth to speak when a sound cut through the air. A familiarly high laugh. One that belonged to a familiar child.
Jack turned, and at the edge of the hall, a small figure crawled in on hands and knees, face bright with effort.
“Stella,” Catriona breathed, half amused, half alarmed.
A young maid hurried behind the child, tripping over apologies. “I’m sorry, me Lady. She slipped past me?—”
Emma, however, was already on her feet. Her laughter came soft and real, unguarded for the first time, and it reached Jack before she even spoke.
“Who let ye escape, wee lass?”
The maid stopped short, still uncertain, until Emma waved her off gently and bent to lift the child. Stella went quiet at once, nestling into Emma’s arms, her small hand closing around the ribbon at Emma’s throat. Emma smiled and pressed a hand to the baby’s back.
“She’ll have every woman in this hall wrapped around her finger by the time she’s two,” Catriona laughed.
“Already has,” Olivia murmured.
Jack said nothing. Instead, he watched Emma’s hand as it steadied the child and the warmth in her eyes. The sight felt out of place in his hall, and yet it fitted it too well.
The maid came forward, hesitant. “Shall I take her, me Lady?”
“In a moment,” Emma said, still smiling. Then, she turned back to Stella. “Ye’ve had yer adventure. Time to rest now.”
Jack felt Troy glance back at him, waiting for an order, a word, anything to ground the scene, but he ignored him.
“Go on,” Catriona said from her seat. “She’ll sleep better if ye take her.”
Emma nodded. “I’ll carry her up meself.”
She turned toward the corridor, and the maid hurried right behind her. Jack’s eyes also followed her. Soon, she disappeared beyond the door, and he could finally return his attention to Troy, who remained beside him, waiting for his instructions.
Emma returned to the table not long after, her expression calm again, though the color remained in her cheeks. Theconversation had already turned light. They were speaking of bread and travel now more than anything else.
Jack watched his mother lean toward Emma, a curious smile on her lips. “So tell me, lass. Do ye miss the north? Or have ye already grown fond of our damp little castle?”
Emma smiled politely. “‘Tis… different. But the people are kind.”
Olivia laughed softly. “Careful. If ye keep being polite, they’ll have ye runnin’ the kitchens by the week’s end.”
Laughter rippled around the table, easy until Catriona spoke again, her tone too casual. “And how long do ye think it’ll take before we have a new bairn at the castle?”
The laughter died down, and Emma’s smile faltered.
“I—”
Jack set his cup down. “Maither.”
Catriona looked up, startled by the edge in his voice. “It was only talk.”
“Talk she didnae invite,” he retorted. He turned to Emma, his voice softening. “And ye’ll nae answer that.”
“‘Tis all right. I can just?—”
“Ye willnae answer that.”
Emma nodded once, grateful and pale in the candlelight. The air had gone taut enough to still every hand.
