She hesitated only long enough to listen, then she slipped inside. The room was warmer than the corridor; that much was clear. The blanket draped over the chair had been left to warm, and the cradle sat near the fireplace, with the veil hooked back.
Stella lay half awake, her tiny fists rubbing at her eyes, and her mouth moving around something Emma was certain wasn’t a cry. Or at least the baby wasn’t frustrated enough to call it one.
Emma crossed to the cradle and set her palm lightly on the baby’s belly. “Hush now,” she murmured, the words barely louder than the flickering fire. “Ye need to sleep well, dear.”
She drew the blanket an inch higher and stayed with the baby for a few more minutes, waiting for her to stop fussing. She debated singing a lullaby, one of the dull notes her mother used to sing for her and Ava, but then she thought better of it. It would probably keep the baby up longer. Right now, she would trust the silence to do its job faster than she would.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and she looked up.
Jack leaned a shoulder against the frame, standing on the threshold. Firelight caught one side of his jaw and left the rest in the shadow. His arms were folded, bulging beneath his sleeves, and his attention was fixed on both her and the baby in the cradle.
“She’s asleep, then?” he asked, his voice barely audible.
“Aye,” Emma replied. “I wouldnae wake her if I were ye.”
“I daenae intend to.”
She smoothed the edge of the blanket once more, then stepped past him into the corridor. He followed and closed the door gently. The candles around them gave just enough light to see his face and nothing more.
A tense silence fell between them, punctuated only by the sound of distant footsteps.
“Thank ye,” she said eventually, her voice lowering with each word.
He glanced down at her. “For what?”
“For handling our maithers earlier,” she said. “They meant well, but… I daenae like it when people expect things of me.”
His eyebrow rose a fraction. “Everyone except me, apparently.”
She held his gaze. “Oh, please. Ye have expectations, too.”
He shook his head once. “Nay. The only thing I want is for ye to be a good little wife.”
She glared at him. “I havenae even agreed to be yer wife yet.”
He let a small smile touch his lips. “‘Tis only a matter of time.”
She tilted her chin and closed half the space between them. “Even if I do, the last thing I’ll ever be isgood.”
“Is that a threat?” he drawled.
“‘Tis a promise.”
“A promise, lass, is something ye’re capable of keeping.”
“And what makes ye think I can keep this one?”
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t look away. “Because ye have nay choice. Ye have to be an obedient wife, or the alternative?—”
“The alternative?” she repeated. “There is an alternative?”
The air around them had shifted. She could sense it. It shifted just like it had at the cèilidh and in the woods when he pinned her to the ground. It grew hotter, and the fact that he took a step closer solidified that fact.
“There is alwaysan alternative.”
She should stop talking. She should just turn around and make her way to her room. She could call it a night now, and he wouldn’t stop her. But there was something about him,something about the green in his eyes that seemed to push her to see where it would all go.
To see wherehewould go.
