Emma flinched, then mustered a smile. “Of course, Ma.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Ye look pale. Did ye sleep poorly?”
“Nay. There’s just too much on me mind.”
Olivia studied her daughter, unconvinced, then set the matter aside and returned to fabrics and flowers.
Emma nodded where it seemed right and stirred the porridge until it cooled. One thing rang true in her head over and over through the multitude of words and thoughts that continued to crowd her.
Jack had been right about one thing: she had four more nights to go.
Four nights until she made her decision and chose whether to be or not to be with him once and for all. When the servants began clearing the plates, she rose, unable to take the stale air anymore.
“I think I need a walk.”
“Shall I come with ye?” Olivia asked.
“Daenae worry, Ma. I willnae be long.”
Olivia nodded as Emma stepped out of the dining hall.
She hurried out of the corridor and eventually out of the castle. The courtyard felt newly washed as damp earth scented the stone, and a gust of cool wind ruffled her hair. She breathed it in until the warmth she had felt in the dining hall completely left her skin.
She stood by the garden closest to the kitchen and watched a young maid kneel with a basket of seedlings. She pressed the small stems into the soil with heavy thumbs, burying them deep and patting the tops flat with her palm. A laugh escaped Emma’s lips as she stopped beside her.
“Ye’re doing it wrong.”
The maid looked up, her eyes narrowing. “I?—”
“Ye’re settin’ them too low,” Emma explained. “They’ll drown before they bloom if ye continue to do it this way.”
The maid swallowed, the apology on her face growing by the second. “Forgive me, me Lady. I’ve never planted before.”
I am nae yer lady.
Emma wanted to say it aloud, but then thought otherwise. For now, she needed to save the flowers. Correction of honorifics could come much later.
She crouched, tucking the hem of her skirt clear of the dirt. “Watch.”
She coaxed the stem back up, gently lowered the soil in from the sides, and left the crown in the air.
“Like that. Hold it firm, but daenae press it shut.”
The maid copied her, clumsy at first, then grew steadier. “Like this?”
“Aye.” Emma’s hands moved without thinking, righting one, then another. “Flowers are like people. Ye push them too hard, and they break before they’ve had a chance to grow.”
The maid looked up at her, as if to ask whether Emma meant more than seedlings.
Emma only nodded toward the row, and together they set the rest. The dirt cooled her knuckles, and the simple work eased a tension she had been feeling all morning.
“Thank ye, me Lady,” the maid said at last.
“‘Tis tender work,” Emma answered, standing and brushing off her hands. “And it is always worth it.”
The morning light had brightened at this point, and the chill from earlier had lessened. She fell into a slow walk, at least until she heard voices from across the yard. She paused to look ahead.
At the far end of the courtyard, in an open space, stood two men. Jack and his brother, Duncan.
