“We daenae ken that yet…” Ava cocked her head. “Or he’s starting to get to ye.”
“I’ve had this argument with Ma already,” Emma huffed. “I’ll nae have it again with ye.”
They stood there for a moment. A torch hissed. Somewhere below, a door thudded, and the sound reverberated through the old stone like a slow bell.
Ava folded her arms and studied her sister. “Ye sure ye’re nae blinding yerself simply because he’s handsome?”
“Far from it,” Emma snapped, sharper than she had meant, before she dropped her shoulders. “I just daenae think he did it.”
Ava held her gaze, then looked away. “Then there’s nothing left to say. I’ll meet Ma. Ye should get some rest.”
She turned around, her hair catching a sliver of the bright moonlight.
“Ava,” Emma called, but her sister didn’t slow down. Ava’s footsteps faded and soon were gone.
The gallery felt colder for it. Emma rubbed her temple, then dropped her hand to her side. She faced the empty space again, where the portrait used to be.
“Whatever ye did or didnae do,” she murmured, “I’ll find out soon enough.”
Later that night, the cold night air brushed her skin as she slipped from the corridor to the courtyard. The keep behind her was quiet, and she heard an owl hoot once and fall silent.
Why is it so quiet?
She crossed the courtyard and the gardens and headed straight to the training grounds. The feel of the pale sand under her feet grounded her for some reason. She drew her cloak tight around her and stood on the path, her heart pounding in her chest.
Minutes passed, and yet no one came. The questions started to grow in her mind. Had he asked her out here as some kind of joke? Was this supposed to help her make her decision quicker?
A mild scoff escaped her lips.
“Typical,” she muttered under her breath.
She turned to go. At that moment, she heard the sound of footsteps coming from the dark. Before she could register what was happening, Jack stepped into the light with a maid behind him. His cloak hung loose, and the wind whipped at his hair.
“Ye’re late,” Emma said, her voice low.
He nodded to the maid. “Did ye do as I asked?”
“Aye, me Laird,” the maid responded, before bobbing a quick curtsy and hurrying off toward the keep.
Emma looked past him, marveling at the sight ahead of her. There were more lanterns hanging low along the fence, their glow soft over the sand. There was no longer a vast field. Now it looked completely different. It felt less like a pit and more like a room with its walls pushed back.
Jack faced her at last. “Ye’ll trust me more than once ye learn to defend yerself.”
“Defend meself?” she repeated. “From what?”
“From anyone who tries to catch ye.” His mouth curved. “Ye ken, instead of trying to outrun the person this time, ye might just decide to fight back instead.”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Jack, if this is because of the one time I tried to outrun ye?—”
“It isnae only that,” he interrupted, coming closer. She didn’t move.
“If this is another of yer games,” she huffed, “I am going back to bed.”
“A lesson,” he said quietly. “Nae a game.”
He circled her slowly, his boots leaving small dents in the sand. “When a man reaches for ye, step aside and let his weight do the work.”
Emma blinked. “We really are doing this?”
