“It willnae,” Jack stated flatly.
They stood there for a moment, with only the crackle of the fire punctuating the silence. Duncan’s eyes searched his face as if the answer was there and might reveal itself. It did not.
“Right,” Duncan uttered, the word carrying both surrender and a warning as he turned toward the door. “I will walk the line.”
“Do it twice,” Jack instructed. “And post two men at the birches. The ground is soft.”
Duncan paused on the threshold. “Ye ken what soft ground does.”
“I daenae. And I daenae intend to,” Jack said. “Go.”
Duncan nodded and stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.
After the door clicked shut, Jack stood still until he could hear the corridor beyond and the faint click of the guards’ boots. Among other things, he could also hear the footsteps of a maid passing with a tray. He exhaled slowly and set his hand on the edge of the table so he would not ball it into a fist.
He then stepped away from the table and crossed to the narrow window. The sprawling fields stared back at him as he placed his hand on the sill. The hills were dark and close, and the sky grew even dimmer with each minute. Soon, it would be fully dark, and he would meet with Emma as arranged.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and continued to watch the grounds below. A maid walked across the courtyard, a bag slung across her shoulder. He watched her stop and talk to one of the stable boys grooming a white mare.
He tried to think in straight lines and focus on what needed his attention. More men at the north wall, the birch stand outside the gates, and the hedges that provided perfect hiding spots for intruders. He tried to think about that and let it steady him for a while.
However, there was only so much he could do, and the thoughts he had pushed away all afternoon flooded back.
Emma with the baby in her arms.
Her voice when she soothed the child.
The way she hid her care, and the way the child trusted her anyway.
He had not meant to notice any of it, but here he was, realizing he had noticedallof it.
“Fool,” he muttered to himself.
Dropping his hand from the sill, he left the window and sat at his desk. The ledger waited where he had left it, staring back at him like a puzzle that needed to be solved.
He opened it to a clean page and tried to read the last set of figures. They would not stay still. He pressed his thumb to the margin and counted to ten before trying again.
Coal.
Grain.
Wages.
The words made sense, but the sums did not.
He shut the ledger and breathed once, but no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts would not settle. All that kept filling his mind washer. He could still smell the lavender on her skin and hear the airiness of her voice.
The thought sent unwelcome heat through his body. His hand, resting on the desk, curled into a fist so tight that it made his knuckles whiten.
“For the love of God,” he hissed, feeling his trousers grow tight.
Warmth pooled between his thighs, and he could feel himself growing stiffer with every passing second. He tried to press his palm hard against the bulge in his trousers, but it only ratcheted up his arousal.
His eyes settled on the fire, and he tried to find some sense of normalcy in the way it flickered in the grate. None of it did him any good.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he reached for the string across his waistband and undid it. His trousers slackened, and the ache lessened just a little. He slid his hand beneath the fabric and wrapped it around his throbbing member. The touch sent waves of pleasure through his body, causing him to close his eyes again.
He thought of the light and how it had danced across Emma’s curves the first night she spent in his castle. He thought of the look on her face that seemed to dare him every time she spoke.
