Yer bride willnae live to be wed.
The words stared back at him. He read them twice, then thrice. The paper trembled in his hand, and he could feel hot fury rip through him. One that started in his chest and spread down to his fingertips.
What in God’s name?
He folded the parchment once, then again, slowly and deliberately, before turning toward the door.
The corridor outside was quiet. The only sound was that of his boots striking hard on the floor as he crossed the hall and stepped out into the courtyard.
The cold air hugged him immediately as he walked, but he didn’t care. The anger was still bubbling inside him. Troy was at his post beneath the arch, just as he had been earlier, with the pike in his hands upright and his eyes alert.
“Me Laird,” he said, straightening as Jack drew closer.
“Did anyone come near the study tonight?” Jack asked.
Troy blinked. “Nay, me Laird. None that I saw.”
“Think again,” Jack urged, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Judging by how dry the ink on the paper was, whoever had sent it must have written it hours ago.
Troy hesitated, then shook his head. “I swear it. Nay one passed through the hall since ye went inside.”
Jack studied him for a long moment, searching for the lie, but there was none. The man’s eyes were steady and truthful.
“Did something happen?” Jack then shook his head. “Nay, forget I asked.”
He turned away, leaving Troy watching after him. The piece of parchment was still in his fist, and by the time he reached the warm part of the castle, the edge had cut into his palm.
Not once, however, did he loosen his grip. He did not return to his study. This time, he headed to his chambers, his anger still boiling like water that has been on fire for days. He closed the door behind him and exhaled.
Unlike the one in the study, the fireplace in his chambers burned rather brightly, providing the warmth he needed. He walked over to the fire and crouched down. The parchment unfolded in his hands, the inked words catching the light.
Yer bride willnae live to be wed.
Every word seemed to knock the breath out of him for some reason. He tried to guess who this could have come from, but he hadn’t the faintest clue.
Could it be Emma? Was it perhaps her way of playing a rather dastardly trick on him?
Nay, Emma wouldnae do this.
If she wanted to play a trick on him, she would come forward and do it directly.
He swallowed, trying to think of who else it could be. Whoever it was had definitely walked into his study to place the paper by the window; that much was evident. That could not have been done from the outside. They also must have been careful not to be seen by Troy.
He exhaled a few minutes later and held the parchment to the flame until the edge darkened, then let it fall into the fire.
It burned fast, curling into itself, the ink turning to smoke. When the last scrap had turned to ash, he pressed his thumb into the soot and rubbed it back and forth. The black dust spread across his palm like a mark. Then, he stared into the fire.
The silence was heavy, pierced only by the crackle of coals. It grew even steadier, and he let it surround him until he could almost believe that the note had never come at all. That it had all been a figment of his imagination. An effect of lack of sleep.
But he knew better, did he not? He knew a warning when he saw one. And he knew that the note was a warning.
He rose and stood before the window, his shadow stretching long across the floor. The courtyard below was quiet, and the guards moved as he had instructed them to, their torches casting small circles of light on the walls.
Somewhere out there, beyond the reach of those flames, someone was watching. Someone had used the opportunity not only to breach the castle but also to enter his study.
Jack’s hands tightened around the windowsill. “Nay one will touch her.”
