Olivia’s spoon stopped halfway to her lips. “After what ye did to Laird MacLeod, child, I doubt many men will offer.”
The words struck sharply. Emma set down her own spoon and looked at her mother. Her voice trembled, more from anger than hurt. “WhatIdid? After whatIdid?”
“Ye daenae remember how fast news traveled back then?”
“I was being forced to marry him. Uncle was using me to forge an alliance with Clan MacLeod. He had little to nay regard for what I felt about the matter. I had to run. How am I the one getting blamed in this?”
Olivia sighed and lowered her spoon to her plate. “A laird who tries to force a lass into marriage doesnae make as good a story as a lass who runs away on her wedding day. The people daenae trust ye.”
A gasp of disbelief escaped Emma’s lips. “‘Tis us who shouldnae trust them, Ma. Even the best of them can ruin a family.”
Silence fell over the table, punctuated only by the pop of the fire.
Her mother’s eyes, soft and crinkled, were weary. “Aye,” she relented. “Maybe. But ye might still find luck—even love. There’s comfort in companionship.”
Emma let out a thin laugh that scraped her throat. “I daenae want love. That isnae what this arrangement is about. Love blinds ye. Love destroys people. We still daenae ken what truly happened to Jack’s first wife. And I watched ye fade after Faither died. I daenae want that, Ma. I want freedom. That is what Jack is offering. I daenae love him or care for him in any way.”
Ava stopped cutting her bannock. She lowered her eyes, the faint color in her face gone.
Their mother folded her hands, her voice barely above a whisper. “Then pray that freedom brings ye peace, lass.”
Those words cut deeper than a scolding. Emma could not bear it. The bench scraped across the floor as she stood up. “Kindly excuse me.”
She left before anyone could speak again.
The corridor upstairs was quiet and cold. Her footsteps echoed off the stone, too loud in the silence. By the time she reached her chamber, her pulse had not slowed. She shut the door and leaned against it, both palms flat against the wood.
The weight of the morning pressed hard on her ribs.
She turned toward the window. On the table beside it lay the small book she had tried not to think about, its worn spine glinting faintly in the light. For a moment, she only looked at it. The air seemed to press in on her from every corner, almost as if nature itself was reacting to the book.
She crossed the room, each step slower than the last. She reached out and touched the cover. The leather felt warm from the sun.
Her throat ached.
She should burn the book. She should toss it into the fire and be done with it once and for all. Yet her hand stayed still. She couldn’t bring herself to do any of that.
“It meant nothing,” she whispered, a last-ditch effort to convince herself, but it didn’t work. The words sounded wrong the moment they left her mouth.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers tracing the edge of the book. Her heartbeat still carried the rhythm of last night. She had told herself that she was done with him. She had said it again this morning, clear and steady, right after waking up. But now, with the castle quiet and the sun being her only entertainment, she could no longer find peace in the words.
Freedom. That was what she wanted. That was what Jack had promised her.
A clean start.
There was never love in the equation. She could live without love. She had told Ava as much. So why did the memory of his face… of his words refuse to loosen its hold on her?
She could still feel his fingers against her wrist when he passed her Stella this morning. She could still hear the low murmur of his voice as he proudly showed her his collection of rare books. She had never expected to see that side of him because she had never thought it existed in the first place. But it did. And it had unsettled her more than any threat ever could.
She rose to her feet and walked to the window. Below, the courtyard stirred with afternoon activities. She could hear the sound of buckets clanging near the well. Her eyes landed on one of the grooms leading a horse to the gate. Two maids crossed the courtyard with baskets of laundry.
Everything looked ordinary and calm. Everything lookedfreeing.
She turned back to the table, staring down at the book again. It seemed harmless enough. Just words inked on paper, accompanied by a memory she could forget.
A memory she couldpretendto forget.
If she kept the book, the memory would not stop haunting her. What then?
