“I am afraid it cannae wait, me Laird,” Troy insisted.
Jack’s jaw tightened before he gave a short nod. “Fine.”
Emma found her voice. “Jack.”
He paused on the threshold.
“If ye want trust,” she said, “ye will need to give some of it back.”
His eyes held hers for a beat. “I ken,” he sighed.
He moved past his man-at-arms and out into the corridor. The door stayed ajar, but his footsteps faded.
Emma stood where he had left her, the towel clutched in both hands. Her pulse would not settle. She tried to swallow, but the sound was loud in the silence.
She walked to the window and then back again, as if the floor might answer for him. She could still hear his voice, harsh and clear.
“She tried to kill me.”
The words echoed again and again. She thought of the empty spot in the gallery. She thought of Stella’s small hand on his jaw. She thought of the way he had looked at her in the library.
None of it fit with a murderer. None of it proved that he was innocent either. If it was true, why had he never said it before? Why would he let her just believe the worst of him?
She placed a hand on the dressing table to steady herself. She had come so far to keep her head clear. Now, her heart was pulled in the other way.
“What in God’s name just happened?” she muttered to herself, to the air that seemed to press close around her.
To no one in particular.
CHAPTER 25
The cold eveningair settled on the outer courtyard, and the slowly dimming light slid across the floor as Jack followed Troy down the steps.
The cold bit through his shirt, and the anger from the quarrel upstairs still prickled at the back of his neck, but he kept his hands loose at his sides to tame it.
“So, what was so urgent that ye couldnae wait for me to finish speaking with Lady Emma?”
“Me Laird, we found a man near the woods. Said he must speak with ye alone,” Troy revealed, keeping a brisk pace.
“Ye found a man near the woods,” Jack repeated.
“Aye,” Troy said quietly.
“If he is an intruder, why in God’s name would ye bring him near the gate?” Jack asked.
He cast a look at the wall-walk and counted the helms, then looked back at Troy.
“Because he kent about the prisoner,” Troy responded calmly. “The one who tried to breach the walls last week.”
He pointed toward the outer courtyard as if to urge speed while Jack processed his words, letting the silence press down on him like a folded linen.
“He kent?” Jack asked, moving right behind him.
“Aye. He said the man’s name was Gale,” Troy said. He pushed the gate a fraction so they could step onto the open ground.
“Who is he?” Jack scanned the tree line and felt for the weight of his knife. “The man by the gate?”
“We daenae ken, me Laird. He says he’ll only speak to ye.” Troy gestured to the waiting guards and set a steady line of sight toward the woods.
