“Forget about all of that for now, Emma. Right now, ye need to rest.”
A brief silence passed between them before she spoke again.
“I still do not trust you,” she said suddenly. The words came out raw and stripped.
They landed harder than the sailor’s knife ever could. It was not like he had expected trust. However, some quiet, stubborn part of him had been hoping for it despite himself.
“Ye daenae have to,” he murmured. “Ye just have to rest.”
She blinked at that, as if she had braced for a shouting match and did not know what to do with the lack of one.
“I will be outside yer door,” he said. “If ye need anything, just say me name. I will hear.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You are staying?” she asked. “Here?”
“Aye.” His tone brooked no argument. “I willnae touch ye, but I willnae leave ye after what just happened.”
He stepped back and drew the door almost shut, leaving a hand’s width gap so she would not feel locked in, then slid down the opposite wall to the floor, back to cold stone and legs stretched out. His dagger was still at his belt, and his shoulders began to throb now that he had stopped moving.
Inside, the bed creaked once as she shifted. Then nothing.
He settled in and fixed his gaze on the end of the hallway, listening for the sound of boots.
He had stood guard over money and ships, even hundreds of men. Sitting in a filthy corridor to keep guard of his wife would require almost no effort on his end.
Emma lay on her back and stared at the ceiling.
The darkness around her did not move. Her heart, on the other hand, would not stay still. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the tavern floor and blood seeping between the stones.
Her skin felt hot, and the blanket trapped the heat. She threw it off and swung her legs over the side. The candle on the table had burned low, and wax spilled in a crooked puddle. She had not noticed it when she entered the first time, but the room smelled of bodies and smoke and stale ale.
She crossed to the door, the boards rough beneath her bare feet, and her hand paused on the knob. For some reason, she remembered that Logan said he would stay.
If he had not, there was nothing to worry about.
She turned the knob and eased the door open.
Logan sat against the opposite wall. The slice of light from her room cut across his face. His eyes were closed, and his hand rested on the dagger at his belt.
The knot in her chest tightened, then loosened immediately. He was still here.
“Logan,” she said.
His eyes opened at once, and he pushed himself up. “Ye all right, lass?”
“I cannot sleep,”
He watched her for a moment. “Ye want me to stay further down the hall?” he asked. “Give ye quiet?”
“No.” Her fingers lingered on the edge of the door. “I thought you might come inside. If you want.”
His gaze searched her face as she stepped back. “Are ye sure?”
She nodded and watched as he came in like he was stepping into uncharted territory. The door clicked shut behind him, and the already small room shrank even more.
“It is too warm,” she complained. “The air feels wrong.”
“If ye like, I will ask that they fix the heat as well,” he said. “Or not.”
