He did not wait for her reply before stepping out of the room, the latch settling with a neatclick.
The space he left behind felt larger and heavier at once, the way a room would freeze after music stopped.
The first maid lingered by the door with a towel clutched close, eyes apologetic. She looked from Emma to the space Logan had vacated and back again.
“I didnae mean to interrupt,” she began, voice careful. “I heard some noise and thought it was?—”
“You do not need to apologize to me,” Emma assured. Her throat had loosened enough that the words came out smooth. “It is not your fault.”
The maid’s shoulders dropped an inch. “Would ye like to speak to Lady Isobel, me Lady? She should be back from her walk by now.”
Emma blinked. “Did you say her walk?”
“Aye,” the maid said. “She took the path by the bee boles after first light.”
“The Laird has blood all over his clothes, and his sister went out for awalk? Is there something I am missing?”
The maid’s mouth tightened in uncertainty.
Jenny stepped forward a half pace, steady and practical. “The Laird asked that the day go as always,” she explained. “He said victory was to be expected, nae fretted over. So we all went about our chores.”
It slid into place, the casual certainty of the order. The way the hall had not stilled when Emma first walked into it. He had told them all to behave as if the battle was won because heintendedto win.
“Arrogant,” she muttered under her breath.
Both maids went still, like birds freezing on a branch when a shadow crossed. The first one looked stricken. Jenny kept her expression polite, but Emma saw the warning in the set of her mouth.
Color rose hot to Emma’s face. “I misspoke,” she said, willing the steadiness back into her voice. “Forgive me. I would be grateful to meet Lady Isobel if she has returned. I would like to thank her for pointing me to the study, and to ask about the household.”
The maid clutching the towel sagged with relief. “Aye, me Lady.” She glanced at Jenny as if checking that this was the right answer.
Jenny gave the smallest nod.
“I will take ye now,” she said. “There is a quiet passage that keeps ye clear of the men coming in from the yard. If ye need to stop for water first, say so.”
“I am well,” Emma assured her.
It was mostly true. The room had stopped tilting long ago, but the echo of it still lived in her knees.
Jenny opened the door and stood aside, and Emma stepped out of the room. The air in the hallway felt cooler, and voices drifted from the far end, a measured rhythm of men reporting and being spoken to. Emma did not look that way. She looked at the path ahead, narrow and clean, the floors fresh, and the banners on the wall hung straight.
They moved, and Jenny kept half a pace ahead and slightly to the side, as if to shield her from the afternoon sun. The first maid followed with the towel, then thought better of it and rounded the corner to the kitchens.
“What is your full name?” Emma asked quietly. “If I am to rely on you, I would like to address you properly.”
“Jenny MacKay, me Lady.”
“And the other maid?”
“Cait,” Jenny replied. “She is new to the upper rooms.”
“I seem to have frightened her,” Emma remarked.
“Yestartledher,” Jenny corrected. “She will be fine.”
They turned into the passage Jenny had mentioned, which smelled of beeswax and old lavender. Light fell over it in pale strips from the high windows.
Emma tried to memorize everything she saw along the way. If she was going to know her place in a castle like this, she had better start doing so now.
