“Is she often out in the mornings?” she asked. “Lady Isobel.”
“Aye,” Jenny replied. “She believes that it is best to clear one’s head when the dew is still clinging to the grass.”
“And the Laird,” Emma continued, a thought shaping itself as she walked. “Does he think so as well?”
“I am afraid Lady Isobel favors morning walks much more than the Laird,” Jenny said. “He doesnae like to be disturbed, especially in the morning.”
Emma almost said something unwise, again. She bit it back and let the words settle into a place where they could not be heard outside her ribs. She could sense the love and fear they had for their Laird. It wouldn’t help her if her words somehow sowed seeds of discontent.
At the next corner, Jenny slowed down. “This way,” she indicated. “Lady Isobel will be in the gardens by now if she has finished her walk. If she isnae, I will find her.”
“Thank you.”
“Ye are welcome, me Lady.”
They walked on. Emma kept her back straight and her pace even.
Jenny slowed further at the next turn and touched the door with two fingers. “The garden isnae far now.”
“Lead the way.”
The passage opened onto a small patch where the sun reached the stone floor and made it glisten. Beyond, a low door led to a set of steps. As they stepped out, they were met with the clean scent of water and cut grass, and the sounds of the yard faded away. A few bees were pollinating the lavender by the path.
Jenny lifted the lock on the gate and stood aside. “There.”
A woman in a blue dress was walking along the gravel at a brisk pace, head turned toward the line of lilies as if speaking to them. Like Logan, she had thick brown hair that was tied in a low ponytail. Her skin was pale, and her eyes shone bright brown, like she commanded the color herself.
She saw Emma, stopped, and her face lit up. The joy came so quickly that Emma felt it hit her chest before she knew what it was.
“Ye are here!” she exclaimed, hurrying over. “I am Isobel. I am so glad to see ye.”
“Good to meet you, too. I am Emma Hunt?—”
“Aye, ye are,” Isobel cut her off, beaming. “Ye look even more bonny than I imagined. Look at yer cheekbones.”
She took Emma’s hand and held it as if meeting a cousin at a fair. Her fingers were warm from walking.
The impulse to draw back rose and faded before Emma could blink, so she remained standing and let her hand be held.
“Jenny, thank ye,” Isobel said over her shoulder.
“Aye, me Lady.” Jenny retreated.
Emma looked around, taking in the view behind Isobel. “You have such a lovely garden here. It looks well taken care of.”
Isobel still did not let go. “Aye, it is. If ye can walk a little, I will show ye everything I have planted here so far.”
They moved along the path that curved past the bee boles. Isobel pointed at each object with the ease of someone who loved naming things.
“That is the herb knot,” she said. “We keep thyme low so the bees daenae get drunk on it. The apple step-over was me maither’s idea. She strongly believed that anyone should be able to pluck fruit in their slippers.”
Emma looked and found herself smiling. “It is lovely.”
“Aye. If ye follow the line of the lilies to that gap, ye will see the loch.”
Emma blinked. “Loch?”
“Aye. Thelake.”
