Her heart stuttered and recovered. She turned on her heel and went back the way she had come, step even, breathing steady, face composed.
Jenny looked at her, and Emma could tell the maid had a lot of questions.A part of her was grateful that she did not ask.
Two days before the wedding, she went to the study with a box of paper and a quill. Melody would receive a letter that told enough of the truth without making her come to Scotland with a broom.
Emma also planned to write to Aunt Agnes and let her know that she was thriving here. That was all they needed to know. The rest would not help them or even her. They did not need to know just how arrogant her future husband was or how his presence made her feel giddy.
The door to the outer passage opened without much sound. She did not move from her seat or look up. Voices found the room, as if the men had brought the air with them. David’s calm voice. Logan’s low one. They spoke of names that meant little to her beyond their hardness. MacTavish and MacRae.
Emma did not announce her presence. A bookcase near the window gave her cover. She watched through the space between leather spines and saw that Logan heard more than he said. He asked a question and then stood still while David answered.
When Logan spoke again, his voice held the same level of command, despite it being a bit lower than before. David, on the other hand, nodded like a man who appreciated the way his Laird spoke.
The next day, Emma told Jenny she wanted a book that would keep her mind busy without inviting dreams. Jenny immediately pointed her to the library.
“The former Laird liked to collect books. Ye may find what ye are looking for there.”
“Thank you very much,” Emma responded.
She found the room still and bright, with dust that settled around the books, indicating that they had not been touched in ages. She grabbed a volume about the west coast from a low shelf.
Soon, she heard voices coming from the corridor while she stood on her tiptoes. David again. Logan with him. They were talking aboutMacTavishthis time, the possible folding of an old quarrel into a newer alliance.
Was he just following her? Why couldn’t he use his study anyway? Why come to the library to discuss more of this alliance she knew nothing about?
She tried to hold still and listen to their words, but she couldn’t. At that moment, the book slipped from her hands.
No.
It fell and made a sound that the room did not allow. Silence followed, abrupt and absolute.
“Who is there?” Logan called.
Emma stepped into view at once because pretense would make it worse. “I beg your pardon,” she said. “I only wanted to grab a book. I will not disturb you.”
“Ye arenae—” Logan began.
“Please, continue,” she interrupted, lifting the book to show she had what she came for.
With that, she turned around and left.
The pulse in her throat did not slow until she had reached the safety of her chamber. She shut the door and pressed her forehead against the cool wood.
It was ridiculous to run from a voice, even if the voice belonged to a man who could silence a hall with a sentence.
She laughed at herself and opened the book about herbs. She read the same page twice and could not have said what it contained.
A day before the wedding, she sat with Isobel in the little sitting room that overlooked the large courtyard. Isobel’s hands were busy with a ribbon, turning it into a shape that pleased her. She spoke about things that greatly interested her and about the wedding. Emma listened, grateful for the simplicity of it.
“I am excited,” Isobel said, and her candor made Emma like her more. “It will be a good day.”
“Should I worry?” Emma asked.
A part of her wanted the question to be blessed or rejected by someone who knew this place better than she did.
“There is nothing ye have to worry about. The people will be kind,” Isobel assured her. “They fear him enough to mind their words in public.”
“Thank you,” Emma said, letting the reassurance settle where it could.
