They spoke a little longer, then Isobel rose. “Sleep if you can. I will see to a few things in the kitchens. Trust me. Tomorrow is a big day, and ye need to get as much sleep as ye can.”
Emma nodded, grateful again, and retired to her chamber for the night. She took off her dress and folded it aside, then set outa shawl for the night air if she needed to think by the window. She washed her face at the basin, dried it with a towel that smelled faintly of rosemary, and left the room dark except for the low fire.
The window showed the courtyard as the sky let go of its last light. The walls held their shape in a softer color, and torches were lit near the gate. Emma studied the thin flags of flame they made in the wind and realized this place looked even more beautiful at night.Even more peaceful.
It was peaceful enough to induce sleep. Until movement caught her eye.
A figure passed under the torch, then beyond it, toward the path that led down and out along the outer wall. The posture and the gait made her spine stiffen.
Is that?—
She studied the wayheheld his sword in a grip that suggested use rather than display. The sight made something inside her go cold.
Was he leaving?Again?
The thought came too fast to soften. It did not matter that logic said that a laird who planned a ceremony would not sneak out at night to run from it. The church door had stayed empty once.Her body remembered that fact better than her mind could argue.
No.
She could still remember the fear that had overtaken her that morning in the church. She could still hear the murmurs and the way people had tried to console her. She could almost hear Melody telling her something must have gone wrong and that it would all be fine.
Was something going wrong now?
Was he trying to escape the wedding?
“Not on my watch, sir,” she breathed, the desire to follow him growing stronger than anything.
For a brief second, she thought of calling out to Jenny, but Logan was out of the gates at this point. If she didn’t hurry, she would lose him.
Again.
She reached for her shawl, wrapped it tight around her chest, and secured it with a pin she could work with cold fingers. She did not stop to think about boots or how her hair looked or anything. She just left her chambers, nothing but determination driving her.
She refused to do this again.
She refused to hear consolations about what she couldn’t control.
Not again.
Not anymore.
7
The path to the trees ran as pale as bone under the moon. Emma kept to the shadow of the wall until it ended, then crossed the open ground with her shawl pulled tight and her breath set to a steady count.
The wind lay low, and the stones held a silvered edge that made every turn familiar and strange all at once. She fixed her eyes on the figure ahead and did not let doubt do its work.
The forest swallowed sound as soon as she stepped under its first limbs. Needles underfoot gave softly, while the light around her thinned to a sifted grey. Her heartbeat sounded too loud in her ears. She was close enough to see the shift of his shoulders when the path curved.
Then he was gone.
She blinked.
What?Where did he go?
She took two more steps, thinking he had dropped lower or turned, and felt the air shift. She was about to scream his name when a muscular arm wound around her from behind. Cold steel touched the base of her throat, and her heart lurched in fear.
“Why are ye following me?” he demanded, voice low and lethal at her ear.
