“That is all,” Logan grunted.
David sketched a quick bow and turned to see to the lanterns, while Logan stepped back into the yard.
The mist had thickened. He stood a moment to let the cold air put some reason into his thoughts, then continued to walk towards the door. The castle rose quietly above him, its windows a scatter of pale squares where servants were finishing last night’s work.
He went to his chamber and packed without ceremony. Shirt, spare laces. The knife that had been given to him by his pirate friend Pete before he left for the castle, and a few other items of convenience. He paused once with a clean shirt in his hand and looked toward the door that led to the corridor where Emma slept.
He did not go to her.
He threw the shirt in the bag, crossed the room, and put his hand on the knob. The best thing to do now would be to knock and explain things to her. But he did not.
He opened the door and left the room.
The stables held the same quiet as before. A groom had brought his mount forward and stood with the reins looped over a post. The horse stamped once and blew steam into the lantern glow.
Logan checked the girth and the bit out of habit, then mounted without a word. David appeared at the door and took a half step as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it and remained where he was.
He rode out of the courtyard and did not look back once he had passed the wall. He had learned at sea that a man who turned to see what he left behind gave the darkness ahead of him some terrible ideas. He fixed his gaze ahead, watching as the first wave of morning light threaded through the sky.
He would come back soon.
Emma would not even have the chance to miss him.
13
The next morning, Emma watched as Jenny moved around her chamber with quiet steps, setting water to warm and laying out fresh linen. The morning felt still in a way she could not name. It felt quiet.
No music, no pipes, no faint clatter from the hall yet, only the soft slosh of water in the copper and the scrape of tin against stone.
“Yer bath will be ready in a moment, me Lady,” Jenny said. “Did ye sleep well?”
“I slept,” Emma answered.
It was not a lie, not entirely. Sleep had come in broken pieces, threaded through with the memory of Logan’s hands and the click of the door when he left.
Jenny moved the kettle with care. “Ye will feel better once the steam has had its way with ye. It settles the head.”
“Thank you, Jenny. Are you going to the apothecary today?” Emma asked, keeping her tone light.
Jenny looked up at her. “Aye. The castle’s healer is away for a bit. She went up the hill for roots, so I must tend the sick till she is back.”
“I see.”
Something in Emma’s chest tightened. The idea of sickness had never sat well with her. Too much blood, too many stories of fevers that did not break. Still, the thought of remaining in her chamber and waiting for a husband who was considering leaving her in a few days terrified her even more.
“Is it very busy?”
“There are always a few,” Jenny replied. “Children with coughs. Old bones that ache. Folks who waited too long to ask for a draught.”
Emma nodded and looked toward the window. The light outside was pale. Logan should already be at breakfast, grousing about the tea or avoiding her eyes or something.
Anything.
“Yer bath, me Lady,” Jenny said gently.
Emma took off her nightdress, the memory of the previous night clinging to her skin like invisible sweat, and stepped into the bathtub. The hot water drew the stiffness from her limbs, but it did nothing for the nagging prickle of unease.
When she dressed, she chose a gown that felt sensible rather than grand. She was no longer a bride. There was no reason to keep acting like one.
