She left her chamber with her chin high and her hands loose at her sides.
The breakfast room carried the warm smell of porridge and fresh bread. Servants moved between tables, their voices mingling in a low hum. Emma stepped inside and saw the empty chair before she saw anything else. Logan’s place at the head of the table was vacant, a knife and cup waiting, his chair undisturbed.
Isobel sat to one side, speaking with a grey-haired woman who had the air of someone who had attended every wedding the castle had ever hosted. When Isobel looked up and spotted Emma, her face lit up.
“Good morning, Lady MacLellan,” she called. “Come sit.”
Emma walked to the table and sat across from the empty chair. His absence tugged at her heart.
“Good morning,” she greeted. “Has everyone been up long?”
“Half the castle was up before dawn,” Isobel said. “Yer friend Melody and her husband had to leave earlier this morning because of some engagement three villages over. They said they would check on ye again.”
Emma took a spoonful for the sake of doing something with her hands. “I see.”
“I like her, ye ken,” Isobel added, her voice clear. “She has spirit, like ye. Ye daenae marry a laird without that.”
Emma laughed, unsure whether to take it as a compliment or a warning about what might come next.“And where is my husband this morning?”
Isobel’s smile dimmed. “He left at first light. He was expected at the shore. He didnae tell ye?”
Emma blinked. “He is gone?”
Isobel nodded, tutting. “Very typical of Logan to set out to shore and nae tell his wife.”
Emma swallowed. “But… he did not even say goodbye.”
Isobel lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “That is how Logan operates. He thinks it’s kinder to leave clean than to linger.”
“I see.” Emma set down her spoon carefully. The porridge had turned to a lump in her mouth.
Disappointment sharpened into something that felt very much like an insult. She reminded herself that they had agreed to lead separate lives. That he had never promised devotion, only wealth and safety.
Moresafetyfor her reputation than anything.
Living separate lives did not require tenderness, but it required some basic courtesy. He should have given her that by letting her know he was leaving.
Why didn’t he tell her? It was not like she could stop him anyway.
Isobel watched her for a moment, then tried for lightness. “I hadnae realized ye wanted him around.”
Emma bristled. “I do not. It is just rude to leave without a word. Even pirates can manage a farewell.”
The maid at the end of the table hid a smile as she rearranged a few cups.
Isobel’s eyes softened. “He is rough around the edges, I will grant ye that.”
Emma traced the rim of her bowl with a finger. “Can I ask you something?”
Isobel nodded
“How does a laird’s heir end up with a pirate crew in the first place?” Emma asked, keeping her tone curious rather than accusatory. “Was his father that free with his children that he let them do whatever they wanted?
Isobel hesitated. Her fingers traced the handle of her own cup. “He wasnae always welcome here,” she revealed. “Things were… different when our faither was still alive.”
She did not elaborate.
The ensuing pause felt weighted. Emma sensed that if she pressed, she would step on pain that was not ready to heal just yet. So instead, she let the question rest.
