On impulse, Emma held up the slice of toast. “Would you like some?”
David blinked. “Nay, me Lady. I am on duty.”
“Even soldiers eat,” she pointed out. “Or do you fear bread might weaken you?”
The corner of his mouth quirked up, before a short laugh escaped. “I will manage, me Lady.”
Isobel looked between them, her amusement growing. “He needs his strength for the next time he takes a lady dancing,” she said dryly. “The hall is still talking about his fine steps.”
Color rose up David’s neck. “Please, me Lady, ye shame me.”
Emma smiled into her cup. For a moment, the air around the table felt easier. Less like sitting in the shadow of someone who had left without a word.
The feeling, however, did not last. It never did.
“How long will he be gone?” Emma asked. She kept her voice level, but the question landed with more weight than the casual way she set down her fork.
Isobel’s smile faded as she reached for a cup of water. “It depends,” she said. “On the weather and on what he finds when he reaches the ports. It is hard to say.”
“A week?” Emma pressed. “A month?”
“Could be weeks,” Isobel admitted. “Could be more. He isnae careless, but the sea doesnae care for plans.”
Emma looked at David. “Do you know?”
“Nay, me Lady,” he answered. “The Laird doesnae share dates with men who stay on land.”
Uncertainty settled over her shoulders like a cloak that did not fit. Not knowing when her husband would be back was worsethan knowing he would be gone for a long time. There was no expectation to work with. All she had was absence.
She took another bite of toast and forced herself to swallow. “You said this morning that he was not always welcome here,” she said to Isobel. “Logan.”
Isobel shifted in her seat. “Aye.”
“What did you mean?” Emma asked. “If I am to live here, it would help to know who my husband has been to these people.”
Isobel ran a finger along the rim of her cup. “Our father had… strong ideas about blood,” she began. “Logan’s birth isnae the sort the old man liked to parade. He is illegitimate. He learned pretty early on that the best way to have a place was to carve it himself.”
“Ah, I see,” Emma whispered.
“I daenae ken much about it because I was a child back then. I only ken what me braither told me before he died. And by the time I understood, Logan was already gone more than he was home.”
Emma listened in silence.
Rejection, then.And from the way Isobel spoke, it was clear that it didn’t happen in a single scene, but in small cuts that taught a man like him that his presence was a problem.
She pictured him walking through these halls with people measuring him and finding reasons not to bend.
“Did anyone ever welcome him when he returned?” she asked.
Isobel’s mouth softened. “I did. Eventually. He didnae make it easy.”
“I cannot imagine he did,” Emma murmured.
Isobel gave her a look that mixed apology and loyalty. “He came back different,” she said quietly. “The sea will do that. He saved us, Emma. He is saving us still. They love him for what he does. But loving him is hard work.”
Emma thought of the sick villagers on their cots, their hands clutching the cloths she had laid on their brows. Their voices were low when they spoke Logan’s name.
She picked at the crust of her toast, then let it fall to the plate. Her gaze slid back to where David stood with that rigid patience, eyes on the door, always watching. Loyal to orders. Loyal to the man who had given them.
