Logan didn’t know if it was the rush of excitement from the near invasion or the soft cut on the side of his stomach. But for somereason, the memories he thought were buried somewhere in the back of his mind came rushing to the surface like the water.
He let out a breath and tasted nothing but salt. This was the one place in the world where he had never carried another person in his head. Men, yes, but as pieces on the board and weights to balance.
He did not like that she followed him here. He did not like that she felt like a stubborn current that cut across the tide.
His fingers tightened on the rail, and the water foamed along the hull, grey and white.
His body knew what to do.
His mind, however, did not listen.
15
Emma had never realized until now how louder the castle felt when Logan was in it. That was the thought that pushed her out of the quiet passage the next afternoon and down toward the stables.
The afternoon light sat soft on the stone floors, the wind brisk enough to nip her cheeks. Inside, the air shifted from cold to the warmer mix of hay, leather, and animals that belonged only to this place.
A stable boy glanced up when she stepped in, and his shoulders went stiff. He executed a clumsy bow that almost knocked the brush from his hand.
“Me Lady,” he greeted. “Are ye lost?”
“Not at all,” Emma replied. “I needed better company.”
His eyes flicked past her, no doubt expecting David somewhere behind. When no one appeared at her shoulder, he relaxed a fraction.
Horses snorted in their stalls, and a dog, one she had seen loitering at the edge of the yard, lay near a post and lifted its head, watching her with wary curiosity.
Emma moved along the line of stalls, speaking quietly to the animals as she went, letting them sniff her hand before she touched them. The stable boy watched as if waiting for her to scream at the first hint of dirt.
Near the back, half hidden behind a stack of old hay, she found a small brown calf, all sharp knees and big eyes, staring at her like she was a thunderclap.
“Oh,” she said softly. “Well, look at you.”
The calf shuffled back a step, then forward again, torn between fear and interest. Emma crouched and held out her hand. It sniffed her fingers, snorted, then did it again.
“Is this yours?” she asked without looking away.
The stable boy came closer. “Nae at all, me Lady. It belongs to a widow down the lane, or itdid,” he said. “Her roof nearly collapsed during the last storm. She couldnae feed him and fix her roof at the same time, so he is here for now.”
“He is beautiful,” Emma whispered, her heart clenching in pity.
The stable boy chuckled. “He’s been a nuisance and a sweetheart both, the wee beast.”
Emma found a scrap of hay and offered it to the calf. Its rough tongue snatched it from her palm. She stroked its neck, feeling the warmth under the thin fur.
“What is his name?” she asked.
The boy scratched his head. “We just call himTrouble.”
“That will not do.” Emma tutted. “He does not look like trouble. He looks like he is trying very hard.”
The stable boy snorted. “Ye say that now. Wait till he finds the grain barrels.”
Emma kept stroking the calf, and he leaned into her hand as if he had been waiting his whole short life for someone to do exactly that. She listened intently as the stable boy recounted how the widow had cried when they led the animal away, and how the calf had cried for three nights and then settled.
“You are safe now,” she murmured to the calf. “You are staying with me.”
The words left her mouth before she had fully considered them. Still, she did not take them back.
