Silence settled between them as Emma kept her eyes on the ground. They still drifted toward the castle. Toward the walls that hid his study and the room with the copper tub and the strip of cloth around his ribs. The memory of that morning camerushing in again, and she begged the heavens for some air to cool her face.
Isobel sighed. “I suppose it does make sense to long for?—”
“It is not longing,” Emma cut in, almost as if it were a dirty word. “I refuse to call it that.”
Isobel’s mouth curved. “It doesnae really matter what name ye give it. Ye still feel it.”
Emma did not answer. She stood in the middle of the yard with the animals gathered close and the castle at her back. Somewhere inside it, Logan was preparing to leave the next morning.
Her arms tightened around the cat.
Logan stood at the narrow window in his study, his shoulder pressed to the glass.
From up here, the yard was a small stage. He could see Emma pacing with Isobel, like they meant to wear a path through the packed dirt. The animals trailed after them in a ragged line.
The comical sight brought a smile to his lips. Something about it felt exhausting and endearing at the same time. He watched the moment she turned and nearly walked into the dog.
He almost laughed.Almost.
He caught the sound in his chest before it escaped. The guards did not need to hear their Laird laugh at a woman leading a barnyard march.
He watched instead.
Her cheeks were still flushed. Not from the walk, he knew that for sure. It had to be from earlier. Her hair had come loose on one side, and a curl kept slipping forward. Each time she talked, she pushed it back with the same short, impatient gesture, as if offended that her own body would not obey.
Her chin stayed high, though. Even when she stumbled over the chicken or when the goat nearly rammed her hip. She shot the animals a glare that should have singed them and kept walking.
She was embarrassed. He could see it in the set of her shoulders. In the way she would not look toward the upper windows. She wanted to look unbothered.And she wasfailing.
He was still staring when footsteps sounded behind him. He did not move away from the window.
“Are things going smoothly?” he asked, without turning.
David nodded. “Aye, I have asked the men to start saddling the horse.”
That made Logan narrow his eyes on the scene below. There was something final about it, like a farewell he had not even bidden yet. By now, Emma had stopped walking, and the animals had all gathered around her legs.
He felt David shift his weight behind him and exhaled, his breath fogging the glass.“What is it?” he asked. “Ye clearly have some reservations.”
David took that for what it was: permission to speak.
“There is more news from the village,” he announced. “And from the men ye left at the cove. It is getting worse.”
Logan dragged his eyes away from Emma and turned, leaning a shoulder against the stone windowsill. “Worse how?”
David’s expression was somber. He had not slept much either, and it showed in the grey under his eyes. “The villagers are complaining that the men from the ship are lifting more than they should,” he said.
Logan threw his head back. Something told him this might happen. The impromptu return to the castle was bound to have some consequences, and this was one of them.
“They are small things, though. Things like fabric, ropes, and bread. They keep telling people who challenge them to speak to ye. People are talking, me Laird.”
“Theyalwaystalked,” Logan scoffed. “I remember a few months ago when they were calling me a dirty pirate unfit to be Laird.”
“Aye. But ye proved them wrong. I doubt this time there is anything ye can do,” David responded, his voice coarse. “There was a brawl at the tavern last night as well. Apparently, a merchant called one of yer second-in-command?—”
Logan frowned. “Pete?”
“Aye.” David nodded. “The merchant called one of his lads a thief. The lad almost broke his nose. They had to be pulled apart, and the barkeep says it willnae be the last time.”
