“Things are tense,” he finished. “And unfortunately, they cannae wait.”
He sounded resolved, not eager and not sorry. Just done with deciding. This was what was happening. He was polite enough to say it aloud.
Emma laced her fingers together on the table. She pressed hard enough that the joints ached.
Under all that talk, she heard what mattered. Dawn. Horses. Men. His chair going empty again while she sat and pretended not to notice.
The image of the church in London came back unbidden. That long aisle. The empty space where he should have stood. The way Isobel’s voice had stayed so calm when she told Emma he was expected to leave. How everyone else had treated it as weather while she stood in the middle of it, soaked.
“How long will you be gone this time?” she asked, and her own voice surprised her. It was calm, almost bored. She took a small comfort in that.
Logan rolled one shoulder. “A day or two. Depends on how they greet me and how long they choose to talk.” He took a slow sip. “Depends on how stubborn they are.”
Depends.
She pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth.
You could have told me earlier.You never stay. Do you decide, or do you simply drift where the wind pushes you?
These words hung on the tip of her tongue, ready to escape into the air. She swallowed them instead and decided on something entirely different.
“I would like to come with you,” she said.
He set his cup down. The sound was nothing but silence after it was not.
His gaze sharpened, and he looked at her the way she had seen him looking at the maps on the desk and checking for places he wasn’t familiar with.
“Why?” he asked, his voice flat.
Emma lifted her chin. “I have not seen anything beyond these walls since I arrived. I know the corridors and the yard and the path to the stables. I know how the light hits the lake if I stand in the right spot at the right time, thanks to Isobel.”
“Aye. She made me see that too, three weeks before me arrival,” Logan admitted.
Emma shrugged one shoulder. “It is not much of Scotland.”
He kept his eyes on her.
“I would like to see more than just stone and smoke,” she continued. “They say your land is beautiful. I have only met your walls and fireplace.”
She realized he could call that a child’s wish if he wanted. Tell her to sew castles on a cushion if she wished to see new views.
“I also love the beach,” she added. “At home, I escaped to the coast when I could. Ye have one, somewhere. I would like to see it. Even if it is cold and unfriendly and throws salt in my face.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“We arenae detouring for a stroll on the sand, wife,” he said. “This is business, nae a holiday.”
“I know that. I am not asking you to carry a parasol for me.” Her voice cooled. “I am asking not to be left behind without a word.Again.”
His eyes narrowed, and she let her words sink in. For a minute, nothing could be heard except the crackle of fire in the grate.
A part of Emma wondered if her words were enough or if he needed more convincing. She leaned towards the latter anyway.
“You spoke of tempers,” she said. “Of trouble. If there is danger, I would rather see it with my own eyes than sit here listening to whispers and wondering if every knock on the door is bad news.” She held his gaze. “I am your wife. Whatever this is, I am notcargo to be dropped somewhere safe while you ride into storms you find interesting.”
There. As plain as she dared.
He watched her, and she had the odd sense that if he had been holding a map, he would be tracing every line with a finger, looking for hidden reefs. She kept still anyway, her feet flat on the floor and her shoulders squared.
