When he reached the circle of light where Brom sat at his desk, Thomas gave a sigh of relief.
Brom glanced up from his work, lifting a questioning eyebrow.
“I’ll discuss his case with the council as soon as I can,” Thomas said, answering the unspoken question. “This sort of thing willnae be allowed. In the meantime, watch him closely. I believe he means to escape.”
Brom sat back, scrunching up his brow. He made a series of quick hand gestures, more complex than before, but Thomas had learned to interpret them over time.
I have never let a prisoner escape.
“I ken, I ken,” Thomas said soothingly. “I just… I just have a bad feeling about that one. Did ye know him before this?”
A shake of the head, more hand gestures.
I ken few here. But I am a good jailor. A good jailor.
Thomas paused, tilting his head, watching Brom’s quick, practiced gestures. He wondered, not for the first time, where Brom had come from, and why he no longer spoke. Who taught him to sign? Who taught him to read and write?
That was unimportant now, of course.
Brom finished signing, and Thomas smiled at him. “Thank ye, Brom. I trust ye, dinnae think that I dinnae believe ye can handle him. Just… well, I’ve got a bad feeling. As if something is heading this way. Have ye ever felt like that?”
A nod.
Thomas paused, on the brink of asking Brom whether he’d ever been in love. If so, what did it feel like? Would you ken when it happened to you?
He decided against it.Thatwas far too personal a question.
10
Emma wasn’t surprised when she dreamed about the kiss.
The dream itself was confusing and disjointed, as dreams often are, but somehow the chaos all resolved itself into Thomas, with that smug smirk on his face. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him again. They were face to face, noses almost brushing together, and she could almost taste the sweet softness of his lips when a banging sound jerked her out of the dream.
She jerked upright, blinking in her gloomy bedroom, sheets twisted and knotted around her legs. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, which was a surprise—her room was usually cold.
The banging came again, and she realized in surprise that it was a knocking at her door.
“Emma?” Delphine called, her voice muffled through the wood. “It’s past breakfast time. Are ye well?”
A flash of panic went through Emma. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, leaping to her feet and grabbing up her clothes. She’d overslept by a good long stretch. Usually, she was up at least an hour before breakfast, making up the fire and setting the porridge pot to bubble and simmer. She would review the day’s tasks and maybe get a head start on cleaning up the chamber or preparing more herbs and potions.
And all that was before Delphine usually rose in the morning.
Emma cursed herself and Laird Thomas MacPherson with all her might, hopping around the room and pulling on her clothes. She would just have to wash and brush her hair later. Her hair still hung down her back in the rough, uneven plait she had slept in.
She flung open the door, finding herself face to face with a surprised Delphine. “I’m so sorry.” she gasped. “I… I must have slept in.”
Delphine frowned, eyeing her closely. “Ye don’t seem yourself, lass. Ye never sleep in.”
Emma swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “I’m sorry, truly.”
“Are ye feeling well? Ye can always rest today if ye don’t feel right.”
“I’m fine, honestly. Just a wee bit tired.”
Delphine clearly wasn’t convinced. She pressed her cool palm to Emma’s forehead, checking for a temperature.
“See?” Emma said, hoping that she sounded collected and healthy. “I’m fine.”
