Attacking a woman.
“He sounds like a degenerate, all right. But perhaps we shouldn’t bother the Laird with this now.”
Brom blinked. He must have misunderstood. Tabitha sighed, glancing around to make sure nobody was listening.
“Laird MacPherson is going to the Sinner tonight. He’s taking a woman with him. She’s not what I’d want for him, but at this stage, I’ll be happy for him to marry anyone. This woman… well, she interests me. I believe that there’s hope there. The clan needs an heir.”
So what?
He was glad that Lady Tabitha could interpret his brusque signs. What Brom meant, of course, was, “What does that have to do with the escaped prisoner?”
Lady Tabitha laid a hand on his shoulder. “If he learns of this escaped prisoner, he will immediately go out to search for him. He won’t go to the Sinner, and he won’t spend time with the lass. If he knows nothing, this man, a degenerate, a vile man, will just disappear into the countryside to live a squalid life and die in a ditch. It’s an injustice for him to escape, but this little trip of the Laird’s could be for the greater good of the clan. Do ye understand?”
Gods help him, but he did. If anyone else but Lady Tabitha had said this, Brom would have replied with a crude hand gesture that required no interpretation, but itwasLady Tabitha, and he had a great deal of respect for her.
Very well.
Lady Tabitha smiled. “Good man.”
13
It was a mistake, wasn’t it?
The whole thing was just one big mistake. He’d made an error of judgment, and it was all going to come crashing down on his head.
Thomas wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, then wished he hadn’t. It was his nicest linen shirt.
He’d joked about storming into the Keep and dragging Emma out—or rather, scooping her up into his arms and holding her close against his chest—but now that it had come to it, he had no intention of doing any such thing.
The evening air was unseasonably warm, and the courtyard was still and quiet, with not a breath of wind in the air. The carriage stood over to one side, waiting for his word to get going.
He was pacing beside it, up and down, up and down. Every now and then, Thomas would thrust his hands into his pockets, feeling the items hidden in each one. A square, velvet-covered box in one and a neatly wrapped parcel in the other.
The parcel had seemed like an excellent idea at the time, and it probably was, but the box… well, he didn’t know what had possessed him to buy that. He felt almost foolish for having brought it at all.
What if she didn’t come?
What if she didn’twantto come?
Thomas had told himself, again and again, that he didn’t care if Emma didn’t enjoy his company. He had no intention of harming her in any way, and otherwise, she was a means to an end. A way to get his family off his back.
All lies.
He wondered whether he’d realized even back then how ridiculous that all sounded.
Of course, he cared. Emma’s presence wasn’t enough. He needed more, and it was starting to feel like it would never be enough.
He reminded himself not to sit directly opposite her in the carriage again. When a lurch had thrown her into his lap on the way to Edinburgh, her warmth and scent—a combination of rich,savory herbs—had aroused him more than anything else he had ever known before. He was grateful he had worn his plaid. He would never have been able to hide his arousal in those tight breeches.
To be safe, he had worn a kilt tonight.
And yet, she might not come. He wasn’t going to drag her out, kicking and screaming. He would be annoyed, of course. Those dresses set him back a pretty penny. Her choices had been unusual. Red silk, a pale blue dress embroidered with daisies around the hem, and a deep green wool gown, simple and practical.
He glanced up at the moon, which was just starting its jaunt across the sky. He had considered, briefly, whether he should ride to the Sinner instead of bothering with the carriage. Then, he had imagined himself sitting in a horse’s saddle, with Emma pressed up against him either on the front or on the back, and quickly dismissed the idea.
No, carriage or nothing.
In a few minutes, he would have to assume that she was not coming and leave without her. What then? Should he confront her? Scold her? Complain to Delphine? Or perhaps simply take the hint that the woman despised him and could not imagine spending even an hour or two in his company?
