Yes, that sounded most likely.
Then, a door opened, the one that sat at the top of the stone stairs which led into the courtyard, and she was there.
Thomas paused in his ceaseless pacing and glanced up. It felt as though someone had upended a bucket of cold water over him suddenly and unexpectedly. There was a split-second of absolute shock when you were trying to figure out what had happened to you, and that instant seemed to drag out forever.
Emma was wearing the silk dress. It had a curved neckline, skimming from the tip of one shoulder to the other, revealing the slim curves of her collarbone. The sleeves were long and full, the luxurious swathes of fabric gathered in again at the wrist. The bodice was a simple one, fitted to her waistline, and from there, it flowed down to the ground in smooth, unbroken lines, the fabric glistening and glittering in the torchlight as if it were water. In places, the torchlight glinted off the red silk, making it glow like fire.
Her hair was loose, brushed well, and an ornament that seemed to be made of a hairpin and dried flowers had been pinned above her ear. Thomas made a mental note to look closer at it later.
For now, all he could do was stare, mouth agape.
Emma cleared her throat, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, breaking the silence. “It took longer than I thought to get ready.”
Thomas swallowed hard. His mouth was suddenly very dry. “I think it was worth it. But… but we really ought to leave now.”
She nodded a little too vigorously, clearing her throat again. Pinching the fabric gingerly, Emma lifted her hem and began to descend. Underneath the fine dress, she was wearing sturdy, well-worn boots. Thomas smiled, a dizzying wave of affection washing over him.
“I didn’t have any suitable shoes,” she said defiantly, following his stare. “I’ve got slippers, but I thought it best to be prepared.”
“Aye, very good. I bet Delphine suggested that.”
“She did, actually,” she said, tossing her hair again. She reached the bottom of the stairs and let her hem drop. The material fell to the ground, covering her boots. “This dress is too long, by the way.”
Thomas snorted. “Oh, my apologies,Me Lady. That’s a normal length for a lady’s hem.”
“Well, I’m used to walking miles and rooting around in forests. It’s longer than what I’d prefer.”
Thomas conjured up an image of Emma’s usual dresses, the hems of which only just skimmed the top of her shoe. He’d seen healers before with straps under their skirts to allow the fabric to be pulled up to reveal breeches, the straps fastened to a belt around their waist. It was a clever design, but he couldn’t help but wonder why the women couldn’t just wear breeches.
“We ought to go,” he said finally, composing himself as best he could. “We’ll be late.”
Emma swallowed hard, nodding. “Aye, ye are right. Let’s go.”
He opened the carriage door, indicating for her to climb in first. She did, after only a moment of hesitation. Thomas paused, glancing about the courtyard before he followed her.
Nobody was around at this time of the evening. With the Laird going out, most of the servants were taking advantage of an evening off. They’d gone out to various pubs and gatherings or were simply enjoying a few hours to themselves.
A strange, itchy feeling gathered at the nape of his neck as if he were being watched. Thomas lifted his hand to his nape, half expecting to find a spider or insect there. There was nothing, and another glance around the courtyard did not reveal anyone. There was a darkened window nearby, but no movement inside.
It's just nerves.Just nerves, that’s all.
He didn’t bother to investigatewhytonight should make him so nervous. Shaking his head, he determinedly did not allow himself to look around again. He climbed into the carriage and closed the door behind him.
It was blessedly dark, and Emma hardly spoke.
A lantern hung from a pole outside the carriage, but it was too dangerous to have a candle or lantern inside the carriage. A badly timed pothole could send a lit candle tumbling to the floor, and the furs and rugs would catch fire with shocking speed. With the window open, a combination of bobbling lantern light and moonlight filtered in, but both of the carriage’s occupants were cast into shadow.
They sat in silence, the carriage rumbling towards its destination. Thomas cast a quick, guilty glance over at Emma, who was staring unseeingly out of the window. Her hands were fisted together in her lap. She kept rubbing at the fabric of her dress, then sucking in a sharp breath and twisting her hands together more tightly.
“What’s the matter?” he asked before he had time to wonder whether it was a wise thing to say.
Emma looked sharply at him in the dark, but he couldn’t read her expression. “What do ye mean?”
“Ye seem nervous. Ye keep touching yer dress then moving yer hands away as if ye don’t think ye should be touching it.”
There was a pause, then Emma gave a reluctant chuckle. “Nothing gets past ye, eh, Me Laird?”
“Thomas. Call me Thomas. Please.”
