“It looks so valuable,” she said, sounding a little uncertain. “Thomas, are you sure—”
“It’s a gift,” he said firmly. “In exchange for a convincing performance as my unofficial fiancée tonight.”
Something about Emma’s expression wavered, although it was too dark to truly read her face.
“Of course,” she said, her tone neutral. “Thank ye. Should… should I wear it now?”
“Aye, if ye like. Here, I’ll put it on for ye.”
Thomas had made the offer without thinking rather than letting Emma fiddle and fumble with a catch at the back of her neck. She swung her hair over her shoulder, handed him the necklace, and turned her back.
And now, Thomas was only inches away from her, the delicious smell of herbs and good things washing over him in a darkened carriage. He also had to get close enough to drape a necklace around her throat.
Wonderful.
He sucked in a breath, sliding the necklace into place. It was almost impossible to prevent his fingers from brushing against her skin as he did so, cool and smooth under the gold glitter of his gift.
Then, the necklace was fastened, and he made himself sit back in his seat. He ignored the way his skin prickled, the way his mind replayed their touches over and over again. He smiled blandly, determined to stay calm and play the part.
Emma turned around, lightly touching the necklace at her throat as if she couldn’t quite believe it was there. “I love it,” she said, her voice low and uncertain and not at all like the Emma Gallagher he knew. “Ye are kind, Thomas.”
“Ye deserve it,” he replied at once. It was too dark to tell, but he was sure that she was blushing.
And then, the carriage lurched to a stop, and they were there. Thomas suddenly noticed chatter and laughter, noises that seemed to have come from nowhere. Their destination, the Sinner itself, squatted nearby, light streaming joyfully from its windows. Everything about the place promised good cheer, food, drink, and friends.
And yet, he would have given up his whole Keep in order to stay in that carriage with Emma.
Not that he could, of course.
Emma was already leaning forward, craning her neck, curiously eyeing up the pub. “Is that it, then? The Sinner?”
“Aye,” he said lightly, taking deep breaths and willing himself to calm down. “There she is. It’s a pleasant wee place, eh?”
“Aye, it’s lovely. Not at all like… like the other place I knew.”
Thomas wisely didn’t pry. “There are not many pubs in Scotland like the Sinner. None at all, I’d reckon. Well, shall we go in? I think everyone would like to meet ye.”
Emma drew in a deep breath, straightening her spine, touching her necklace, and shaking out her long silk skirts. “Aye, let’s go. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
Thomas chuckled. He climbed out first, turning back to offer her a helping hand down onto the solid ground.
When she took his hand, the touch sent shivers of excitement all the way down his spine.
What has the wee witch done to me?
Thomas was not sure whether to be thrilled or terrified.
Both were appropriate, probably.
14
Emma wasn’t entirely sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t this.
The Sinner was a pub, but not in the same way that the McCade hovel was a pub. It was bright, with endless candles illuminating every inch of the space. A fire roared in the hearth, adding a sweltering heat to the already warm rooms. There were no dead-eyed men and women in the corners in too-tight clothing from which buttons were missing, no Lachlan McCade sitting in the corner like a corpulent spider, watching every detail.
They were just people. Happy people, laughing and drinking, most of them already tipsy.
She couldn’t have said how, when, or why she had slipped her hand into Thomas’s, but here they were, palm to palm, fingers laced together. He held her hand tight, and a lump rose to her throat. She felt the irrational urge to cling to him, to wrap herfree hand around the strong curve of his bicep and bury her head in his shoulder.
