Our betrothal isn’t real.It doesn’t matter if he has friendslike Astrid.
“I’m glad he has friends,” she said, with a naïve, innocent tone that she was quite pleased with.
Astrid narrowed her eyes, and the two women regarded each other for a long moment.
Then, Astrid’s gaze flicked down to the necklace. “That’s a pretty jewel.”
Emma swallowed, automatically lifting her hand to the necklace. Itwasbeautiful, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her life. The necklace felt strange against her skin, not the sort of thing she’d usually wear. The gaping neckline was strange, too, and she kept thinking of how branches might catch at her exposed skin if she wasn’t careful.
Not to mention the hem. It was only a matter of time before she tripped on that.
“Thank ye,” she said, offering no more information.
She needn’t have bothered. Astrid leaned forward, pursing her lips. “I don’t believe that ye and Thomas will end well. Believe me, I don’t say this out of spite.”
Emma had difficulty believing that, considering how her new friend was speaking with such relish.
“Oh, nay?”
“Nay,” Astrid confirmed. “Ye think he loves ye because he promises marriage and he gave ye that jewel around yer neck? Oh, no. He’s a deceiver, I’m afraid. I care for him far more than I ought to do, but I can’t pretend he is anything but what he is.” She paused, heaved a dramatic sigh, and sent her pale, eleganthand fluttering up towards her own neck. “He bought me this necklace, ye see.”
Emma dropped her gaze to the necklace in question. A cold feeling settled in her gut. The ale sloshed about her empty stomach, making her feel sick.
Astrid’s necklace was silver, a polished blue stone hanging as a pendant, smooth and resplendent against her rich ivory skin. Emma could imagine Thomas walking around a jeweler’s, finally picking out a jewel that complimented his lover’s skin tone so well, just like he’d picked out the green jade that suited her so well.
She swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat refused to go away. “It’s pretty,” she said at last.
“Aye, it is. I love it because it’s fromhim. Even though he broke my heart,” Astrid added mournfully, twisting the pendant between her long fingers. “He bought it from a jeweler in Edinburgh.”
Emma looked away, remembering Thomas striding away across the road while she was in the dressmaker’s shop. He’d been so confident, so sure of where he was going. Of course, he was if he’d been buying jewels for Astrid, and a dozen more women like her.
“Well, I’m glad he bought ye a present,” Emma said, meeting Astrid’s eye. She wanted the woman to know that she wasdeliberately misunderstanding her and that the conversation would go no further.
It didn’t work. A sly smile twisted Astrid’s perfect lips, revealing that she knew everything Emma was thinking and knew very well what she’d put in motion. With a low chuckle, she lifted her ale mug to her mouth. In a surprisingly practiced move, she drained the drink to the bottom and set the mug back down on the counter with a sigh of satisfaction. Her gaze flitted to Emma’s mug of ale, which was barely touched.
“Better drink that up quickly,” she said, her voice smooth as honey. “The ale in here doesnae improve by being allowed to warm up. Enjoy the party.”
With that, she swept away, turning a handful of men’s heads as she moved lithely through the crowd. Emma watched her go, envying the grace that she herself had never had.
Emma had never been an Astrid, not ever. She was born to clump through forests and dig with her fingers in wet earth for roots, herbs, leaves, and more. She was meant to labor over a pestle and mortar for hours and mingle the green stains on her fingers with black ink, writing down medicines and potions to use to heal others.
That was who she was, and until now, that had never bothered her, not for a moment.
But Thomas didn’t want an Emma, did he? He wanted an Astrid.
The lump in her throat clenched, making her eyes water. She swigged back her ale clumsily, rivulets of amber liquid spilling out from the sides and dropping onto her dress. She wiped clumsily at them. Who cared whether her dress was ruined? Wearing red silk was foolish, anyway. The Astrids of this world wore red silk, not the Emmas.
I’ll have a good time tonight,and it won’t hurt to be reminded of where I stand. None of this is real.
She pushed away from the bar, plowing through the crowd.
“Emma, hey!”
Thomas’s familiar voice drifted over, and Emma stiffened. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him in the corner, standing with his brothers.
Pretending she didn’t hear him, she turned her back to him and plunged deeper into the crowd of people heading in the opposite direction.
15
