“Aye,” she confirmed. “With a smack right up the side of her head.”
Adair laughed despite himself. Indeed, her sister was a force to be reckoned with.
When he stopped laughing, he found her watching him with a look on her face that had the tips of his ears reddening.
“Shall we continue our walk, or do ye want to return to yer chambers?”
“I daenae mind walking a bit,” she answered. “’Tis good exercise.”
He was inclined to agree.
“Do ye mind telling me more stories, me Laird?” she asked with a shy smile. “I find that it soothes me deeply.”
Adair felt his heart swell, and memories long buried began to resurface. Unbeknownst to him, his feelings for her had grown, and he could no longer ignore them.
13
“And I will need ye to oversee things in the castle for a few days, Fergus,” Adair instructed as he rose from his seat.
“Why?” Fergus asked. “Are ye going somewhere again?”
“Aye,” Adair answered. “I have some private matters to attend to.”
“Are ye taking an escort with ye this time, me Laird?”
He shot the man a quelling look.
“Alright, me Laird,” Fergus relented. “I bid ye safe travels and success in yerbusiness.”
Adair nodded, feeling bad for glaring hard at the man who had been at his side all these years. But rather than delay, he steppedout of his study. He went to grab the satchel he had prepared in his chambers before making his way to the stables.
Following his discussion with Emily, he had been unable to keep still, knowing that there were still so many pieces missing from the puzzle. Perhaps a visit to the orphanage she had grown up in would offer further insight and a final understanding of the ordeal.
The journey was long and slow due to the heavy onslaught of rain that had followed him as soon as he had set off, as though the truth wasn’t something he ought to uncover.
Still, he pressed on, and three days later, he found the orphanage Emily had talked about. Now he was sitting in its cold parlor. It was in the exact same state of disrepair Emily had described, and the sallow, sunken faces of the children watching him made him grit his teeth.
The master sat fat and ruddy across from him, a clear testament to how he used the donations to fill his belly. At least the bastard had the decency to squirm in front of him.
“The knitter will be here shortly, me Laird,” he said, his eyes darting around the room. “Might I offer ye some tea?”
Adair said nothing, only shot the man a scathing glare.
The door opened, ushering in a cold draft that had the children shivering and a frail-looking woman in drab clothing.
“Me Laird, I came as soon as I heard ye asked for me,” she said, hurrying to stand before him.
“Are ye Hilda?” he asked.
“Aye, me Laird,” she answered.
“Ye may sit,” he said. “The rest of ye may leave.”
“Me Laird, ye?—”
Whatever the master had been about to say died in his throat when Adair shot him another glare. He scurried to his feet, and with a barked order at the children, he left the room.
Adair frowned, silently vowing that he wouldn’t let the children suffer under such a brute’s tyranny for much longer. Worse still, knowing that Emily and her sister had suffered at his hand made him even angrier. He could understand now why she had agreed to the arrangement.
