Chapter 11

11

T he next morning, Emily had barely slept.

She had returned to her room as instructed, but the dawn's light was already penetrating the sky.

Lying in bed, she considered the course her life had taken. Instead of being happy and content in her own bed, she was now in a foreign castle under the care of a giant who had kidnapped her.

Why do I feel so calm?

The letter to Ceana lay on the desk in the far corner of her room. Would she be allowed to send it? Adam was resolute in not allowing her to write to her father. Perhaps he would forbid her to have any correspondence at all under the excuse of keeping her safe.

Sighing heavily, she pushed the covers back as there was a knock on the door and Olivia came into the room with a beaming smile.

"Laird MacNiall has asked me to see to ye this mornin', M'Lady," she said with a curtsy.

"Thank ye, Olivia," Emily replied. "I am afraid me dress is sodden from last night's rain. Is there anything else I can wear?"

"Aye, M'Lady. I have brought ye another gown that was worn by the Laird's cousin. She was much sm—" Olivia cleared her throat awkwardly. "It should fit ye better."

Emily hid a smile. "And where is the Laird this mornin'?"

"He will go down to breakfast shortly. Did ye sleep?"

"I slept very well," she lied.

Olivia retrieved the gown and a basin of steaming water for Emily to wash. The cloth Olivia gave her was embroidered with the clan's crest. Everything in the castle screamed opulence.

Emily traced the fine stitching with her thumb, finding that she was enjoying the little luxuries around her. Still, she was anxious to leave her room and discover what new fate awaited her. Perhaps Adam would throw her in the dungeons for breaking into his study in the middle of the night.

"How long have ye served the MacNialls?" she asked Olivia.

"Three years, M'Lady."

"And are they good people?"

The maid looked startled by the question. Her eyes darted to the door and back.

"I ask because I was brought here against me will. I wish to ken what kind of people I am here with."

"Against yer will, M'Lady?"

"Thank ye, Olivia. Ye may go."

Emily straightened up as Lady MacNiall pushed the door open, as though she had been lurking outside, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Olivia stiffened in the presence of her mistress, and she shot Emily a warning glance before hurrying out of the room.

"Turning our own servants against us, I see," Lady MacNiall said. The forced politeness from the day before had evaporated, and she looked at Emily skeptically.

"I didnae tell her anythin' that wasnae true," Emily replied.

"From what me son has told me, he saved ye."

"Yesterday, ye told me I had stolen yer daughter's groom. Today, ye tell me yer son saved me. Which is it, M'Lady?" She was careful to keep her tone polite, but she refused to be spoken down to by Adam's mother. She had done nothing wrong.

Lady MacNiall's eyes narrowed. "I am nae discussin' that with ye. All I want is for me daughter to be returned to me."

"Well, I didnae have anythin' to do with her disappearance. He tricked me and used me for what he wanted, just as he did with her."

"Ye willnae speak of her in that manner!" Lady MacNiall's body was trembling with tension.

It took everything in Emily's power not to take a step away from her. The woman stepped further into the room.

"Ye are here on the whim of me son. He has told me to respect yer position, and I must do as he commands. But make nay mistake, Lady Emily—I dinnae trust ye. Many girls would be grateful for the position of Lady of this clan, and ye are nay different. We have many powers of persuasion when it comes to the weaker sex."

"The weaker sex?" Emily said, frowning. "Isnae that?—"

"I mean men," Lady MacNiall added icily. "Nothin' about me life has been led by weakness—I can promise ye that. Stay out of me way, and we willnae quarrel with one another."

She turned on her heel and went to the door, but Emily couldn't resist having the last word.

" Ye came into me room, M'Lady."

Lady MacNiall gave her a final withering glare before she stormed down the corridor. Emily looked down at herself, only then realizing that she was still in her undergarments. She clenched her jaw and grabbed the dress she had been given.

She tugged it over her head, smoothing it down as best she could. Without a maid's assistance, it was difficult to get it to look quite right, but she managed it in the end. She looked at her reflection and scowled. Her hair was wild around her shoulders, the dark curls matted in places from going to bed with it still damp.

Opening the drawer of the dresser, she pulled out a comb and began to run it through the long strands, tugging viciously at the knots.

It occurred to her that it would benefit her to look as disheveled as possible. No man wanted a wife who looked like a witch. Yet, she could not bring herself to do it. She wanted Adam to admire her—that was the truth of it.

Emily scowled at her reflection.

When did ye start needin' to impress the man?

The door creaked open behind her, and she felt a rush of relief as Olivia came back in to assist her.

A short time later, she entered the dining hall. Several servants were carrying dishes and trays to the table, and Freya and her mother were already seated on the opposite side.

Lady MacNiall didn't spare Emily a glance, and it was noticed by Adam, who glared at his mother with irritation as Emily took her seat.

To Emily's amusement, Freya was subtly trying to read a book in her lap. Every now and then, she would pop some food into her mouth, and her eyes would return to the concealed pages. Her mother and brother appeared not to notice.

Emily stacked her plate high with food. She was starving, having barely eaten anything the day before.

Adam watched her from the end of the table, but she didn't look at him, still irritated by his overbearing manner.

For many minutes, no one spoke at all. There was unexplained tension between Adam and his mother that Emily could not decipher, and Freya seemed disinclined to speak to him as well.

How does one man anger so many people at once?

After the tension had built to an unprecedented degree, Lady MacNiall stood up abruptly and walked out of the room. She had not touched the food on her plate, and Emily eyed it hungrily, wondering if it would be rude to finish it.

At her mother's departure, Freya relaxed, as did her brother, but Adam didn't attempt to begin any further conversation. Finally, Freya looked up from her book and turned her gaze to Emily.

"I was wonderin' if I might show ye the gardens today," she said. "They're fairly extensive, and after all the rain last night, the sun has come out."

Emily glanced at Adam, who was already glaring at her. There were twin emotions in his eyes—lust and anger. She wasn't sure which would overrule the other, but she had no intention of giving in to him again.

I am here to make sure James Stewart can be removed from me life. That is all I need from him.

"That would be lovely," she said and forced a smile.

Although she was famished, she had eaten only a small portion of her food before she felt full.

Would it be scandalous if I concealed some bread in me skirts?

The long dining table had been laid out with every dish imaginable. There was the strong smell of kippers from the other end, and a broth of some kind was in front of her. She wondered what Bruce and her father were eating this morning.

I hope Bruce has been forced to see a healer.

Her brother had an infuriating opinion of anything medicinal. He tended to favor his own methods of recuperation rather than any prescribed techniques. Emily could imagine him dying of a fever merely because he refused to have anyone examine the injury Adam had inflicted.

"Will ye allow me to send a letter?" she asked, thoughts of her brother reminding her that she would not be able to tell him she was safe.

Adam leaned back in his chair, meeting her gaze with a steadiness and authority that made a shiver run down her spine.

Why does he have to be so big?

"To yer friend?" he asked.

She huffed irritably. "Aye, me friend, Ceana."

"But who is that?"

"Me friend," she answered evasively.

Adam rested his big arms on the table, the tapestry of scars even more pronounced in daylight. They were numerous and chaotic, like an intricate map depicting the battles he had fought.

He certainly doesnae believe in wearing sleeves in winter, she silently noted, before looking away.

"Yer friend from where? What does she do? Does she command an army?"

"She commands a whisky distillery," Emily answered bluntly and heard a quiet snort from Freya. "So she could render yer men quite useless with a few bottles of that."

Adam extended his big hand toward her and gestured to the letter as though she were a child.

Emily pulled it from where she had tucked it in her bodice and handed it to him. She was still uncertain whether it would be sent. Adam could have thrown it straight into the fire when he left the room, but he put it in his pocket with just a hint of satisfaction.

"Why can I send a letter to her and nae to me faither?"

"Because yer friend Ceana sounds quite uninterestin'."

Emily gaped at him. "Ye dinnae ken anythin' about her!"

"Nor do I need to," he answered casually, as though he were discussing the weather.

"Ye had nay business readin' me private correspondence anyway—I told ye it held nay significance for ye."

"He read me diary when I was a child," Freya chipped in and received a furious look from Adam in response.

"Hold yer tongue if ye ken what's good for ye," Adam growled at his sister.

"Had ye written anythin' interestin'?" Emily asked, turning to Freya, who appeared to be enjoying their exchange immensely.

"Aye, I complained about me big braither bein' a troll," Freya said with a grin.

Adam dropped his knife on his plate with a clatter. "That is enough!" he barked.

His sister flinched. It seemed he was willing to allow Freya her liberties, but only so far. He was quite terrifying when a full rage was upon him, and Emily was dismayed to find that she was excited by that side of him.

What might he be like in the heat of passion if he lost control? She could not help the pulse of lust she felt as she remembered him pinning her effortlessly to the wall of the garden, ravaging her mouth with his tongue.

"I have informed yer faither that ye're safe," Adam said finally, shooting her a glance and lowering his voice to a more moderate level.

Emily froze at his words, glancing up at him in amazement. A wave of relief washed over her. "How?"

"Me men sent word. They delivered the news this mornin'."

Emily was more grateful than she could express. She wanted to thank him, tell him how happy he had made her, see the twinkle in his eyes when he was pleased.

"Why did ye nae tell me that yesterday?" she demanded.

"Because ye were runnin' yer mouth and breakin' into me study, and I wasnae inclined to help ye."

Emily gritted her teeth as she looked down at her plate, contemplating throwing a bread roll at his head.

"Ye will learn that ye have to trust me, lass. There is reason in everythin' I do."

Emily turned to Freya, anger running through her with alarming intensity. "Did ye say ye were goin' to show me the gardens?" she asked, eager to put some distance between herself and the Laird before she did something foolish.

"Aye," Freya said as she rose and waited for Emily to join her.

"Keep a sharp eye, and dinnae leave the castle grounds," her brother warned.

Freya nodded solemnly but then took Emily's arm and gave her a sly wink.

Emily wasn't sure what she meant by it until she was led down a back corridor and up some stone steps to a small doorway. Freya opened it, and instead of the gardens, Emily was gifted with a view she had not expected.

Below her were sharp rocks and crashing waves with an endless horizon stretching out ahead of them. The doorway led to a narrow balcony at the base of one of the castle walls. It was stunning.

Freya, whose wild beautiful hair was tugged backward by the wind, looked every bit the Highland queen as she inhaled deeply and flashed Emily a grin.

"Other than the library, this is me favorite spot. I didnae tell me braither I would show ye this—he doesnae think it is safe."

Now that she looked around the balcony, Emily could see why. The edges were crumbling into the water below them.

"It's beautiful", she said.

"I kenned ye'd like it. Ye have a wild spirit."

"What makes ye say so?" she asked curiously.

"The way me braither behaves with ye," Freya replied cryptically. "He isnae like that with many people, certainly nae after so short a time."

Emily frowned. She wasn't sure Adam felt a great deal around her, apart from vexation. But then her mind wandered to the kiss again, and she decided that maybe Freya was right on that score.

She wanted to ask her more about the topic, but the wind suddenly whipped at their skirts, pushing them both backward into the wall.

The two women shrieked with delighted alarm as they clutched at one another, and Freya gripped Emily's arm and pulled her back to the door.

"We will come another day when the seas are calmer," she said swiftly and opened the door for them to descend.

But as Emily left the balcony, the wind whistled behind her, a silent reminder of forces in the world far beyond her control.