Chapter 30

30

L eft alone in the darkness, Adam was unable to rest.

He sat at his desk, staring into the empty grate. The smoke curled upward into the chimney as the fire died down around dawn.

He would not have been able to sleep even if he had attempted it. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the severed finger.

Within his fevered imaginings, Emily's father and brother lay mortally wounded on the floor at his feet, his body frozen and powerless to help them.

An owl hooted from outside the window as he stirred. He could hear the quiet of the night all around him, but it brought him no comfort.

The look on her face.

Seeing Emily injured on the moorlands had been unpleasant. He remembered his frustration at his need to protect her right from the beginning. Even before he had known her, he had wanted to keep her safe.

Now, seeing the very real agony on her face when she had seen James's ‘gift' made his stomach churn.

He couldn't bear seeing her unhappy, and it eclipsed everything else in his head. That fact alone was more dangerous than anything else he might face.

James Stewart, he could fight. Her father and brother, he would save. But Emily was an unknown that he couldn't predict.

What if all I do is bring her more misery and pain?

He glanced at the window behind him as shadows moved across the battlements above. He had doubled the number of men keeping watch, convinced that Stewart was on the move.

I was a fool to leave her family unprotected.

He growled low in his throat as his fingers tightened on the arm of his chair. There was no use sitting silently in the dark, ruminating on what had been. He had to plan for the worst and hope for the best, or else what sort of laird was he?

He rose, reluctant to wake up a servant at such an early hour, and piled logs high in the hearth and lit the fire himself. Once the flames were bright and plentiful, he set to lighting candles all around the room.

He didn't want to sit in the dark anymore, mulling over events that he could neither predict nor change. He was a man of action, and he would strategize until dawn if need be.

"I must make this right," he muttered as he lit the final candle and headed to his desk.

As soon as he sat down, however, he saw the box. It hadn't been moved since their explosive argument only a few hours ago. He stared at it with a sickening feeling in his stomach.

He had seen a lot of battles and a lot of death in his life. But when Adam killed someone, it was swift and merciful. He would never prolong anyone's pain for no reason.

Yet, James Stewart appeared to enjoy not only such a thing but to also taunt his prospective bride with the spoils. Adam had never wanted to kill anyone more.

He stared at the box, his anger rising to a fever pitch. Beneath it were letters from clan members, missives from his tenants, and endless reams of paper for him to deal with.

Yet, I can focus on nothin', do nothin' except worry about me wife.

With a snarl of enraged fury, Adam rose to his feet and swept both arms across the desk. Everything fell in a great flurry of papers, quills, and ink until it lay in shattered disorder over the floor.

In his anger, he'd dislodged a candle from the window ledge, and a small fire erupted on the edge of some sheets.

Running his fingers through his hair, he blew out a breath. Tendrils of smoke filled the room as he stomped the flames out.

Adam froze, suddenly realizing what he had done. He frantically searched the floor for the box. Finally, he found it lying on its side a few feet away from him, open and empty.

He swallowedand looked around the flagstones, his eyes finally landing on the offending finger, which lay on the dark stone—a grisly image of all his mistakes.

He knelt, gently picking it up with a grimace and wrenching the signet ring from the end, placing it in his pocket. He put the finger back in the box and made up his mind that he would deal with it appropriately. It could not lie rotting on his desk for days on end.

So he was now on his knees, in the rose garden, at five in the morning, digging frantically in the soil.

Once he had dug a hole deep enough with his dirk, he placed the box inside it and gently covered it with dirt. If he couldn't honor the man in person, he would at least have the decency to bury his finger where the crows couldn't get to it.

As he patted down the dirt, he felt a fresh wave of rage at the danger that hung over their heads. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he was on his feet in seconds, dirk in hand, ready to kill anyone who dared disturb him.

"M'Laird," the guard said respectfully, bowing low. "A letter was delivered earlier today—it has only just resurfaced."

He handed the letter to Adam with another bow and returned to his post.

Adam watched him go, suddenly suspicious that James had sent some other horrors for him. However, when he looked at the handwriting on the letter, he realized it was from Laura.

He quickly went to the stone bench beneath his father's statue. Urns of lighted oil had been placed in all four corners around the statue,and Adam was bathed in a gentle orange glow as he opened the letter with some eagerness.

Brother,

I hope you, Freya, and Mother are doing well.

I am in a better place than I was. I have met a healer with whom I am staying. She is teaching me her craft, and I am safe.

I am not yet ready to return, but I will send word once I am settled.

Please do not try to avenge me and continue to live your lives. I just wish for you all to be happy, and when I return, we can be a family again.

Laura.

Adam lowered the letter, looking up at the darkness of the castle and the deceptive stillness all around him.

"It's too late now, Laura," he muttered into the night. "For both the things ye're askin'."

His sister spoke of them all being happy, but Adam couldn't imagine ever being happy again. Emily was furious with him, and he had failed to protect her family. He could not protect his sister, or keep her safe, and had been too distracted to focus on his clan as he should.

He read the letter again, more slowly this time, looking for any parts of it that might hint at Laura's location, but there was nothing.

He was pleased that she was safe, but he wished, above all else, that he could go and find her and bring her back. Freya cared for Emily a great deal. He could not imagine that Laura would be any different.

He folded the letter back up and placed it in his pocket, feeling the weight of the signet ring bump against his fingers.

He could not get Emily's face out of his mind, the memory of her form crumpled on the floor and broken with grief. Suddenly, he saw a figure moving through the passageways of the castle behind one of the windows, as though materializing from thought alone.

It was undoubtedly a woman, but it could not have been Freya—she was too small. Making up his mind, he rose swiftly, walking into the castle and following the line of the corridor.

Emily was ahead of him; he could see the light of her candle fading as he hurried after her. Upon hearing his approach, she turned, the candle illuminating her lovely face, making shadows dance over it so she looked even more like a pixie.

Adam stopped as they stared at one another.

"I ken ye dinnae want to speak to me, but I simply wish to ken where ye are goin'," he said softly.

Behind her, the faintest spark of dawn could be seen on the horizon, even as the moon still hung in the sky.

Emily raised her chin with the same look of anger she'd had in the study. "I couldnae sleep, and I heard a crash from downstairs."

"That was me," he admitted.

"What did ye do?"

"Nothin' ye need to ken about. Where are ye goin'? I placed guards outside yer room for a reason. How did ye slip past them?"

"How do ye think?" she asked indignantly.

Adam held back a curse as he realized she had used the rear passages that led from her room.

Her expression hardened. "Freya showed me how to organize the library. I cannae sleep, as me faither's finger is lying in yer study, so I am goin' to go and sort some books to quiet me mind." She turned to fully face him. "Or is that forbidden? Should I remain in me room until ye order me to leave it?"

"There are guards outside yer room for yer protection."

"Well then, send them down here. I am nae lyin' in me bed, waitin' for dawn."

She spun on her heel and took the last few steps toward the library. As her hand rested on the handle, Adam swayed forward almost against his will, and she glanced back at him.

"I buried it."

Emily frowned.

"Yer faither's… I buried it."

He stepped toward her, wary of the tears in her eyes. He hated seeing them, wanting to wipe them away forever. He reached in his pocket, pulling out the signet ring and holding it out to her.

"It is yers. Ye can return it to him when we defeat that bastard."

Emily hesitated but eventually took the ring from his outstretched palm. The same flicker of pleasure erupted across his skin as her fingers touched his palm, and Adam couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips. He hadn't expected to feel her touch again.

Emily snatched her hand back as though scalded. "I suppose ye expect me to thank ye," she muttered.

"I dinnae expect anythin' from ye, lass."

He had meant it kindly, intending to reiterate his earlier promise that she was not irrevocably tied to him, that she could enjoy her freedoms now she was his wife. But Emily's eyes narrowed at his words, and her lips pressed together into a thin line.

"Aye, ye dinnae need to remind me," she said harshly and wrenched open the door, before entering the library and closing it gently behind her.

Adam stared at the handle, wanting to follow her and promise her the world so that she would stop hating him. He stood in the corridor for a long time, his thumb idly rubbing where her fingers had touched his palm.

I dinnae believe she will ever forgive me .