Chapter 11

E meric ground his teeth, trying not to let his discomfort show. He'd kept the smile fixed on his face for so long that his jaw was beginning to ache.

"Good evening to ye too," he said, inclining his head to the mother and daughter who'd come to speak to him.

The daughter giggled and the mother yanked her forward, so Emeric was forced to step back to avoid being trodden on.

"Ye remember our Eloise, aye?" the woman asked.

"Aye," Emeric lied. "Of course I do. And a fine young woman she's turned into."

"That she has," the woman said. "And she's marrying age now as well."

"Is she?" Emeric said, keeping his smile fixed in place. "Then some young lad is going to be mighty lucky. Please, enjoy the feast."

The two women shuffled past him and took their place at one of the long tables in the great hall. The place was busy, busier than he'd seen it for many a year—and all for him.

He hated it. His mother and sister might claim the feast was to welcome him home, but it felt more like its purpose was to parade him around like some trophy. Everyone in the castle had been invited, and some from the village as well. He'd greeted more people and had more slaps on the back in the last hour or so than he could remember.

Curse it. His commander, Kai Stewart, would have loved all the attention. He was outgoing and confident and would have lapped up the accolades like fine wine. But Emeric did not. He didn't like it and he didn't deserve it.

His mother glided over, her warm smile lighting up her face as she softly touched his cheek. "My son," she said, her voice thick with emotion that mirrored what he saw in her teary eyes. "I am so happy ye are home."

Emeric forced a smile, then embraced his mother tightly, holding onto her as if she was his lifeline. A part of him wanted to confess, to apologize for the years of neglect, to explain the reason. But another part feared that it might shatter this illusion of a happy family and reveal the harsh reality underneath.

"Come sit with me."

He followed her to the head table where Aislinn was already waiting and lowered himself onto the bench. He glanced around the bustling hall, taking in the faces of those around him. There was Old Fergus with his misty eyes, leaning heavily onto his gnarled walking stick, and Young Dougal, who had grown into a strapping lad full of fire and ambition.

He took a deep breath, his chest tightening with regret. He'd escaped this life once before, heading for a place where he wouldn't have to live up to his family's lofty expectations. But now, dragged back into the claustrophobic world he'd once fled, Emeric felt like he was drowning .

The hall was almost full, but one person was missing. Eyes skipping over the guests, Emeric found himself searching for Anna, but she was nowhere in sight.

Then he heard her laugh and she stepped through the doorway—but she wasn't alone. One of the castle guardsman walked with her, a strapping young man by the name of Hector.

Emeric's insides tightened. Why was she with him?

Anna looked around, met Emeric's gaze across the sea of people and waved a hand in greeting, a wide smile curling her lips. He forced himself to nod, then watched as the two of them made their way to one of the long tables, talking and laughing all the while. He gritted his teeth and braced his hands on the table, resisting the urge to go storming over there. The door at the back of the hall suddenly opened, and everyone turned their attention in that direction. Emeric's uncle, laird Douglas Mackintosh strode in.

Clad in a heavy plaid in the colors of their clan and wearing a stern expression, his stride was powerful and commanding. People parted as he made his way to the head table, but he did not sit. Instead, he lifted a goblet and waited for the room to hush.

"Ladies and gentlemen, kin and friends," he began, his low voice echoing through the hall. "We gather tonight to celebrate the return of my nephew, Emeric."

A cheer went up around the hall. Emeric forced a smile, but felt like a cornered beast.

"Now let's feast to our hearts' content!"

A loud cheer echoed through the hall again as servants scurried in with loaded trays of food that were quickly distributed amongst the tables. The scent of roasted boar, fresh bread, and late summer berries wafted through the hall, mingling with the smoky aroma of the massive fireplaces that lined the walls.

His uncle sat down beside him and began piling his plate high with meat and ale-soaked bread. Emeric's own appetite seemed to have vanished. The unease gnawing at his insides left no room for food.

"Ye look like ye've swallowed a wasp," his uncle remarked, glancing sideways at him. "Eat, lad."

Emeric forced himself to take a few bites, but it was a struggle. His gaze wandered over to Anna, who was laughing at something Hector had said. He felt a pang of something unpleasant and he quickly looked away.

He turned his attention back to the table, to the piles of bread smothered in butter to the bowls filled to the brim with thick stew, to the succulent slices of boar slathered in rich sauces.

It was an extravagance they could not afford.

Earlier, before coming to the feast, he'd gone to see his uncle. He'd explained what he and Anna had seen at the barn and explained his worries that the MacDonald's cut of the harvest would not leave enough grain to last Dun Achmore through the winter.

His uncle's expression had gone grim and he'd turned to stare out the window of his study.

"Perhaps it's time to renegotiate," Emeric had said. "If we keep to our agreement with the MacDonalds, we'll be hard-pressed to feed everyone. "

"We?" his uncle snapped, turning to face him. "What do ye mean ‘we'? There is no ‘we', is there, Emeric? There hasnae been a ‘we' since ye turned yer back on this clan for yer precious Order!"

The words had stung Emeric like pelting stones, but he'd refused to back down. "I'm sorry ye see it that way, Uncle, but it doesnae mean I'm wrong."

His uncle sighed and he scrubbed at the side of his face. "Nay, lad, it doesnae mean ye are wrong. And I'm sorry. I shouldnae have said that. I understand yer reasons for leaving and I dinna begrudge ye them."

His uncle's understanding was worse than his anger. That old, familiar guilt twisted in Emeric's gut and he had looked away, unable to stand the compassion in his uncle's gaze. He did not understand Emeric's reason for leaving. None of them did.

"So what do we do about the agreement with the MacDonalds?" he had pressed.

"What can we do? It's been all I can do to smooth ties with them since Aislinn set her heart on the Murray boy. It was an insult they willnae forget in a hurry. And now, if I refuse to give them what was agreed? We'll likely have MacDonald warriors at our gates before we could breathe."

Emeric had said nothing, but anger had seethed in his stomach. His clan had always been a poor one, sandwiched between two powerful neighbors, the Murrays to the west and the MacDonalds to the east and striking a balance between keeping the Mackintosh from being swallowed by either had been a tightrope his family had been walking all his life .

And now, looking at this feast they could ill afford, Emeric wondered if they were finally losing their balance and falling off that tightrope. He glanced around the hall, noting the revelry that filled the room. Men and women laughed and drank, oblivious to the fact that they were feasting on borrowed time.

He imagined this scene when winter arrived—their faces drawn and pale, snow falling ceaselessly outside and their bellies echoing its silence within. How quickly would this joy turn into resentment? How soon would they blame it on Aislinn's decision to follow her heart or his uncle's decision to allow it?

Emeric sighed heavily, the weight of these thoughts pressing upon him. His uncle noticed his gloomy expression and nudged him with an elbow.

"Ye're brooding, lad. Tonight is a night of celebration."

"Is it?" Emeric quipped in reply, his gaze drifting across the hall. "It feels more like a night of denial."

His uncle's face turned grave at Emeric's words. "Perhaps," he admitted. "But we must take our moments of joy where we can find them. We'll manage, as we always have."

Emeric's gaze landed on Anna. Her laughter echoed across the hall and she seemed to be enjoying herself.

His uncle's words echoed in his head. We must take our moments of joy where we can find them.

He knew the truth of that all too well. When fighting for the Order, there had been countless moments when he had thought it might be his last. As a result, he and his sword-brothers had learned to live in the moment, enjoying the laughter and camaraderie when they could.

Emeric stood abruptly, drawing several curious glances from those seated at the high table. He navigated through the tables—and through the people who had already begun to dance in the space in the middle of the hall—and made his way towards Anna.

He received a few claps on the back and nods of acknowledgement from men he barely remembered, their well wishes and congratulatory words washing over him like a faint echo. It was odd how they still treated him like kin—not like the man who'd abandoned them.

He finally reached Anna's table. She had her back to him and was engaged in a loud and laughter-filled conversation with Mavis Tanner, one of his mother's seamstresses.

Words tingled on the end of his tongue. Would you like to dance? But before he could speak, Hector suddenly leaned close on Anna's other side and held out his hand.

Anna nodded, took Hector's hand, and allowed him to pull her to her feet and towards the dancing area. She didn't notice Emeric, her attention focused on her partner. But just as they were about to step into the sea of dancers, she turned her head and caught sight of him standing at the end of a table.

She looked as though she was about to speak, but then the music started up and Hector whisked her away to join the dance.

Emeric was left standing there, feeling an utter fool. What had he been thinking? Take your joy where you can find it? What a ridiculous sentiment. There was no joy for him here. Not since...

Ah, curse it!

He suddenly felt suffocated, like there wasn't enough air in the room. Ignoring the curious stares that followed him, Emeric hurried out into the night.

ANNA WATCHED EMERIC over Hector's shoulder. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from him. He was standing by her table, an unreadable expression on his handsome face.

She stumbled and trod on Hector's foot. "Oops, sorry," she muttered. "I don't know this dance."

Now, that was an understatement if ever there was one. When she'd agreed to dance with Hector, she'd not expected this complicated Highland dance where partners entwined their hands in front of their faces and then went through a complicated set of steps that had them stepping and turning, backtracking and whirling. It was a wonder she hadn't fallen flat on her backside already.

Hector only laughed. "Ye dinna know this one? Where have ye been living, lass? On a rock in the ocean?"

"Um...something like that," she replied. "I...I'm not from around here."

Hector's eyes twinkled. "In that case, it would be my honor to be yer teacher."

Anna smiled, but her heart wasn't really in it. Hector was friendly and sweet and she'd been grateful when she'd bumped into him coming down the stairs and he'd offered to escort her to the hall. After all, who wanted to walk into a room full of strangers on her own? But she couldn't help wishing he was someone else, a certain sandy-haired archer, in fact.

Hector took her arm and twirled her, and as she came back around, she found herself looking for Emeric again. She spotted him as he disappeared through the door. Where was he going? Wasn't this party in his honor?

"Hector," she said, her tone as apologetic as she could muster. "I'm not feeling very well. I think I need some air."

Hector cast her a concerned look, but he nodded and released her from his grip. She offered him a weak smile and rushed off after Emeric. The cool night air was a soothing balm to her heated cheeks as she stepped outside, the chatter of the hall fading into a distant murmur.

The night was dressed in its finest attire—a million twinkling stars scattered across a velvet blanket of darkness, the full moon bathing the world in a wash of silver. It was beautiful and she might have stopped to admire it, but for the sight of Emeric's retreating figure crossing the courtyard and disappearing into one of the wooden buildings on the other side.

She hesitated a moment, glancing behind her at the warm light spilling from the great hall. Then with a determined thrust of her chin, she set off across the courtyard, hitching up her skirts so she didn't trip and go flying.

The wooden building loomed up before her as she drew near, its walls silhouetted by the moonlight. She could hear soft sounds emanating from within — a quiet snuffling, a rustling of straw.

The wide doors stood slightly ajar and she slipped through, careful not to make a sound. It was somewhat darker within, but shafts of silver light cut through gaps in the wooden walls and ceiling, casting an eerie glow. Her nose twitched as the smell of hay and horses reached her, comforting in its familiarity.

She stepped through the inky darkness and then froze as she heard a sound coming from the far end where the low glow of a lantern broke the darkness. It was a long, low scraping sound, like metal on metal.

Emeric's voice suddenly spoke. "Dinna look at me like that, Plover. I know it was stupid to come back here—I dinna need ye pointing that out. But what choice did I have? I could hardly miss Aislinn's wedding could I?"

Anna cocked her head. Was he having a conversation with his horse?

Scrape.

"Aye, ye are right," Emeric continued. "Ye always are. I know I shouldnae have left the feast. It's just that...just that...well, ye know."

Scrape.

There was silence. Then a long, heartfelt sigh.

"Ah, never mind. Ye dinna want to listen to my problems do ye?"

Anna stepped out of the darkness. "Oh, I don't know," she said lightly. "I've heard that horses can be great conversationalists. Especially about grass. One of their favorite topics, apparently. "

Emeric leapt to his feet and spun so fast she barely saw him move. In the space of one heartbeat, she had the tip of a sword resting against the base of her throat.

She froze, hardly daring to breathe. Her eyes fixed on the gleaming length of sharp steel, not a millimeter from her jugular.

She realized that was what the scraping noise had been—Emeric had been sharpening this blade and she'd blundered in and surprised him and...

Her gaze traveled up the blade until they met Emeric's narrowed eyes. His face was expressionless, like a mask, but his eyes glinted with barely contained violence. She swallowed.

"Emeric," she croaked. "It's me. Anna."

He blinked and his gaze cleared, eyes widening in surprise. He lowered the blade.

"Anna? By the Saints, ye startled me, lass."

Anna rubbed at her neck. The skin hadn't been broken, but she could still feel the cold press of the metal against it. "Yeah, I noticed."

Emeric glanced at the sword and tossed it onto a bale of hay in front of Plover's stall. "My...my apologies, lass, I didnae mean to..." He stuttered to a halt and then faced her, chin lifted. "What are ye doing here?"

"I'm beginning to wonder exactly the same. What was that? You nearly skewered me!"

"I apologized, didnae I? Ye shouldnae sneak up on people like that."

"I wasn't sneaking!"

"Oh, then what were ye doing? "

Looking for you , she wanted to say. Because I barely got to talk to you at the feast tonight. And...and I missed you.

Emeric blew out a breath and held up his hands. "I'm sorry, lass," he said. "I didnae mean to scare ye."

Anna crossed her arms. "Well, you did."

The silence thickened until it was nearly suffocating. Anna searched for a way to fill it. "What are you doing in here, anyway? You're missing your own feast."

Emeric's gaze flicked in the direction of the great hall. "They will be well into their cups by now. They willnae miss me."

That was no answer at all. She had seen his discomfort as he'd sat at the high table. "Is that why you've been holding a conversation with your horse?"

"So ye were eavesdropping!"

"I wasn't eavesdropping, I just heard! What's got your knickers into such a twist? Tonight was supposed to be fun!"

"Fun?" he snapped. "Watching my family squander resources we canna afford to squander? Watching everyone feast and make merry whilst ignoring the truth? That isnae fun, Anna. It's a farce."

"Emeric, they just wanted to enjoy themselves—"

"Well, ye were certainly enjoying yerself by the looks of it!"

She bridled at his tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why dinna ye ask Hector? He seemed to be enjoying himself as much as ye."

Anna glowered at him. " That's what this is about! You're jealous because I danced with Hector?"

Anger flashed in his eyes. "What ye do and who ye do it with is no business of mine, lass."

"Too right it isn't!" she retorted. She stepped forward and jabbed his hard chest with her finger. "And if I did dance with Hector, perhaps that was because he was friendly and charming rather than glowering all night like some sulking child!"

"I wasnae sulking."

"Oh? It looked a lot like it to me! And if you want to stay out here and hold a meaningful conversation with your horse instead of being inside with your family who are throwing a party in your honor, that's your business!"

She whirled on her heel and stomped out, fists clenched at her sides. She stalked across the courtyard and up the steps into the great hall. Warmth and conversation and merriment washed over her as she stepped inside and she took a deep breath, trying to put the spat with Emeric out of her mind.

The dancing was still going on, two lines facing each other this time. Hector spotted her and waved her over to join them. She still seethed with annoyance, but she'd be damned if she'd let Emeric ruin the first enjoyable time she'd had since being stranded in this time. So, with a smile, she made her way over to Hector and took a place in the line at his side.

The guardsman grinned at her and she couldn't help feeling a pang at the thought of Emeric alone in the stable. A moment later, though, the door opened and Emeric walked in. He glanced at Anna, but she pointedly looked away but watched out of the corner of her eye as he took his seat at the high table and engaged his mother and uncle in conversation.

He didn't speak to her again that night and no matter how much dancing she did, how much ale she drank, and how much food she ate, as she finally fell into bed, she couldn't quite quell the ache in her heart.