Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Despite his restless night, Grant awoke early and set about doing the rounds. He checked in with McWirthe, then the stewards and head maid, then the cook, before he sent a runner to the village. He sent another runner to check on the farmers, as he was worried about an early winter setting in and wanted to check in on planting progress as summer drew near.

He had a quick breakfast in the Great Hall and listened to the chatter of his aunts, uncles, and cousins. He tried not to worry that neither his mother nor Reuben were there. Nor was Emma, who, as Aileas had informed him, was still asleep.

Grant almost grinned. Yet, even his amusement did not last for long. The ride back to the castle and his adventure in England had taken a toll on him, and when he retired to his study, the lines on the papers in front of him blurred.

He rubbed at his face, wishing that he’d found a new chamberlain and three more clerks. The paperwork kept piling up every day, but he could not bother his steward, Ringean. He’d rather the man focus on the day-to-day running of the large castle.

Sitting there, flipping through the papers, the backlog of correspondence and reports, Grant felt a tightness in the back of his skull. Had he not asked Reuben to handle some of this? All the simple matters that merely needed a brief look, just in case something was amiss? Instead, as McWirthe told him, his brother had been out riding and hunting or enjoying cards and drinks in the Fallyhorn Tavern in the village.

Uncharitable as it was, Grant could not quite stop himself from wondering what Banrose would look like if Reuben had become Laird. He could not even picture it, nor did his younger brother seem keen on it. After all, now Reuben could make merry and enjoy all the fruits of his brother’s labor.

Still, this cannae continue.

McWirthe and Ringean had their frustrations, and several clerks who were instructed to help Reuben had drifted off. Grant still hadn’t had time to investigate what had happened.

Toying with a quill, he wondered if perhaps Reuben, being younger, did need more excitement and responsibilities other than handling paperwork.

As though hearing his brother’s thoughts, Reuben knocked on the door and entered without waiting for permission.

“Braither, I’d like—” He broke off and made a wry face that provoked Grant’s anger even more. “Och, the papers. How could I forget?” A smile played on his lips. “Good thing ye’re back.”

Grant stood up and glared at his brother, who threw up his hands in surrender.

“I jibe, I jibe. I’ve come to see if ye’d like to join me on a hunt—the son of Laird Grierson is arrangin’ it just north of here.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, Grant wondered if Reuben ever had any inkling of the effort it took to run this place. He knew their father did not have a clue, for the place was mostly kept running by the quiet schemes of Brenda, the yeomen, and the faithful old Steward, Heep, who’d died mysteriously a year before his father did. Folk still mourned the old man, who’d been wise and patient enough to keep Banrose on its feet.

“Nay,” Grant finally said, trying not to ground the words out.

Reuben leaned forward and cupped a hand to his ear.

Grant cleared his throat but did not raise his voice. His brother could be such a child, with his banal humor. “Nay. I need ye to track someone down.”

Reuben’s eyes flashed with annoyance, and he pouted. But then, he tilted his head to the side, intrigued. Often called the Laird’s Hound, Reuben was one of the most extraordinary trackers in all the Uplands and Lowlands.

Grant opened his mouth to speak, but then he paused, wondering if perhaps he should have McWirthe or Tollcaugh look into this matter.

“Well?” Reuben prompted, his expression growing sulky and bored. “Am I to hunt game or men, me Laird?”

Cracking his knuckles and beginning to pace, Grant explained what had happened on the road. The man he’d killed and the men in the woods where he’d first met Emma. Nothing implied a connection save Emma, but it also could have been a mere coincidence.

And yet…

“Find out his name, who he works for, if he has any accomplices— everything , Reuben.” Grant paused, waiting for his brother to speak. But he was met with silence. “And thank ye.”

Reuben threw himself into a chair, then sat back and folded his arms over his chest. “Why are ye goin’ to such lengths for this strange lass? Are ye tryin’ to enrage the Beast of Briorn, Braither?”

Grant barked out a laugh. “What?”

“I just mean ye are drawin’ a lot of attention to our clan. Why would ye invite bandits to even look in Banrose’s direction? Do ye intend to put our folk in danger for some English wench?”

All of the mirth drained from Grant’s face, replaced by coldness, and he watched as his brother rose from the chair.

Reuben shook his head. “I dinnae like it, Grant.”

“And ye think I do?” Grant snapped. “That’s why I am sendin’ ye to look into this.”

But inside, his gut twisted with guilt. He had not considered the possible repercussions for Banrose. He’d only been thinking of Emma.

Reuben shrugged. “Fine.” Then, a slow smile spread across his face. “Huh… somethin’ else just occurred to me.”

Heaving a sigh as he held onto his thinning patience, Grant asked, “And what is that, Reub?”

“Maybe ye’re nae as scary as ye thought ye were,” Reuben said in a mock-solemn tone, even as his eyes danced. “Nae a devil but a dandelion. What would our folks think?”

Grant picked up an empty wooden goblet and lobbed it at his brother, who ducked it, laughing.

“Ain’t ye in a sweet mood,” Reuben drawled, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Then, as Grant slowly folded his arms and glared at him, he gulped. “I apologize, all jibes. I’ll look into it, dinnae fuss.”

“Thank ye,” Grant bit out.

“Strange to keep the English wench, though,” Reuben added, his eyes narrowing. “Why is she here? What business could ye have with her ?”

“Hm…” Grant stepped forward and threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders. Reuben stiffened, then relaxed as they walked toward the door. “I’ll tell ye.”

Reuben gave him an expectant look, then a puzzled one as they approached the door. And he let out a shout of indignation when Grant shoved him into the hall.

“None of yer business,” Grant said before shutting the door in Reuben’s face.

There was a shout, then an incredulous laugh, and then Reuben strode off, whistling an old Pirate song.

Such a jester…

Grant shook his head and sighed as he went back to his desk.

Curled up in the window seat, her palm flat against the warm, thick glass, Emma stared out at the loch and mountains beyond. Part of her wanted to go back to sleep after tossing and turning half the night, but the other half could not believe she’d slept with such a view outside her window.

The land was austere, yes, not the comely and polite greens of the English countryside, with its tidy gardens and rows of trees. This was… wild and free.

Mist hung over the mountains on the other side of the water, the hills a deep green, with rows of pine running along the shore. A single boat cut through the water, shafts of sunlight illuminating the deep blue depths below, and though Emma craned her head, she could not see the end of the water on either side.

Pressing her hands to her chest, she gazed and gazed, with the sense of never knowing true thirst or hunger—or how it might be sated.

With this, of all things. Of all places. How could I want this?

A harsh breath escaped her lips, and she almost fell as her blankets and dressing gown tangled around her legs. Standing up, she paced and tried to think of London. How she loved the hustle and bustle, the endless allure of the streets and shops, the constant sense of progress pulling one into the future.

But now, all she could think of were the dreary skies, the rain hammering at her family’s townhouse, and the sense of being penned in from all sides. As though one could not fully stretch their limbs—and now she felt the same thing.

No . No. I’m tired and overwrought. This is all new. I’ve always been susceptible to novelty and the excitement it brings.

However, the moment she opened her eyes, she went to the window again and gazed out.

Why did seven days now feel like a cruel jest?

Whirling around, Emma cupped her face in her hands and stood up straight. No, she would focus on getting through these seven days and leaving Banrose behind like the bad, strange dream it was. Seven days and she could go to her aunt’s estate in Yorkshire.

Or perhaps go home.

A wave of dizziness hit her at the thought, and she bit her lip. Part of her had hoped that the wild tale of Agnes, her long-lost twin sister, and her marriage to the Beast of Briorn had been just that—a clever, strange story to protect the Queen and her family.

It sounded like something Father would conjure up.

She let out another long breath and pressed her fist to her stomach. Had he truly hidden her sister away? But why?

Deep down, though, Emma had always known that her father, for all that he loved her and her mother, had a ruthlessness about him that sometimes made her quail. For he would do anything , anything for them, he often said. To which Emma wanted to say, You don’t have to. Do not sell your soul just to win , Father.

Only, it seemed that Matthew Wells already had.

And perhaps Emma had some of that ruthlessness. For if Agnes had fulfilled the Queen’s Edict, what did that mean for Emma? Was she free?

She hated asking those questions, for they made her stomach twist and her heart burn with agony. Yet, she could not stop them.

Would my family take me back? Can I leave Banrose and have the life I always wanted?