Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

Down in the hall outside the kitchens, Grant skulked until the Head Cook appeared, having been summoned by a maid. The man’s face lit up when he saw Grant, and he hurried forward, beaming. But his smile fell as Grant explained in a low voice what had happened.

“But—but she would never. She’s a good lass.”

“I ken that ye never bought nor packed those mushrooms, Callum. I can see it in yer eyes,” Grant said. “Tell me who did.”

“Deidre,” Callum replied. “She’ll be in the pantry, sortin’ through the fare for breakfast tomorrow. Wait?—”

Grant stalked into the kitchens, eliciting squawks and yelps of surprise, for he rarely came down there. When he was a boy, he used to spend time in the kitchens, sneaking treats and talking with the cooks and maids.

When he arrived at the pantry, a maid was preparing to leave. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him, and she gave him a wide berth. The lass was dark-haired and slight, while Deidre was tall and red-headed.

He spotted her as he stepped inside, and she turned around with a curious glance, then paled.

“Where did ye buy the Skulleyes, lass?”

“Me Laird?” she asked and curtseyed. “I?—”

“The mushrooms,” he hissed, and she flinched. “Dinnae lie. Yer life is already on the line for allowin’ such a thing to come so close to yer Laird and his guest.”

If Emma died, ye would be dead right now, girl. I hope ye realize that.

“I-I thought they looked strange,” Deidre blurted out, her lips trembling. “And then, when I heard…” She sagged against the table. “I didnae ken they were poisonous, Me Laird. I’m from Edinburgh, and I think they kenned I was a city lass, with nay head for toadstools?—”

“Tell me who sold them to ye,” Granted gritted out, his heart pounding faster.

“A new seller at the market,” Deidre replied. “He swore that they were a new delicacy, for Cook said that we should try and make somethin’ special for yer guest, Lady Emma. She’s been so sweet to the maids that we—we wanted to do somethin’ nice…” Her eyes overflowed with tears. “We’ve been pleadin’ with the Head Steward and McWirthe for days to free Lady Emma to nay avail—is she out, Me Laird? Is she safe?”

The girl began to weep, and Grant heaved a sigh. At least he could still trust his staff, even if perhaps they’d all gotten a bit too comfortable with other folk. He’d take care of that another time. But for now…

“I kenned it. I kenned it,” she wept. “’Twas all me fault. I should’ve been in the dungeons.” She went down on her knees, surprising him, and held out her hands. “Take me instead of Lady Emma. Or send me away. I deserve it.” Her lips trembled. “But please dinnae kill me. I have to send money to me family.”

Grant crouched down and studied her. “Would ye remember this man’s face if ye saw him again?”

She blinked her brown eyes rapidly. “Aye,” she said slowly. “I would, Me Laird.”

Grant rose and pulled her up with him. “Clean yerself up and meet me outside by the stables in one hour.”

Emma raced down the corridor, wishing she wasn’t so out of breath. But three days in a dungeon, with poor food and little movement, had taken more of a toll on her body than she had realized. Still, she did not break her stride as she approached the Laird’s chambers and pushed open the door.

“Who is that?” a startled, hoarse voice shouted, and her heart lurched in her throat.

Earlier, she had noticed how rough and strained Grant’s voice sounded, as though the poison had sapped some of its strength. She felt a rush of bitter anger at whoever had done such a thing, but her temper was reserved for the Laird—wherever he was.

So, in answer, she slammed the door shut and waited for him to appear.

“Whoever is foolish enough to come in here and nae speak, ye should think twice. I am in nay mood for visitors.” A lethal pause. “I suggest ye come back.”

Emma marched toward the arched doorway where his voice had come from, and said hotly, “And I suggest you— oh !” She whirled around and slapped her hands to her face. “You are in the bath.”

“I should’ve bloody kenned,” Grant muttered behind her. “Good day to ye, Me Lady. Somethin’ on yer mind that cannae wait?”

Emma whirled around again at his maddening tone, and he arched an eyebrow at her. Enough steam was rising from the water that she could not really see anything, and the window behind him cast the bottom half of his body in shadow.

Have you lost your mind? screeched a voice in her head. That does not make it any less improper.

“Yes,” Emma said, staring at him.

His dark hair was wet and clinging to his face, and water trickled down his broad, bare chest. Every line of muscle was hard, peppered with dark hair, and her eyes followed the water droplets, wondering at their final destination.

The sight of him sent a bolt of dizzying heat through her, even more potent than the one that assailed her when she’d first seen him. Perhaps it was because she’d been too caught up in the relief of seeing him alive and getting out of the dungeons.

Or perhaps it was because he was fully naked, soaked, and sitting in a tub less than a foot away.

“I must say, I appreciate yer boldness, but–” Grant shifted, as though to cover himself, and seemed to realize he could not. Emma swallowed hard at the big blur of shadow under the water, then darted her eyes up to his face. A smirk played along his lips, but his eyes were hard. “Even a Scottish laird named after the devil has his limits. Ye should go, lass. Now.”

“Not until you agree to take me with you.”

Grant frowned and gave his head a slight shake. “Sorry, where?—”

“I know you are going after the man who tried to kill you,” she said.

“Nay.”

Emma reared back at that. The stormy look in his eyes brooked no argument, and his lips had pressed together into a line she’d never seen before. Sharp enough to cut.

The Devil of Banrose, indeed .

“Why ever not?” Emma demanded in her sharpest voice.

Grant leaned forward and rested an arm on the edge of the tub. “There will be blood.”

Emma’s hands clenched and unclenched. “Must you go?” she asked, and he huffed out a laugh, sitting back and closing his eyes. “Grant. Please?—”

“Emma Wells,” he interjected in a soft, sultry voice that made her skin flush from head to toe, “ye ken me well enough by now to ken the answer to that question.”

She made an angry noise and went to turn around, but Grant cleared his throat. She glanced back to see his green eyes regarding her with a speculative interest that made her heart skip a beat.

“During the last three days, when I was unconscious, did anythin’ change?”

Emma half-turned back. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. Did anythin’ change?”

Oh.

Her head shook before she could stop it. “No, of course not. Everything is the same—you are to marry my best friend, and I only owe you two more nights. I leave in three days.”

His green eyes flashed with heat and temper, even as he gave her a curt nod. “Exactly. So, why are ye here?” Her mouth dropped open when he had the audacity to flick his hand at her. “Leave. Or I will start thinkin’ ye’re a liar.”

Squeezing her fists so hard that she thought her nails would cut her palms, Emma stalked out of the washroom, but Grant called out to her as she reached the arched doorway.

“There are letters for ye on the desk. From me betrothed to ye, it seems.” She flinched and glanced back. “Nay word from yer parents or aunt, though.”

“Thank you,” Emma snapped.

“Aye, ye are verra welcome,” Grant retorted, his words almost a growl. “Write her back—maybe ye and Helena can plan the weddin’ together.”

Emma flinched as though she was slapped, but Grant did not move, merely tipped his head back and exposed his powerful throat. She eyed it, almost incredulous that she had touched him there, kissed him there.

Now she wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and squeeze hard .

“Ye were already almost implicated in an attempt on me life, Emma,” Grant said suddenly without opening his eyes. “I wouldnae push yer luck.”

With that, he motioned for her to leave again.

Emma let out a shriek through her clenched teeth and stormed out of his room, only pausing to snatch up her letters.

Impossible brute. She raged the whole way back to her room. Stubborn arse of a Scottish laird. Poor Helena. I pity her, truly. But at least I know that Grant will be put in his place daily by his wife.

Still, when Emma got back to her room, she was near tears and trembling. His words kept echoing in her mind, and the letters in her hand seemed to weigh a ton. She all but fell into her desk chair, staring at Helena’s familiar, lovely handwriting.

It took her several minutes before she worked up the courage to pick up her paper knife and cut the wax. One of the maids seemed to have gotten her letter-writing equipment—paper, ink, wax, and more. There was also a neat, hand-written book about herbs.

After Helena cuts me out of her life, perhaps I might lose myself in it .

For a moment, Emma did not think she could read it, but her mind flashed back to the dungeons, to three days of not knowing whether Grant drew breath or died.

Steeling herself, she began to read.

Friend of my heart!

I cannot tell you how good it is to hear from you, my dearest Emma.

Emma’s fingers tightened around the edges of the paper, her tears already blurring the words. She’d expected a bitter recrimination, a short note telling her to never contact Helena again. But now, she laughed through her tears.

How could she have doubted Helena? Of course, no matter what, Helena would staunchly stand by her.

First, tell me more about how you are doing, you fiend! Indeed, I was about to set off for Banrose when I realized you did not mention a word about your current state. While I do appreciate the updates about your mad dash, I have already heard about it—save for your journey to Banrose.

Perhaps we shouldn’t have tempered our steel against the Queen’s will. Her Majesty could shatter diamonds with a singular glance if she so chooses.

I cannot believe how close you were to the cottage. I confess I had feared you were captured days before. Word got out that you married Laird MacLarsen. It made no sense—not until it was revealed that the bride was your twin!

When I heard that, I thought perhaps your aunt and father had conspired to spirit you away. I did venture out in the hope of catching wind of any new developments, and well… I had an adventure of my own.

Which brings me to scolding you, my dear friend. How could you ever think a mere man could come between the two of us? We have known each other since we were girls! And I am not surprised that the Laird who found you, this Ronson, couldn’t resist. You are the loveliest woman in all of England.

If that doesn’t put your mind at ease—which I suspect it won’t—this will.

I stole a kiss, too.

Emma squealed and stood up, twirling around the room with the letter. She had a sudden, fierce wish that Helena was only a carriage ride away so that they could gossip about their first kisses. Tears were streaming down her face, but she was smiling, her heart lighter than it had been since learning Helena was promised to Grant.

She set down the letter, noting that there were at least two more pages to read, but instead, she drifted to the window. Even as she pressed her fingers to her lips, her smile fell, and a shiver ran through her.

Somehow, she could sense that Grant had left Banrose. Looking over her shoulder, hugging herself, she felt her breath hitch in her chest.

Then, she was running across the room, only to stop at the door and slam her fist on it. Grant had just been returned to her. He was still recovering from the poison. Should he not be resting and healing, rather than seeking vengeance? Why could no one stop him?

Had he been saved only to be lost again?