Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

The next afternoon, as the maids helped Emma into a crimson gown and affixed a matching Ronson tartan sash across her shoulders, a knock sounded at the door. Her heart leaped, and she smoothed down her skirt as she shooed the maids away.

She opened the door to find Brenda standing in the hallway.

Old Lady Ronson’s face broke into a wide smile. “Och, lass. Ye wear our colors well.” Her hand rose as though to cradle Emma’s cheek. “Ye are so bonny, and I dinnae just mean yer lovely face.”

Emma flushed. “Thank you, My Lady. Do you want to come in?”

“Nay, I merely stopped on me way to the hospital to hand ye this.” Brenda held out a piece of gold-hued parchment, and Emma’s heart lurched. “A rider delivered it a little while ago. He was about to charge into the halls on his steed, so I promised I’d bring it.”

Emma flipped the letter over and eyed the wax seal. She did not recognize the crest—a horse and a mountain, with stars overhead.

“Do you know who sent this?” she asked.

“Someone from Briorn is me guess,” Brenda said. “’Tis the MacLarsen seal, me dear.”

Emma’s hands shook as she stared at it, then she smiled at Brenda and nodded. “Thank you.”

Stepping back inside her rooms, she could barely focus as politely ordered the maids to leave.

She did not have much time, but she had to know.

Emma gasped as she read the first few lines.

Sister,

I do hope you don’t mind me calling you that. But it seems that I should, for so much has happened, twining us both, and yet we have not met.

So let me tell you a little about myself. Oh, and first, let me introduce myself.

I am Lady Agnes Aitken of Clan MacLarsen, and I send you my greetings!

“Agnes,” Emma whispered. “How did you find me first?”

Emma met Grant by the grand double doors of Banrose Castle, and a shiver ran up her spine. Just as it had the night before.

Last night, Grant had been dressed in dark clothes, his eyes cold with purpose, his hair falling around his face. Almost as though he were the night shaped into a man and could choose to turn to darkness and shadow and star if he so chose—at any time.

And perhaps take her with him.

Tonight, though, he was every inch the Laird of Clan Ronson. Standing on the front steps, gazing out into the evening, he had not heard her approach yet, and she took him in. His dark hair was tied back with a bit of tartan, which matched the sash he wore over his snowy white shirt, and, of course, his kilt. His kilt, which showed off his hard, muscular legs.

She thought of sitting in his lap, his chest pressed to her back, his hands on her breasts, and her legs straddling his thighs.

A pulse went through her, and she touched her lips.

What I would not give for another kiss.

At that moment, Grant turned around, and his green eyes lit up. A slow smile spread across his face as he looked her over.

Meanwhile, Emma was nearly dizzy, her breath hitching in her chest and shame coiling in her belly. All she could think about was how when she learned of the Queen’s Edict, she’d been silly enough to believe that lairds were not worthy of Englishwomen. That they were barbaric and unworthy.

I think I had it backward.

Or perhaps she needed to stop thinking in such terms at all. Her mind sagged under the weight of this, even as her heart soared, and she suddenly felt like she understood the real purpose of the Edict. The Queen must have seen the potential, this freedom that was so different from what they knew, and she must have believed that they could forge a bright future together.

“What are ye thinkin’ about, I wonder,” said a husky voice, and a gentle hand tipped up her chin. “Emma?”

Emma blinked and smiled at Grant, who seemed to falter. Something flickered in his eyes, and he dipped his head, before he caught himself. Clearing his throat, he held out his arm, and together they walked out of the castle.

Neither of them said much on the road to the village. Others were making their way there, too. Castle folk in clumps, chattering and laughing. Emma even saw a few of her maids pass by, wearing white dresses, with flowers in their hair, laughing and singing bawdy songs in Gaelic.

Fireflies flitted in a glen. Their light illuminated a spring, beguiling one to loiter on the path. Emma was almost tempted to ask if they could simply keep walking, as she didn’t think she’d mind just wandering these wild fields and spaces with Grant.

Only, as they got closer to the village, the music and scents in the air beckoned. When they emerged into the square, the music drew Emma forward, and her heart fluttered. Folks were dancing and laughing, clapping their hands together as they whirled around. Children ran every which way underfoot, flowers in their hands, and petals were scattered everywhere.

“D’ye see anythin’ ye want to do first?” Grant murmured in her ear, and she felt a warm tingle in her neck. “Hungry?”

“Can we walk around a bit?” she asked, and he nodded.

They kept to the edge of the crowds. Emma saw a bonfire, and she gasped and lurched forward as two lads jumped over it.

“What are they doing?” she exclaimed. “That’s so dangerous!”

“Aye, lass, that’s the point,” Grant murmured.

Was it her imagination, or was he lowering his voice even further, despite the noise around them? Did he not want to be overheard?

“They’re jumpin’ over the fire for luck, as ‘tis a Banrose tradition. But also, the highest jump is the height of the harvest—or so the Old Stories say.”

“Oh,” Emma murmured as people cheered when a lad all but spun through the air. “Did you ever do that?”

“Nay,” Grant said, and there was a trace of sadness in his voice. “I never got the chance.”

Emma glanced at him, sensing that this was related to his past and why he’d been away from Banrose for some time.

“Well, all that jumping is making me hungry,” she declared, even though she didn’t really want a snack.

But her statement made Grant laugh, and he obligingly bought them bags of smoked nuts, sweets, and a bit of fresh bread.

Emma felt a heady sort of freedom as she stood with him behind the crowds, while a minstrel relayed the stirring tale of a Scottish laird who had sailed out to sea to try and chase down the East Wind, which had stolen the voice of his beloved.

When the tale ended with their love triumphing, Emma let out a happy cry, and half the audience glanced back at her. She flushed, while Grant chuckled, but the minstrel merely doffed his hat.

After that, they resumed their walk, and Emma noticed that the Banrose folk were starting to realize that their Laird was among them. At first, the tension seemed to rise, but when they sat down and enjoyed a rousing fiddle solo, it dissipated. Folk tipped their hats or nodded, and Grant nodded back.

As Emma contemplated whether she wanted her fortune told or to leave her future well enough alone, she felt a tug on her skirt.

A little girl stood there and smiled at her, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “For the Lady.” She held out a beautiful red rose in each hand. “And the Laird.”

“Oh, thank you,” Emma said and took a rose, then nudged Grant to do the same. “They are beautiful.”

“Ye are welcome,” the girl said and then scampered off.

Emma looked over to see Grant twirling the rose and smiling. When their eyes met, he leaned over and tucked it into her hair, near the bun at the nape of her neck. Then, he took her rose and tucked it into the other side of her bun.

“Do ye want yer fortune read?” he asked. She shook her head, and he took her hand, gesturing with his head. “Then come with me.”

They wove through the crowd, before Grant suddenly pulled them down a narrow alley and the noise of the crowd died down. Only the music followed them, growing fainter and fainter, while Emma’s heart pounded with anticipation.

Soon, they were beyond the village, navigating the woods, and the scent of fresh pine filled her nose. Part of her knew that she should ask where they were going or whether they should go back, but instead, she held on tighter to his hand.

Just a little longer.

At that moment, they emerged out of the trees and into a cool, misty place. A small waterfall fell at one end, splashing a rockface in a hill, and beyond, the trees thinned, revealing meadows of wildflowers. Fireflies were everywhere, making it feel as though the stars had come down to dance and leap over the bonfires, too. And as Emma turned, following the water, she gasped.

Through a break in the trees, one could see Banrose Castle and the loch beyond.

“This is so beautiful,” she breathed. “Thank you for showing me this.” She looked at Grant, who was watching her from where he leaned against a rock. “I will never forget this, Grant.”

Grant furrowed his brow at that, but all he said was, “Please come here.”

Emma slowly walked over to him, her heart pounding in her chest and her lips tingling. Grant seemed to grow irritated with impatience, but he did not chide or force her to hasten. As though he enjoyed watching her walk toward him.

But as she stopped in front of him, her heart misgave her, and she shook her head when he took her gently by the forearms.

“Grant, no, we shouldn’t?—”

“Why?”

She looked up at him, at a loss for words, and he gave her a wicked smile.

“Lass, I am almost desperate to kiss ye. I can think of nothin’ else, seein’ ye in me clan’s tartan. Here in the moonlight, yer lips are a damn siren song.”

“But we can’t keep doing this,” Emma insisted.

It almost sounded like a plea, rather than a protest. And Grant knew it too, for he smirked at her.

“Do ye want me to kiss ye?”

“That’s not the point,” Emma spluttered.

“Ye havenae come close enough to let me touch ye since our picnic at the loch.” Grant frowned as she shook her head and looked away. He cupped her face in his big hand. “Lass? What’s wrong?”

“Everything.” Emma turned away. “Everything, Laird Ronson. You are to marry my best friend. The Queen’s Edict said Helena Lovell, not Emma Wells.” She balled her fists. “I do not even know where I stand in any of this, now that Agnes has married Leo?—”

Grant startled. “Wait, did she finally write to ye?”

Emma stared at him. “Finally?”

“Well, I thought she might,” Grant continued. “His man-at-arms, Fergus, is McWirthe’s second cousin. I had him inquire after her. She’s well.”

“I know, and I’m happy for her. She wrote me the loveliest, sweetest letter, and I know that I don’t deserve a sister like her. Not after everything that has happened.”

“I dinnae understand.”

“You almost died!” Emma cried suddenly. His eyes went wide, and she whirled around, pacing away from him. “I almost died, too. Without apologizing to my parents—although I doubt they will ever forgive me for what I’ve done, even if Agnes has.” She swallowed hard. “I do not know what my future holds, but I am afraid. And–”

I almost do not want to leave Banrose. But I must. I cannot even entertain that idea. It can only bring about madness and heartbreak and–

“Emma. Easy, lass,” Grant soothed, and two strong arms wrapped around her. His lips grazed her temple. “Ye dinnae need to take on every problem tonight. All will be well.”

“At Banrose, yes, I hope it is,” Emma murmured.

“Och, lass,” Grant said as he turned her around. “Ye cannae say such things and nae expect me to show me gratitude.” His hands cradled her face, and his green eyes smoldered. “We still have tonight.”

Their foreheads rested against each other, and Emma fought down a sob, even as her fingers curled into his shirt.

“May I kiss ye now?”