Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

Grant’s heart was pounding hard as he pretended to lean against the door without a care in the world. But his every sense was attuned to Emma’s slightest movement—from the way her blue eyes widened, to the soft rush of air between her lips, to the way her hands dropped to her sides.

“Stay longer than the seven nights, Emma,” Grant said.

Emma leaned against the bed, shivering slightly, and she shook her head. “You are playing a very dangerous game, My Laird.”

Grant almost flinched. Dinnae call me that, he wanted to say. Instead, he said, “Let me explain. Come with me.”

Emma, who seemed dazed, came forward without a fight. And Grant’s heart sank at that. He’d expected some resistance or a kiss, not this pale, wide-eyed woman who walked quietly alongside him.

They managed to navigate the castle without being seen by anyone except a few servants and stepped outside into the sunlit afternoon.

Too bright , Grant mused. A storm was brewing somewhere, and sure enough, dark clouds were forming over the distant sea.

Neither of them spoke as they made their way down to the loch and then picked their way down a rocky path, until they found themselves in a cove. The sun cast a golden light over everything, sharper as the clouds grew darker, and a fork of lightning flashed silently across the sky.

“Grant—Laird Ronson,” Emma said as he turned to smile at her. “I cannot stay. You know this.”

“Stay for a month, please,” Grant pleaded and took her hands in his. “There are storms afoot, and I should make sure that our enemies–”

“And then stay another month after that, yes?” Emma cut him off, pulling her hands free.

“Aye, which is what I should have offered from the beginning. Seven nights was a fool’s bargain.”

“No, I was a fool to agree to such a bargain,” Emma sighed. “I was a fool to stay.”

A distant rumble of thunder sounded somewhere while they glared at each other.

“Why can ye nae stay, Emma?” Grant reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment that was creased from being folded and unfolded repeatedly, the writing on it faded. “Is it because of this foolishness?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “Oh yes, the Queen’s Edict is foolish.” Emma hugged herself and shook her head. “Do you hear yourself?”

Grant ripped the parchment in half, and she gasped, then started forward as he tossed it into the loch, where it disintegrated.

“I dinnae give a damn about Queen Marianna and her marriage mart ideas. Her Majesty and her Edict mean nothin’ to me.” He took a step forward, and she stumbled back, her fists balled at her sides and her face wary. “Emma, listen to me. Nothin’ ever meant anythin’ to me until I met ye. Until I saw ye smile.” He could not help but give her a bitter smile. “Do ye ken now?”

“No,” Emma whispered. “I do not. I do not understand what you are doing.” She looked at the water again, as though she might retrieve the Edict. “Do you mean to get yourself killed, Grant?”

Grant let out a bitter laugh. None of this was going to plan. He’d thought Emma would shyly leap at the chance to stay longer, that she’d be moved by his destruction of the Edict. Instead, she seemed fearful and haughty at the same time—distant, as though she were already on the road away from Banrose.

“I think even the Queen’s army will find me a hard man to kill,” he said. “They tried before—not far from here, in fact—with nay luck. Not a lick. Perhaps ye cannae kill somethin’ so wicked as a boy cursed to be a devil.” He dragged a hand around his aching neck. “Perhaps I cannae keep somethin’ so good…” He stared down at her. “But I want to try.”

“Tried before…” Emma trailed off, seeming shaken. Something flickered in her eyes. “Your mother once told me that she could not lose you again. Does it have something to do with that?”

“Aye,” Grant said. “Might as well tell ye the whole sorry business. See, me faither was a cruel, selfish bastard. All the riches of Banrose were meant for him alone, but it was never enough. He even orchestrated somethin’ called the Wednesday Uprising to loot the fine houses and banks of Edinburgh and other cities. A real riot, which the English swooped down on and took advantage of. Had us fightin’ each other and scattered. So many lives were lost—wasted. I kenned none of this as a boy—thought it was a battle and nothin’ more. But it started a series of raids. Banrose folk were strugglin’—starvin’ and sick. So, as the son of the Laird, I thought I might help them.”

Silence fell between them as the loch began to churn and the wind rose. Thunder sounded overhead, closer now.

“And I did help them, for a time. Until I was caught, along with me accomplice, the former healer. He was killed in some terrible way that, even now, we ken nothin’ about. And me faither tried to hang me in front of the entire village.” He rubbed at his throat unconsciously. “’Tis why me voice is ruined, lass. It’s why me maither worries and rarely laughs. It’s why Reuben takes nothin’ seriously—not even his own life and purpose.”

Emma clapped her hands over her mouth, staring at him with wide eyes, and he huffed out a laugh.

“Easy now. I was rescued by me best friend’s faither, Laird MacCabe. He trained me and honed me into a powerful tool, though—one that the English didnae appreciate.” Grant smiled in satisfaction. “That’s part of the reason why yer dear Queen wanted to marry Englishwomen off to lairds—to keep them in line.” He paused. “I wouldnae have come back if it wasnae for me maither, though. But Emma, I am nae me faither, and I would value me wife above everythin’. I confess I worried that an English lady wouldnae stand by me and be strong for our people—until I met ye.”

He reached for her, but she pulled back.

“No, you’re wrong.” Her eyes flashed, and she looked around her. “I know this story. This—this is the story my father told my mother the same night we received word of the Queen’s Edict. Of a boy being hung and the screams of his mother—the cruelty of his father.”

A jolt went through Grant as the air began to prickle with the energy of the storm. They stared at each other for a moment.

“That boy was you. And your story… it’s why I ran, Grant. Because I knew that I could never live in a world that was so cruel.”

Grant swallowed hard, hating that she’d said that, that she’d been scared by that. But he also could not help but think of the fair English lord who had tried to stop his execution. Who had saved him in a way.

“So it was yer faither who bought me time,” Grant said quietly. “Even if he didnae save me outright, he bought me time until MacCabe came. I might have died otherwise.”

“Grant, it’s too much,” Emma whispered.

“Nay, listen to me.” Grant strode forward and cradled her face. “I have turned Banrose into a place of peace and prosperity, of healin’. Those hospitals and the well-being of me folk… they are me legacy.” He trembled slightly. “I only wish for a wife who would help me impress that upon our people. They fear me still, the Laird’s son, the devil who returned. They still fear that I will seek vengeance, even though I kenned they couldnae save me without me faither murderin’ all of them.”

“Grant—” Emma tried and pulled free.

“I ken why ye fear such a life, Emma, but I will be a better man for ye. A better man than me faither ever was. The best man.” Grant went down on his knees and held out his hands. “All I ask is that ye stay. Please.”

Emma gazed at him, her chest rising and falling. Again, thunder rumbled overhead, and Grant felt the despair claw up his chest.

“Emma, every day of me life, all I aspire to be is a better man, and ye make that so easy. Like breathin’.” His chest rose and fell. “I never want to be me faither—that is me biggest fear.”

“Oh, I wouldnae be afraid of such a thing,” said a cruel voice, and cold steel kissed the side of Grant’s throat. “Ye are barely a whisper of what our faither was.”