Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

Agony twisted through Grant as he thought of the small boy sitting in front of their father on a great horse, his little face dark with malice as he watched his brother swing.

He lifted his sword, a choked cry escaping him?—

“Grant, stop!” Emma cried out, and he glanced back at her.

Her dark hair was plastered to her face, her dress soaked through, and her entire form shook. He’d hoped that she would run, but of course, the stubborn fool had not.

“Do not do something you will regret, please ,” Emma begged. “Not for me. Do not kill your brother for me. End it here, instead.” Rain filled the silence that followed. “Think of your mother.”

Grant’s sword slipped an inch, and his heart cracked. “Dammit?—”

“Ye would take the word of a woman,” Reuben screamed, his eyes crazed, and he kicked out, sending a spray of water and rocks into Grant’s face.

Temporarily blinded, Grant stumbled back, and his brother’s fist landed on his jaw.

Reuben tugged at his wrist, reaching for the sword. He almost got it, before Grant headbutted him. Or tried. Reuben half-dodged and managed to force Grant to drop the sword in the loch.

“Bastard,” he screamed, shoving at his brother.

The two of them wrestled, and Grant threw him down before backing out of the water.

“Emma, go now,” he ordered, running toward her.

From behind them came a roar, and Grant turned in time to see his brother stalking out of the water. Reuben reached down and pulled a dirk out of his boot.

Grant felt his heart pounding in his ears as everything seemed to slow down, Reuben’s manic gaze flicking from him to Emma.

And he watched his brother hurl the dirk at Emma’s neck.

Emma saw the blade arcing toward her, like a terrible shooting star.

And then Grant was in front of her, letting out a horrible, guttural groan as the dirk sank into his shoulder.

“No!” Emma cried, her knees buckling.

Grant swayed and then, with a bloodied hand, reached up and pulled the blade out. Emma tried to move forward, but her body was frozen, and all she could do was watch.

“I could forgive ye for aimin’ at me,” Grant said. “But ye should have never aimed at her.”

And he threw the blade back at Reuben, who stood there, still sneering. His eyes widened when the blade plunged into his heart. He glanced down at it, then yanked it out. Blood pooled into his shirt, and he tried to stanch it, but then he fell back into the water.

Lightning lit up the sky, and it seemed the whole of the loch had turned crimson red while the rightful Laird of Clan Ronson rose tall against the storm.

As he turned, Emma tried to speak, but her words failed her, her thoughts scattered. She fell to the sand as the darkness swallowed her.

Emma lay on a bright kilt made of Ronson tartan, the blue, red, and tan soft under her cheek. Grass and wildflowers swayed around her, and she sat up, unsure where she was.

But ahead was the loch and Banrose Castle, drenched in golden light. Far off, the storm was rolling toward the mountains. Still, her heart ached, and she shook her head, unsure what she should do now.

Suddenly, a warm hand caught hers, and she twisted around in surprise.

A boy with wavy dark hair, blue-green eyes, and freckles sat there. “It’s goin’ to be all right, Ma,” he said. “Just rest.”

“What?” Emma asked, her heart fluttering.

He smiled at her. “Look, Faither’s comin’.”

Emma turned ? —

She gasped as her eyes flew open and stared into a familiar, weary green pair. Still caught in the cobwebs of the dream, she reached out and pressed a hand to his face, unsure of what to say.

I dreamed of a boy who looked like you. Her heart throbbed. And me.

“Emma,” Grant said and put a hand over hers. “Are ye all right, lass? Ye were tossin’ and turnin’—”

He broke off as she pulled back and sat up, her back pressed against the headboard. Kyla came over then with a steaming mug in her hands, her eyes wide and alarmed.

“Drink this, please,” she urged. “It will help.”

But Emma felt as though she were falling off a cliff, her stomach in knots and her breath heaving out of her chest. “Your—your brother?”

In her mind’s eye, she saw the blade, the blood, and the still body in the water. Her stomach heaved, and she closed her eyes. She felt Grant move closer and sit on the bed.

“Lass.” Grant, for all that his voice was soft and broken, had never sounded more like a laird than at that moment. “Look at me.”

Emma opened her eyes, and he gazed at her, then shook his head. “Ye dinnae have to ask again.”

“But—”

“Reuben made a choice,” another voice interjected.

Emma gasped as Brenda came forward. The older woman was pale, and her eyes were red-rimmed, but they seemed sharper and clearer than ever.

“I had hoped and hoped he wouldnae, but long ago…” She touched the scar on her face. “Long ago, I lost him. I saved one son, but I couldnae save the other—their faither made sure of that.”

“Oh, Lady Ronson. I?—”

“Listen to me child,” Brenda said and came forward. “He was a lost cause. Conspirin’ with criminals, plottin’ with terrible men, sellin’ secrets to Clan Grierson, tryin’ to kill ye—kill the Laird. All so that he could have power. All so that he could use his people for his own twisted ends, with complete disregard for their lives.” A sigh escaped her lips. “They were the traitors, the disgrace to the Ronson name.”

Silence fell over them, and Emma heard the rain pelting the window, the rumble of the wind and thunder.

“I just…” She stared at her hands. “I am still sorry.”

“I am not,” Grant said, and she looked up as he stood up. He caught her hand and kissed it. “I willnae apologize that I saved ye.”

Emma’s heart throbbed, and she looked to Brenda, who smiled softly.

“Rest, child. All will be well.” Brenda pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I ken it doesnae seem like it, but ye have rendered a great service to Banrose today. To me son. And I willnae ever forget that.”

“Drink this, Emma,” Kyla spoke up, coming forward. “It will help ye sleep. Ye’ve experienced a terrible shock, and as Lady Ronson said, ye need to rest.”

Nodding, and feeling like a weak fool, Emma drank the hot, bitter concoction and then fell back against the pillows.

This time, she sank into a golden sort of haze, and the last thing she saw was Grant looking back at her from where he stood at the window, his green eyes soft with yearning.

Or perhaps I’m already dreaming.

The next day, Emma awoke to the sound of her door closing and saw Brenda approaching the bed. The woman’s green eyes brimmed with both relief and worry, which Emma did not feel that she rightly deserved.

“Here,” Brenda said as Emma sat up, and handed her a cup of water.

Emma gratefully drank from it and handed it back, her stomach twisting with horror and guilt.

I cannot believe her kindness, her strength…

“Ye must nae blame yerself,” Brenda urged.

How, when it is all my fault?

“Here, let’s get ye bathed and dressed.”

Emma thought she should protest, but she was too weak, too cowardly to say otherwise. All her energy and heart seemed drowned in the loch, lost when Reuben had betrayed them—because of her. And she barely paid any attention as Brenda, along with the maids, bathed her and dressed her.

Not until they entered the small chamber downstairs where Emma had first dined with Grant, where he now waited, a smile spread across his face.

And she fell down on her knees, gasping out a sob.

“Oh, child,” Brenda said in alarm, her hands pressing into Emma’s upper back. “I wondered… Grant, help her up.”

“No!” Emma cried and pressed her hands against the hard stone. “No more of this. I do not deserve such kindness after what I have done to your family.” Hot tears streamed down her face as she looked up at Grant, who slowly knelt in front of her. “Do not kneel, please .”

Not again.

“This—everything has gone terribly wrong since I arrived, since you saw me in those woods, Grant,” Emma choked out. “We both know it. And I must beg for your forgiveness, though I do not deserve it.”

“Emma, come now,” Grant said softly. “Ye are overwrought, and no one blames ye.”

He pulled her up despite her protests, but she pushed him away.

“You should, for I should not be here,” she insisted. “I was wrong to run away.”

“Ye would deny Laird MacLarsen the joy he has found with yer sister?” Brenda asked quietly, and Emma spun to her. “Aye, his grandmaither writes to me now and then. Agnes has charmed him—and taught him a thing or two.” Her eyes flicked to her son. “Nae surprisin’.”

“I…” Emma hugged herself. “What I did was selfish, and I must go.” She looked between Brenda and Grant. “You must prepare a carriage and send me back to England. Immediately.”

“Emma—” Brenda began.

“Maither, would ye leave us?” Grant asked in a soft voice.

Brenda huffed out a breath, then nodded and swept out of the room.

Grant prowled toward Emma as soon as the door clicked shut, but she shook her head and held him off. Or tried as he grabbed her by the elbows.

“Enough of this, Emma,” he said. “Nay more apologizin’ or talk of leavin’.”

“Our time together is over, My Laird,” Emma said.

“Like hell it is,” Grant growled. “And dinnae call me that, lass—unless ye want me to convince ye to use me name.”

“Stop,” Emma pleaded desperately, and he drew back. She pulled herself free and went to the window, staring out at the loch. “You can destroy the Queen’s Edict on paper, but not in spirit. I must go.” She swallowed hard and then forced herself to continue. “I won’t be able to attend your wedding to Helena. Please. Please let me go.”

Silence filled the room, and then Grant joined her at the window.

“Ye ask me for the one thing—” he started to say, then stopped and looked at her. “Or is it… Ah.”

“What?” Emma asked, more sharply than she had intended, for her heart had flipped at those words.

Ask him for the one thing what?

“Ye were proven right yesterday, were ye nae, Emma?” Grant’s face darkened. “That’s what this is all about. Ye dinnae want to live in such a dangerous and wild place, where murderous bastards make plays for power. Where braithers kill each other and faithers try to kill their own sons.”

Emma balled her fists and pressed them against her stomach. Her heart pounded in her chest. She could not deny that the prospect terrified her, that she worried for her sister, for her friends—and for him . How could she live a life where he would face such danger? Never mind their children–

She gasped and turned around, pressing a fist to her lips. The dream of the boy flashed through her mind.

“Oh, God in Heaven,” she whispered. “I…”

“Ye want a gentle husband, I see that now.”

Her thoughts were in disarray, and she turned back, her heart aching.

No, that’s not it. A tear rolled down her cheek. But I see now that no matter how long I stay, I will never convince you otherwise.

She lifted her chin and gazed at him, knowing the truth was in her eyes if he chose to see it.

You think I fear for myself, when I only fear for you.

Grant gazed at her but did not seem to see her, and again, she felt her heart break. More tears came then, and a sob tore out of her throat.

“I understand,” Grant said in a flat voice, stern and remote.

“You understand nothing,” Emma whispered.

“Nay, I was a fool to…” Grant closed his eyes and turned away. “Thank ye for all yer help, Lady Emma. Truly, I see the light now. And I apologize for everything ye have been through in me home.” A shuddering breath escaped him. “Farewell. I willnae forget ye anytime soon, though I do hope I’ll forget ye one day.”

A scream bubbled up Emma’s throat at the stubborn lines of his shoulders, the distance that increased between them with every step. At the door, he paused and looked back, as though waiting for her to say goodbye.

But she lifted her chin and met his gaze, some ferocity beating through her heart.

I will never say goodbye to you, Grant.

He seemed to see that, to hesitate. But of course, as Emma knew he would, he vanished into the shadows. Into a future they could not share.

And she knew that her heart had been trying to warn her with that dream—that futile, desperate dream.

Truly, Emma mused as she looked out at the loch, the expanse of Banrose lands, and shed bitter tears. You understood nothing.