Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

Grant had lost all sense of time.

Days had passed, then a week, then another. He went through the routine of conducting business, of eating, of sleeping—or trying to.

Every day, every hour, and every minute, he missed Emma all the more. She haunted his halls and his dreams. He saw her everywhere, standing at the windows with a smile on her face, hurrying away and laughing, or turning to him with an outstretched hand. Sometimes he could not be sure if he was awake or asleep. For the farther she got from him, the more it seemed that he haunted Banrose.

Moreover, he knew he could never marry Helena Lovell, even if he was meant to. Every day, he feared that she would arrive with the Queen’s retinue and orders to wed that night. Yet, so far, she had not come. Nor had word that Emma had arrived at Yorkshire—though he knew that she would soon. He’d sent McWirthe and his most capable men to protect her, so he knew she was safe, but still, he wished he had gone with them.

I wouldnae have been able to let her go, he silently acknowledged as he stood at the window in his study. I ken this.

A soft knock sounded at the door, and he bade whoever it was to enter. He straightened as his mother walked in.

Brenda had wept and grieved for Reuben, and yet she did not seem as distant. Perhaps she had found some relief in the fact that the last of his father’s cruelty was gone.

For Reuben’s plots had stretched into the village—skimming off the yeomen’s taxes, cheating the villagers, and plotting with Grierson.

To Grant’s surprise, all of his folks seemed furious on his behalf, furious that his brother had betrayed him for the sake of power, and he felt their kindness, along with deep respect.

“They ken that ye chose Banrose over yer blood,” Kyla had explained one evening on their way back from the village. “‘Tis nay small thing.”

“Banrose is me blood,” Grant had said, and she had shot him a surprised look, then smiled.

Among Reuben’s papers, they had found out the terrible truth about what happened to the old healer, Mac, and where his body was buried. Now, they’d given him a stone and a proper send-off.

“Hello, Ma,” Grant said and tried to smile.

Brenda smiled softly in return, and he noticed that her eyes were red-rimmed but clear. “Hello, me son.” She stepped toward him and held out a letter bearing a familiar, elegant handwriting. His heart leaped, but he looked away. “I thought ye would like to ken that Emma has arrived in Yorkshire—she now is at Cambarelle, waitin’ for her aunt.”

“Good, that’s good,” Grant said in a stilted voice and strode past her, not taking the letter. Instead, he sorted through the papers on his desk, even though he knew he was making a mess of his steward’s work. He glanced up when he felt her eyes on him. “I shall see ye at dinner.”

To his surprise, his mother suppressed a smile and came forward, laying the letter on his desk.

“Grant,” she said. “Why are ye still here? I thought ye would leave as soon as she was at the border of our lands, then Scotland, and now…?”

Grant glared at the letter because he could not glare at his mother. “I cannae force the lass, Ma,” he grunted. “She wants nothin’ to do with me or our life here. Trust me.”

“I cannae when ye arenae seein’ clearly,” Brenda said in a bright voice that surprised him. There was a soft light in her eyes. “She is scared.”

“I ken,” Grant uttered. “Maither, please, I ken that I owe ye me life, me legacy, but?—”

“And now yer wife,” Brenda cut in, which jarred him like a slap to the head. “Ye have always been a brave lad, doin’ the right thing nay matter how terrifyin’—or how difficult.” She reached out and took his hand. “MacCabe said that ye would return, but I didnae believe him. Nae until we met again after all those years.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Grant asked weakly. “As for me wife… Nay, I am to marry–”

He could not say her name.

His mother squeezed his hand. “It’s everythin’, Grant. Ye have been through so much. Ye have been asked to shoulder burdens that nay man should, and yet ye do time and again. And I fear that ye think losin’ Emma is another—some penance for what happened. But nay. Here, ye have a choice.”

Grant did not speak, for her words stirred all that yearning and hope inside him, but his instinct was to crush it down.

“I confess I am surprised by ye,” Brenda added, dropping his hand. “Will ye nae fight for her? Aye, she might be scared?—”

“Do ye think I’m nae scared either?” Grant blurted out. “After everythin’ that happened here and at Briorn? I heard about what happened to MacLarsen and his wife—Grierson’s schemes.” He shook his head. “I’m terrified of something worse happenin’, of everything that I… feel. ”

His mother seemed to suppress a laugh, her eyes filling with joy, and she shook her head. “Oh, Grant,” she murmured and reached up to pat his cheek. “Ye ken what to do, there’s a good lad.”

And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving him staring at Emma’s letter.

“A letter for you, My Lady,” said a stiff-backed maid, her accent flawless and crisp, her hair neat, and her expression serene.

Emma had been sitting in the parlor, listless and unsure of what to do with the day ahead of her. She’d arrived a week ago, and yet, every day, she expected to wake up in Banrose Castle. The ache in her heart grew worse every day, too. How she missed that old, fine castle and its staff. The breathtaking views from the windows, the gardens, and the endless sense of freedom.

She had not realized how hemmed she’d been until she returned. Everything felt so unnecessarily stiff here. The servants were so meticulous, the halls were so quiet, and the house was so flawless that she could not shake the feeling that she was a rakish forest spirit who’d wandered in by mistake.

Even their accents sounded odd to her.

The maid cleared her throat delicately, and Emma realized she’d been staring at the letter, rather than taking it. Hastily, she offered her warm thanks and a tremulous smile, before accepting the thick paper.

The maid curtseyed, her expression as serene as ever, though Emma suspected the girl thought her quite mad.

Perhaps she was, for it was on the tip of her tongue to tell the maid to dispense with such formalities. But she suppressed that urge.

Scotland had changed her.

Is that what I was truly afraid of?

She sighed as she saw her aunt’s bold script. The letter said that they would be there within the week and that much needed to be done. In fact, Emma should start packing for London now, which made her heart sink to her stomach.

I know not what you were up to, my darling, but it will not hold. Her Majesty does not like it when her will is defied, even by the most strong-headed of girls.

Yet, she is also merciful and understanding. I think an accord can be reached.

All I ask is that you do not do anything reckless until we arrive.

Matthew is quite upset. I say this to warn you—though your mother seems serene. We shall figure this out, my dear, take heart.

Emma set the letter aside, her heart beating strangely. Her father was coming from London, and her mother was coming from Scotland. Lavinia had been with Agnes all this time, closer to Banrose than Emma had realized.

Tears fell on the letter, and Emma hastily wiped her cheeks. It seemed that she’d done nothing besides weep since she’d left Banrose. And yet she found herself flinging the letter aside, hating that her family was coming to take her. That she could not be trusted with the next steps.

Meanwhile, she’d also received a letter from her mother, telling her about Agnes and Laird MacLarsen. Her brother-in-law was indeed smitten with her sister, and they were living a happy life, though there had been some strife.

Rising from her seat, Emma strode to her aunt’s desk and sat down. She had never responded to Agnes’s letter, and it was high time that she did. Her sister had been desperate to hear from her, and even though Agnes had chided her for apologizing, Emma found herself writing another apology.

From what I’ve heard, you are happy, and I hope that is true—especially after what I did. I see now how foolish and reckless I was, how selfish. And I am sorry.

Emma bit the end of her quill and picked up another piece of paper.

This she addressed to Laird Ronson, and at first, she merely offered greetings and happy felicitations. He had to be married to Helena by now, no? She had not heard from her friend again.

Before she knew it, Emma had poured her heart out, page after page, about Banrose and their time together. Her tears fell, and as she finished, she knew that she should burn it. But instead, she tied it with a ribbon and tucked it in her pocket. She would hold on to it, as a memory of her time with Grant.

I can at least have that, can I not?

Rising, Emma sealed her sister’s letter and hurried out of the room, seeking a maid to post the letter. But she found no one and sighed. The staff was a mere skeleton of what it usually was, as her aunt was not in residence.

Finally, she heard the front door swing open, and she hurried forward, finding the same maid from earlier.

“Post this, would you?” Emma asked and handed her the letter.

The maid nodded and then made a face. “My Lady, there’s someone at the gates who’d like to speak with you. But I think I should call the constables to scare him off.” She shook her head. “Though, I’m not sure that an army could drive away the likes of such a warrior.”

Emma’s entire body seemed to throb, and she grabbed the maid by the shoulders, shaking her head. “No, do not call anyone. I will handle it. Post the letter and take the rest of the day off.”

The maid gaped at her. “My Lady? Are you sure?”

But Emma had already flung open the front doors and dashed down the stairs, and she paused on the bottom step.

Water bubbled from the fountain in the middle of the drive, while not a speck of crushed stone was out of place on the drive leading up to the door. Beyond, walls rose up, and the gates were open. A horse nosed in the grass that sloped down to the river, looking too big and too wild for a proper English manor.

But that was nothing compared to the Scottish laird leaning against the stone wall, his strong arms folded across his broad chest, and his unruly dark hair falling into burning green eyes.

For a moment, all Emma could do was stare at him, sure that she was dreaming.

Until he smiled that lazy, slow, familiar smile.

A smile that said, Ye kenned I would catch ye in the end.