Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

A Few Months Later

“Me love, I wish ye would stop frettin’,” Grant teased from where he lay on their large bed, watching Emma working at her desk. With a quill in one hand, she scribbled task after task, and only paused to bite her thumb. “Come to bed. I beg ye—the stars are out, and the moon has risen.”

Emma glanced over and stuck out her tongue at him. “Not yet, as I told you several times before, Grant. I must finish this. The day after tomorrow, guests will begin to arrive, and we are to be wed in a week.” She sighed. “There is too much to do. I should have started this months ago.”

“Everythin’ will be fine,” Grant soothed. “I promise ye. That can wait.”

“No, you can wait,” she said in a short tone.

Grant pushed himself up on his elbows, and his eyes narrowed, even as a smile played on his lips. “Is that so, Sassenach ?”

A pleasurable shiver raced down Emma’s spine. He only said such things when he truly meant to act like a devil and torture her with bliss. And she wondered if she had perhaps meant to rile him up.

For was not a moonlit night, with fresh snowfall outside and stars burning in the heavens, while they kept warm by the fire, a perfect time to find warmth together?

He stood and prowled over to her, looking fine in his loose shirt and trews, barefoot and wild-haired.

Emma pretended to toss her head and go back to her list, but she no longer paid any mind to her tasks—she was waiting for his lips to find her neck.

Instead, his hands found her shoulders and squeezed. “Love, ye cannae fool me.”

At that Emma, tipped her head back and eyed her husband-to-be. His gaze was kind but shrewd.

“Ye are growin’ more anxious about meetin’ yer sister.”

Emma’s shoulders rose, and Grant squeezed gently again, but she immediately looked away and laughed. “No, no, you were quite right to call me silly.”

“I didnae call ye silly,” he said in a low voice. “Ye called yerself that when ye finally fessed up to it. Ye fear meetin’ Agnes and nae recognizin’ her. Ye fear her bein’ angry with ye and only feignin’ goodwill in her letters.”

Emma cursed herself inwardly for telling Grant about that foolish fear. More than once, he’d brought it up, trying to talk about it. But every time, it made her stomach twist with nerves and her heart ache. She looked at the corner of her desk, where there was a thick stack of letters tied with a purple ribbon, with her sister’s neat handwriting on the front.

I would miss her letters if she stopped writing, was what she’d blurted out to Grant after returning to Banrose. And I fear that when we meet, we will not know each other as sisters, but as strangers.

“Emma,” Grant murmured, his lips pressed against her temple. “Ye didnae do wrong by her. If anyone did, it was yer faither—and the Queen. And I told ye that McWirthe’s gossip network can be trusted—MacLarsen adores his wife.” A laugh rumbled out of him. “And by all accounts, the petite and fierce Lady MacLarsen isnae unlike ye.”

Emma reached up and stroked his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Now, then,” Grant said and kissed her neck, making her squeal with laughter. “Come to bed, or?—”

He stilled suddenly, his hands tensing up on her shoulders, and then he was striding across the room. Emma half-turned to watch, shaking her head slightly.

Truly, he has the ears of a fox, she noted as he approached their door right as someone knocked on it.

She turned back to her list, wondering if she should try and get something done tonight if Grant had to go somewhere, when she heard him make a surprised sound. Her entire body stiffened, and her quill fell from her nerveless fingers.

Before Grant even spoke, she knew he would say her name. She knew that someone had come for Lady Ronson, not the Laird.

“Emma.”

She slowly turned around as Grant came back to her.

Aileas was standing in the hall and wringing his hands.

Grant had a strange, tense look about him, and her stomach dropped further. “We have visitors.”

Emma and Grant approached the Southern Hall together, the very same room that she’d been brought to on her first night at Banrose Castle.

Grant cast her a look as they approached the doors, and she hesitated, falling back. For a moment, her mind raced, and she wondered if she could do this.

“Ye once spent three days in a dungeon, love,” Grant whispered. “Ye can do this.”

Emma scoffed. “Well, when one puts it that way.”

“I can receive them. Ye can go to sleep,” he offered.

“I will not,” Emma insisted.

After taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and threw open the doors.

Two people stood by a fireplace, a Highlander and a half-hidden woman behind him, a hood over her head. Emma’s eyes flickered to the Highlander first, for he dominated the room, large and strong, dressed in a fine kilt of dark grays and gold.

He had dark hair tied back from his face, storm-hued eyes, and a fine, handsome face, but it was terribly scarred on one side. Still, Emma did not falter, for she knew which laird had a scarred face. However, she was surprised, for Grant had told her that Laird MacLarsen wore a mask, which made him look rather terrifying.

Without it, though, Laird MacLarsen seemed more warrior, more human—someone who had sacrificed a great many things. Emma felt a wave of admiration, but she was too distracted by the lady, who turned and stepped around him, lowering her hood.

Emma’s breath caught, and the room suddenly spun around her, the floor falling away. But her heart pounded as she met eyes that were so like her own, only they were spring-time green and creased at the corners. Freckles dotted the woman’s round, flushed cheeks, and dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders.

We are so alike, Emma mused dazedly. And yet, they were not completely identical.

As a bright smile spread across Agnes’s face, Emma recognized her. A half-laugh, half-sob burst out of her, and she rushed forward, just as Agnes did. In the next second, they were wrapped in each other’s arms, both sobbing and laughing, unable to get a word out.

“Ach, and here ye thought Lady Ronson invited us to be polite,” rumbled a deep voice that had Emma blinking her eyes open to see Laird MacLarsen fighting a smile. “I told ye, Agnes.”

“Oh, do be quiet, Leo,” Agnes said, and Emma started upon hearing her sister’s voice, squeezing her tighter. “But yes, you were right.”

Leo laughed then, and the sound soothed something in Emma. She gazed at her brother-in-law as he laughed, real joy and love in his eyes, and she knew.

“Oh, he loves you so,” she murmured, and Agnes let out a sweet, hiccupping laugh. “I’d heard that, and yet…” She smiled at Leo. “To witness it is another thing entirely. I’m so glad.”

“Are all Wells so outspoken?” Leo muttered, raking a hand through his hair and then starting as he looked beyond them. “Grant—Laird Ronson.” He bowed his head. “Have ye been there the whole time?”

“I thought I’d give ye a moment,” Grant said in his husky voice. “Well met, Leo. We need nae stand on ceremony, Braither. Nae after huntin’ bandits outside Edinburgh that summer.”

“Och, was that ye? I thought ye were another mercenary with terrible aim,” Leo teased, a grin spreading across his face.

“It was one bloody miss,” Grant grumbled. “And I saved yer arse from that pirate brute.”

“The least ye could do,” Leo quipped.

Emma watched as they briefly hugged each other, and then Leo stepped back.

“Look at ye, man. Back in yer proper place. I kenned ye’d return, kenned ye were meant to be Laird, nae MacCabe’s Blade forever.”

“And I kenned that one day, someone would dissuade ye from wearin’ that stupid mask,” Grant said. “Ye are too fine a man to hide yer battle scars.”

“That’s what I said,” Agnes piped up.

“Should’ve guessed,” Grant drawled. “And aye, to answer yer question, I’ve yet to meet a Wells who minds their tongue. I suppose we shall ken for certain in a few days.”

“We shall,” Leo said. “Apologies for our early arrival. Agnes insisted on ensurin’ that Emma wanted her here?—”

Emma jumped back and held her sister at arm’s length.

Agnes’s eyes were wet with tears, and Emma gave her a weak smile. “Of course I want you here,” she reassured her. “I have been wanting nothing more than to meet you and apologize?—”

“Don’t,” Agnes and Leo said at the same time, then glanced at each other and smiled.

“I think this is a story I’d like to hear,” Grant said. Then, he bowed. “Lady MacLarsen.”

“Ach, where’s me head?” Leo bowed to Emma. “Lady Ronson.”

“Well, almost,” Emma quipped, and Grant shook his head at her. “We are not yet married, Sir.”

Agnes laughed at that and reached for her sister’s hand, squeezing it. “Tell me everything.”

Emma gazed from Agnes to Leo, and then to Grant, feeling her heart swell. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she began to weep, causing Grant to move forward in alarm and offer her a handkerchief.

“Is she with child too?” Leo asked.

Grant’s eyes lit up, and he gaped at Emma, who shook her head.

“No, I’m not—not yet.” But then, Leo’s words registered. “Too?” She looked at Agnes, who flushed a deep red and smacked her husband on the arm. “I’m going to be an aunt?”

Agnes laughed and put a hand on her cheek. “Yes, though we meant to save the news until after the wedding. I—oh.” Emma had rushed over to hug her sister again. “You are even lovelier than I imagined. I am so glad to meet you, Emma.”

“I am so glad to meet you, Agnes.”

“Let me call for supper and drinks,” Grant said. “I think it’s going to be a long night.”

And it was, for the four of them stayed up until the wee hours of the morning, sharing stories, laughing, and realizing they were a united family.

As Emma sat there, with Grant’s arm wrapped around her, watching Leo light up with laughter at something Agnes said, and Agnes’s quick gestures and animated face, she wondered if this was what the Queen had intended after all.

Truly, who was I to doubt a queen’s wisdom?

She glanced at Grant, who caught her eyes and winked.

Thought I did take a detour along the way.

Eventually, when they could no longer hide their yawns, they all went to bed. But Emma had the sense that this was the first of many such nights, of wine and laughter, stories and friendship. She was glad to see something boyish and joyful blossom between Leo and Grant, something of their shared brotherhood-in-arms erasing the many years they had not seen each other.

Emma glanced back at her sister one last time, wondering if she should see her to her room, but she found her watching her.

Agnes blew her a kiss and mouthed, Go to bed.

And Emma stuck out her tongue, causing Agnes’s beautiful laugh to echo through the halls of Banrose Castle.

“It makes sense,” Grant whispered, glancing back and laughing.

“What does?”

“That ye are a twin,” he said, smiling at her. “Such beauty should be in abundance in this world.”