“While I was in the village, your name was linked with bravery and skill over a dozen times. There are more than a few women who have you to thank for sparing them from the brutality of the raiders.” He hoped he had not erred in the praise. After what she had been through, hearing, once again, the tale of escaping such a fate may be cruel, and he had no wish to add to her pain.
“I did what anyone else would have done,” Emma answered. She held out her hand to offer him the cup. Even in the dim light, Declan noted the bruised, scraped skin on her hands. “There is no need to thank me. As for Mary, I would kill again for her if I had to, and she knows this. So, don’t talk to me about debt.”
When an empty cup was placed back in his hand, Declan refilled it and set it between them on the table. “It was nay a question if there is debt.” Many a man would trade their souls to be in my debt, and she acts as if the offer means naught.
Silent moments filled the chamber. Logs crackled and settled within the hearth. Emma spoke to the flames. “Fine, there is debt, but I don’t want anything. I love knowing that Mary is asleep in her bed with only a scraped knee to show for the day.” Emma’s brow tightened. Does worry fill her thoughts? “It’s my fault she hurt her knee. I shoved the girls down when we were attacked on the way to the cottage. Before Mary had regained her footing, I pulled too hard, and she landed on her knee. I hate that I hurt her.” Her voice cracked with grief at the details.
Declan had no worries over scraped flesh when the fates could have been so much crueler. “Ease you mind. She will heal. But tell me how to pay my debt to you.” He intentionally ignored her claims of needing none. To have such a debt hanging over his head could give her power, or the perception of, he knew. He had no insight on how to handle a woman who sought naught.
Declan saw the moment the thought filled her mind, her features alive with want. It was what he was waiting for, her moment of greed. All women came with a price and that hers was earned was the only difference. For some reason, he wanted to hear greed in her voice to banish his crazed notions that Emma might be better than any woman he had ever met.
“I changed my mind.” Her body shifted to face him. “There is something that has bothered me from the moment I first saw you and Mary together. Why do you treat her like you do? You ignore her one minute and then adore her the next. Tell me why, and I will call your debt paid.”
Emma’s eyes fixed on him, and she pulled the tattered old robe around her. Her eyes burned with blue fire even in the dim chamber. Dark hair fell to the side of her face, and the warm golden light from the fire played over her features that wished for his darkest secrets. He would have preferred if she had asked for coins or silks. Such trinkets would have been easily procured and would not bring to mind his fate.
Picking up the cup, Declan shifted toward the fire, for the first time not wanting to see the heat in her eyes. He wondered if he could avoid an answer by telling her that he picked quarrels with her to see the sparks in her heated gaze and then decided against it. In time, she would learn the truth, and it may as well be from his lips.
The liquid burned down his throat and did nothing to ease the ache in his heart. “Because I am a coward, ‘tis why. I keep a distance between Mary and myself, hoping it will make our parting less painful for both of us. When I ask for Malcolm’s daughter in marriage, their contract will demand Mary be sent away forever, to make room for any children I have with his daughter.”
“What kind of threat could possibly come from a little girl?” Emma asked, her voice full of shocked disbelief.
“All ken of the edict and the contract I must prevent from taking hold. It gives them power over me and feeds their greed. If Mary is removed, the whole of my wealth goes to one of their blood.” He paused at her intake of breath. “Save your questions. ‘Tis the same with every clan I have approached for marriage. I only seek to make our parting less painful. Do you think it might?”
“No, Declan. I don’t. All I can see are the moments you could have shared.” Her hand reached to take the cup from his, and he listened to the slosh of whiskey being poured. “Your debt to me is paid. I’m sorry I asked you to tell me that. It was none of my business. But, so you know, when I’m sober, I plan to put up one hell of a fight to keep Mary here.”
He couldn’t find the strength to laugh at her comment, which he believed. Sending away his daughter to keep his lands had to be the worst choice a man could make, yet he had found no other option. Staring into the flames that mixed yellow and orange hues, Declan felt his dam of pent-up fears and wants burst. “I had hoped my second marriage would be one of my choosing. The lairds of my clan have a fine tradition of marrying the one meant for them. I had thought to find her—the one meant for me—nay a marriage for peace or alliance, but one that my heart demanded. One that would give Mary a mother and me a fine companion.” A heavy sigh left his lips that mirrored his loss of hope. “It would seem such a life is nay for me.” Sitting back in the chair, Declan turned to face her. He waited for her mockery or judgment, knowing he deserved both for spewing such thoughts into the open.
“Isn’t there anyone? I mean, do you have to marry another laird’s daughter?” Emma asked without the ridicule he expected. Instead, she gave him sympathy combined with the folly that he would have allowed any of the women he had known into his heart.
Her face twitched with obvious discomfort as she shifted toward him, as she waited for a reply. Handing her the cup, he said, “Drink, Emma. And nay, there is no one. I seek someone I can trust with all and have yet to find her. So, my marriage will serve to strengthen trade agreements and create bonds while keeping the clan under Draig control.” And I will lose the one person I love, my wee Mary.
“I get that trust is hard to find,” Emma replied with a small nod.
They sat in silence while the statement hung in the air. Only the crackle of wood filled the chamber. Neither spoke, and they passed the cup back and forth until the flames grew small. Declan rose and added another log, offering Emma a smile as he settled back in his seat. He could only hope she knew how grateful he was for her companionship. The day had been a nightmare, and he wanted someone to be with him. If he were honest with himself, he would admit he wanted Emma and her honesty with him. I should send her away. A man could easily grow accustomed to her at his side.
“You are very different tonight,” she said as the cup passed back to his hand.
“What do you mean?” Declan knew full well what she implied. He merely waited for her to give voice to her perceptions. How clearly does she see?
“Every other time we have spoken, you’ve been . . . rather, well, basically short and rude. But then there are those rare moments when you are like this, kind and decent. Which one is the real you?” Emma asked with her gaze locked on him.
“I ken that. Now we sit in my chamber after a verra long day. Before we have spoken in the hall or my study, and you have dealt with the laird. Now I am only a man weary from battle who dreads his fate,” Declan answered her softly. He could not recall ever being asked the question, much less admitting to how he lived, as if two souls resided within his body.
Emma’s eyebrow quirked as he spoke. “You do realize you just spoke about yourself as if there were two of you. That’s a bit disturbing.”
With a small laugh, he admitted, “I ken that, too. The laird must see to the needs of many with a keen eye and nay his heart. My decisions affect all on my lands, and I need to be hard to see all done. At the end of each day, a quiet man sits before his fire and questions all with his heart. My choices are never simple, and my needs have no great import.” Inside, he admired her clear perceptions of him and her ability to deal with all of him. No woman had ever done so, but then no woman had ever met all of him. I ask for the fates to gift me a woman to stand up to the laird and love the man.
Instead of replying, Emma sa
t mute.
“I have done the impossible, Emma. My words have stopped yours,” Declan teased at her lack of reply, unwilling to ask if she understood or approved.
“So, it would seem,” she laughed.
Taking advantage of her quiet and the courage found in the cup, he spoke softly, hoping his voice carried his concern. “I have no words to offer how sorry I am for what the raiders did to you.” His soul ached for what befell her during the battle.
Emma took the cup and emptied it with no grimace. “I got lucky out there today. No one was trying to kill me.”
Has any utterance ever been spoken to me with such pain? “Unfortunately, ‘tis the way some men treat a lass caught on the field of battle. I wish I could have spared you such a fate.” He also wished he could have killed the man who dared to touch her in violence. He knew that Emma should only be cared for with a gentle hand.
“I know what you are thinking, and you’re wrong,” Emma said quickly.
He held her gaze. He hated the pinched lines around her eyes. “There is no need to speak of such matters to me. However, I saw your gown . . .”
“I ripped most of my gown. Not all of it, but most,” she said with surprising force. When her hands lifted to shift her robe to cover the scratches over her heart, marks clearly left by clawing hands, his fingers itched with a desire for vengeance. “The long skirt was in my way. My strength is in my legs, and I needed them free to move and kick.” With a nervous giggle, she said, “This may be the best sprained ankle in the history of the world.”
He wasn’t sure why, but relief flooded him. While the strain of the day showed on her face, it held her truth as it always seemed to do. He reached out to take her hands in his, the warmth merging with his. “I am pleased to hear it.” When her fingers squeezed his, he smiled at her. For some unknown reason, her touch soothed his concern and lessened the pain of the day.
“I don’t know what would have happened if everyone had been trying to kill me. I thought I was prepared, that I had enough skill . . .” Her words trailed off. “I killed today,” she whispered. Her face was a mask of grief that tore at him.
Her conflict was easy to read and matched his own. With a squeeze to her hand, he said, “‘Tis never easy to take a life. No matter how hard you train, nothing can prepare you for the cold feeling that takes hold of your soul. Take comfort in kenning fine men and women, and wee ones, breathe because of your skill.” He reluctantly released her hand to pass her the cup. “The next time we face danger, I would see you safe within the walls.”
Emma took another large swallow. “While I appreciate the offer, I’m probably crazy enough to run right back into the thick of it. But I do appreciate the thought.”
“‘Tis no thought, but a promise,” Declan said, peering into the empty cup and the mostly empty pitcher, certain they had enjoyed too much of the strong brew. Yet, he enjoyed the warmth flowing in his veins and prayed it was from the drink, not from being so close to Emma. His skin always knew when she was close, it tingled and sang in delight. Why am I so aware of her?
“Is that a promise from the man or the laird?” He could hear slight mischief in her voice and decided he enjoyed her teasing more than he thought possible. When has a lass ever teased me?
Laughing at her question, Declan pretended to ponder his response. “Consider it made by the man. The laird can be an arse.”
Watching her head fall back in laughter and the way the fire warmed her skin, Declan grinned at her. Her laughter was musical and touched him deep inside. He leaned closer to steal a sniff of the floral scent that surrounded her dark and unbound hair. He recalled his insults to her and hated that he had ever placed such a distance between them. He wished that they’d had spent many more evenings before the fire rather than make her believe he found fault with all she did. Rarely had there been a fault, but he avoided his hunger to be close to her when such was forbidden. “I should have never spoken to you like I did in the study. Peace between us?”
Her hand waved away the apology and then waved some more. “Get over it. I have. Do you honestly think I haven’t heard it before?”
His eyes closed at her jest. He felt even worse for insulting her. He could tell her it was done to keep her away from him, to prevent temptation from entering his thoughts, though the temptation remained with her simply being on his lands. Mayhap she would wish to hear of how I spent last night with another woman but thought of her. Declan placed the cup on the table. He knew enough of women to know that was the dumbest thought he’d ever had. No woman wanted to hear of a man bedding another with such thoughts. He was a drunken fool to even contemplate such a thing.
“Why are you always trying to pick fights with me?” Emma asked, filling the cup again. When his gaze questioned her actions, she said, “Oh yeah, way too much to drink. But I can still remember today. I’ll stop when it all goes fuzzy or we run out of whatever this is.”
Declan chuckled as he debated how to answer her question. The reply was clear in his mind: because I crave the way your eyes light with blue fire when your passion is roused. But such thoughts were better left unspoken. He decided on a different truth. “Few dare to challenge me with such conviction. I enjoy your spirit,” he said and laughed as she laughed.
“Tell me of Mary,” Declan asked the woman by his side. “Tell me of her days and evenings and all the moments in between which I miss each day.”
He told himself he asked only to distract Emma from the horror of the day and not out of selfish greed. Even in the dim light, he saw her eyes light with love for his child, and she spoke with passion and pride. He soaked in every detail of the household tasks, her games with Brina, and her love of a bedtime story. Awe filled him as Emma bragged about his child’s intelligence and how she had already mastered writing her letters and was preparing to learn to read. It shamed him that he had not thought to bring in tutors.
He vowed silently to be a better father and to find a way to give Mary a mother who would care for her and keep her in his home. Sending his child away to feed another’s greed would never happen. Mayhap I should wed one of the lasses in the village who would be easily swayed by fine gowns and a keep full of servants. Mary could stay with me, and Emma would see to her needs and share all I miss. He didn’t miss that in his solution he had found another reason to spend time with Emma.
Declan closed his eyes as Emma spoke and saw the life he wished to live. He placed the empty cup on the table and sought her gaze when she finished speaking. Her strength and love seemed to know no bounds, and Mary was blessed to have such a fine caretaker. He realized his forefathers were wise to have found and wed such women, and fortunate to have earned their love.
“She loves the time she spends with you.” Emma’s rich voice told him exactly what he wished to hear. “There has been such a remarkable change in her since you started making more time for her.” A sad smile covered her lips. “But I do understand what kept you away.”
Declan shook his head and settled back against the chair. His daughter thrived and, on the morrow, he would ask Cortland what he thought about his idea of wedding a lass from the village. Turning his head, he debated asking Emma her opinion but refrained. In his inebriated state, he would be more likely to ask her to wed him and raise his daughter. To that, Cortland would likely have his hide. “My daughter is nay for you.” The threat rang in his head. But he was tired of keeping Emma at arm’s length. The lass had met every demand he made, loved his child, and even after the day of blood and death, his skin prickled in awareness of her sitting at his side. Yet, he knew so little about her.
“Tell me, Emma. What do you miss about your home? I have never asked and should have. Is there aught you would have to make your life more content on my lands?”
Where he expected a laugh and perhaps a small request, grief covered her face, and he hated that his curi
osity had caused it. “Did I speak poorly to you?”
Her head shook and lifted her dark mane to flight around her head. His eyes followed the hair, and his lungs inhaled the scent that followed. Declan despised that her gaze settled on the fire; he wanted all of her attention.
“I never really thought about it, what I didn’t have here. You would never believe all the comforts of my home, and we were far from wealthy.” Her lips parted, and her sigh belayed hurt and pain, not a fond recalling of what she deemed a comfort. “There really isn’t anything for me to miss, nothing of value. My grandparents were all that mattered to me, the love in our home, my love for them and theirs for me. Everything else was only stuff.” Emma’s head tilted to the side, and her large eyes settled on him. “For ten days, I was unbearably alone.”
Declan’s heart hurt for the ache in her voice and the sorrow gazing back at him. “You are nay alone, Emma.” He held out his hand and waited for her to settle back in the chair to take it in her grasp.
“I know. I have Cortland and Mary. Would you believe it has been years since I’ve had a friend like Aalish? I have people who care and whom I care about. That’s more than I ever thought to have again.”
Declan tilted his head to the side and eyed her warily, quite certain of who had not been mentioned. Gripping tighter to her hand, he asked, “Do you ken you also have me?”
Emma laughed. “I know that tonight I have enjoyed being with you. Thank you for letting your guard down and sharing this part of yourself with me. But do you think I’m crazy enough to think that tomorrow the laird will be sweet and nice to me?”
“The laird will be kind. He is in your debt, and you ken his secrets.” Declan released her hand and set it on the table. “The man will again seek for you to sit before the fire and pass a night with him. He will use Mary as a rouse to bring you to him. He wants your company and will cherish the time you spend with him.”
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