Page 42 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
She jutted her chin. “I need to write to my mother. I sent her a letter before, on the road, to keep her calm. I knew she wouldn’t tell my father that I went to my aunt’s. Only, I was going to Helena’s after…” She paused. “Now, I need to know the truth. I think part of me had hoped that my father came up with some tale—freed some lass from the convent to live a good life in my stead.”
“That could still be true,” Grant suggested.
Emma shook her head and walked to the window. “No, I don’t think it is. Somehow, my twin ended up there. It would not surprise me… My father is a stubborn, willful man. If he thought that she should live separately from us, I’m sure he would have seen it through.” She paused and placed her hands on the frame, hanging her head. “No matter the cost.”
Now, Grant could not stay still and stepped out from behind his desk.
“It isnae yer fault that yer sister married Leo.” But even as he said it, the words felt unwieldy. Not a lie, yet not the truth.
“It is,” Emma said, “and it isn’t. I know that, in my heart. Some instinct…” She straightened and pressed a hand to her stomach. “Some instinct tells me that she chose to do this—but not for herself. Rather, for a family she’d never known and a sister she’d never met.” Then, she lifted her trembling hands to her lips. “Oh God, what have I done?”
“Emma…” Grant placed a hand on her shoulder. “Be at ease. Leo—Laird MacLarsen is kenned as a Beast to protect his kin. He kept his family safe and rebuilt everything from the ashes of a fire. I think he will care for her, be good to her.”
For a moment, Emma slumped against him, her head resting on his shoulder, but then she moved away. Gone. Slipping through his fingers. But he held himself back.
“Will you let me write my letters or not?” she asked in a quiet, hard voice, with her back to him.
Grant clenched his jaw and looked up at the ceiling, struggling with the instinct not to let her do such a mad thing. Yet, he heard himself ground out a soft, “Aye.”
Emma whirled around, her eyes bright, her hat falling off, caught by a ribbon around her throat. “Truly?”
“Aye,” Grant muttered and strode back to his desk. “Here.”
“Oh, this is wonderful! I shall write to my parents and Agnes. Oh! I also need to get word to Helena, let her know I’m all right—what are you doing?”
Grant had caught her wrist, and his heart was throbbing.
Nay. It cannae be.
It was too much of a coincidence. That was not an uncommon name.
“Helena?” he echoed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Helena Lovell?”
Emma’s eyes went wide, and she tried to pull away, her fingers curled around a quill and his hand on her wrist. “Yes—how… how do you know her name?” Fear flickered in her eyes. “Has something happened to her?”
Unable to answer, Grant stared at her, and she tried to pull away again. This time, he let her, and his hand dropped to his side.
I cannae be so familiar with her. Nae when…
“Oh, do you know her name because she ran away as well?”
Now, Grant thought he needed a drink and rubbed his forehead. “Helena Lovell is the other runaway bride? Christ, that Queen of yers kens how to treat her subjects.”
Emma’s pretty face creased with confusion, and she hugged the quill and papers to her chest. “Please tell me what you mean, Sir.”
“Helena Lovell is my intended,” Grant sighed.
Silence fell over the room, stretching between them.
Grant was about to speak when Emma gasped. She dropped all the papers and quill, stepping back and shaking her head.
“N-no, no. It cannot be.”
Grant reached for a thick sheaf of paper, now folded and unfolded so many times that the crease was threatening to tear. Silently, he held it out to her.
Emma recoiled, then squared her shoulders and took it. She turned away and opened it, letting out a soft cry.
“Oh God.” She turned back, her face a study but her eyes wide. “You are… to marry my best friend. But she…” She looked around. “No. How can this be? Of all the noblewomen in England.”
