Page 44 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
Destiny had never been clearer—or her mistakes. Nothing like what had happened at dinner last night between herself and the Laird could happen again. Her insides twisted with guilt.
Between Helena, her sister, and her parents, it was as though she could do nothing but wrong them.
For a moment, she stared blankly at the pages, and her entire heart seemed to wobble at the end of the nib. Then, she began to write.
Never had her quill skated so fast across the page.
First, she wrote to her mother, for it was long overdue. And she added a message to pass along to Agnes. She toyed with the idea of writing to her father but then put it off for another day. The letter to Helena was more pressing.
Emma seemed to pour her heart into those sheets, page after page filled with her scribbles. She told her friend how her escape had gone wrong, how the Laird who’d found her saved her and brought her home, and how she’d just discovered he was the man that Helena was meant to marry.
Helena, I did not know, but the man Queen Marianna intended for you to marry, the Laird she chose when she issued her Edict… he’s the one who saved me.
I am so, so, sorry. Please know that I never meant to betray you. But I kissed him.
Her tears fell then, and she wrote the best apology she could muster, but it did not suffice.
Finally, knowing she’d gone past the appointed time to meet the Laird, she folded the papers and addressed them. She did not have any wax, so she tied them up with ribbon and, out of habit, spritzed them with a bit of the perfume that the maids had brought this morning. It was fresh and lovely, and she dabbed some of it on her neck.
As she stood, holding the letter, someone knocked.
“Enter,” she began to say, but the person already had pushed the door open.
The man who loped in and grinned at her was far rangier, with fair hair and light green eyes. He resembled Laird Ronson, only leached of color and something else, something vital.
Immediately, Emma’s blood ran cold, and she stood straighter, eyeing him.
I don’t trust him.
The thought was strange and gave her pause. For one thing, it almost sounded like her shrewd father’s voice. For another, who was she to have any sort of opinion? But she held onto it. She found that she did not care if the man was related to Laird Ronson—she wanted to get away from him.
“Good afternoon, Lady Emma,” he said and leaned against the doorframe. “Nae a good idea to keep me braither waitin’.”
Emma started at that. “You are Laird Ronson’s brother?”
“Aye,” he said with a laugh that made her skin crawl. “And I ken, ‘tis a real pity we hadnae met yet.” His eyes lingered on her bosom, and she could not suppress her dismay. “Call me Reuben.”
I shall not.
“Thank you. I was just leaving.”
“Are those the letters ye need to post?” Reuben took a step forward, and Emma clutched the letters to her chest. “Easy, lass. The Laird asked me to take care of them while I handled other business for him. This way, ye can scurry off straightaway.” He wiggled his fingers. “Pip pip.”
Emma bit the inside her cheek, wishing she could confer with Laird Ronson about this. With no other choice, though, she stepped forward and slapped the bundle into Reuben’s hand.
“Take care of them, if you please,” she said as politely as she could, but there was an icy edge to her voice that rivaled Queen Marianna.
Reuben’s eyes gleamed, and his mouth twisted. “Och aye, me Lady. Wouldnae dream of doin’ otherwise and rufflin’ yer feathers when me braither is so keen on ye.”
“That’s not–” Emma began, but Reuben had already started down the hall, obnoxiously waving her letters.
Clenching her fists, she closed the door harder than necessary and stormed off in the direction of Laird Ronson’s study.
But a whistle halted her in her tracks.
“Oy,” Reuben called. “He’s waitin’ for ye in the bailey, lass. Dinnae tarry.”
Taking a deep breath, Emma turned back and followed him. Finally, they parted ways before the front doors, and she made a face at his retreating back.
