Page 60 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
Emma reared back at that. The stormy look in his eyes brooked no argument, and his lips had pressed together into a line she’d never seen before. Sharp enough to cut.
The Devil of Banrose, indeed.
“Why ever not?” Emma demanded in her sharpest voice.
Grant leaned forward and rested an arm on the edge of the tub. “There will be blood.”
Emma’s hands clenched and unclenched. “Must you go?” she asked, and he huffed out a laugh, sitting back and closing his eyes. “Grant. Please?—”
“Emma Wells,” he interjected in a soft, sultry voice that made her skin flush from head to toe, “ye ken me well enough by now to ken the answer to that question.”
She made an angry noise and went to turn around, but Grant cleared his throat. She glanced back to see his green eyes regarding her with a speculative interest that made her heart skip a beat.
“During the last three days, when I was unconscious, did anythin’ change?”
Emma half-turned back. “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. Didanythin’change?”
Oh.
Her head shook before she could stop it. “No, of course not. Everything is the same—you are to marry my best friend, and I only owe you two more nights. I leave in three days.”
His green eyes flashed with heat and temper, even as he gave her a curt nod. “Exactly. So, why are ye here?” Her mouth dropped open when he had the audacity to flick his hand at her. “Leave. Or I will start thinkin’ ye’re a liar.”
Squeezing her fists so hard that she thought her nails would cut her palms, Emma stalked out of the washroom, but Grant called out to her as she reached the arched doorway.
“There are letters for ye on the desk. From me betrothed to ye, it seems.” She flinched and glanced back. “Nay word from yer parents or aunt, though.”
“Thank you,” Emma snapped.
“Aye, ye are verra welcome,” Grant retorted, his words almost a growl. “Write her back—maybe ye and Helena can plan the weddin’ together.”
Emma flinched as though she was slapped, but Grant did not move, merely tipped his head back and exposed his powerful throat. She eyed it, almost incredulous that she had touched him there,kissedhim there.
Now she wanted to wrap her hands around his neck and squeezehard.
“Ye were already almost implicated in an attempt on me life, Emma,” Grant said suddenly without opening his eyes. “I wouldnae push yer luck.”
With that, he motioned for her to leave again.
Emma let out a shriek through her clenched teeth and stormed out of his room, only pausing to snatch up her letters.
Impossible brute.She raged the whole way back to her room.Stubborn arse of a Scottish laird. Poor Helena. I pity her, truly. But at least I know that Grant will be put in his place daily by his wife.
Still, when Emma got back to her room, she was near tears and trembling. His words kept echoing in her mind, and the letters in her hand seemed to weigh a ton. She all but fell into her desk chair, staring at Helena’s familiar, lovely handwriting.
It took her several minutes before she worked up the courage to pick up her paper knife and cut the wax. One of the maids seemed to have gotten her letter-writing equipment—paper, ink, wax, and more. There was also a neat, hand-written book about herbs.
After Helena cuts me out of her life, perhaps I might lose myself in it.
For a moment, Emma did not think she could read it, but her mind flashed back to the dungeons, to three days of not knowing whether Grant drew breath or died.
Steeling herself, she began to read.
Friend of my heart!
I cannot tell you how good it is to hear from you, my dearest Emma.
