Page 63 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
He watched her eyes rove over him and knew that she was checking for injuries. A lazy smile had spread across his face by the time she looked at him again and her nostrils flared, but her blue gaze remained serious.
“Did you find him?” she asked, and he nodded. “Did you… take care of him?”
“I killed him, aye,” Grant said.
She flinched. “But why?”
“He could have killed ye in his mad plot to get to me. He could have harmed ye.”
“Were there no other options?”
Grant lifted a shoulder. “Not for a Laird.”
Emma’s chest rose and fell as her gaze flicked to the bailey, and Grant glanced back, too. All was quiet now, the few guards at the gate talking amongst themselves and a few prowling the upper walls. Horses whickered somewhere, and there were snatches of song on the breeze. The flickering torchlight danced over the packed earth, and the mingled scent of grass, mud, and smoke drifted in the air.
Grant glanced back at Emma, guessing that the front steps at her parents’ fancy manor led to some fancy lawn or garden.
She looked at him too, and he stirred. Usually, he could read or guess at the lass’s thoughts with ease. But now, she was distant and remote.
“Emma?”
“I am thinking of Agnes, my twin, who married Laird MacLarsen, and my best friend Helena,” she said in a soft voice. “I wonder if they, too, have this kind of danger in their lives. Where their husbands must always seek out justice by the sword.”
There was no judgment or recrimination in her voice. No, it was far more somber, and Grant sensed that she now saw beyond her sheltered upbringing. He felt a flash of admiration for his Sassenach, who had learned to stare danger right in the face and not quail. She only worried for her sister and her friend.
“Probably,” Grant said. “And they’ll be in more danger if their husband cannae protect them, mark me words.”
Emma’s gaze fell. “I see. At least Helena will have you, then.”
Grant stepped closer, causing her to step back, and he caught her elbow. “What do ye mean?”
“I mean that you are going to be my friend’s husband, Grant,” Emma mumbled, looking back up at him.
“Nay,” Grant murmured and glanced around. “We spoke about this—by the loch. For whatever time we have left,yearemine, Emma Wells.”
Again, even though he held her by the arm, she felt far away from him. And even further when the minx had the audacity to shake her head sadly at him.
“No, I’m afraid…” She bit her lip. “Grant, I am so happy that you are all right. But I cannot stay here anymore.”
“I willnae let anythin’ happen to ye, Emma.”
“You happened, Grant. Don’t you see?” Emma put her hand over his and gently pried his fingers off her. “It’s not even the business with your brother or the bandits. It’s the fact that I should go. I should’ve never come here.” She paused. “And I think you know that.”
“Ye are wrong,” he growled. “’Tis the opposite. I’ve never been more certain that bringin’ ye here was the best thing I’ve ever done. Although, I admit, the mishap with the Skulleyes and dungeons was an unfortunate turn of events.”
“Indeed,” Emma said, a sad smile playing on her lips. “Grant, no. I need to go. Please.”
She turned around and walked into the castle, her arms wrapped tight around her middle, and Grant felt as though he had been stabbed in the chest.
“Ye still owe me three nights, Emma,” he called, and she paused. He walked toward her. “Ye willnae renege on our deal,Sassenach.”
She glanced back. “I suppose.”
Grant stepped around her, and she jutted her chin. “Come with me to the festival tomorrow.” He paused when she gave a slow shake of her head. “Please.”
“But Grant,” Emma said with a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You have not left your castle once since our return. And I’ve heard from enough folk that you rarely do.”
“I’ll make an exception, for ye. If ye go with me.”
