Before she could weave a story that explained her being in a compromising position, Merrick asked, “And what sick game does my cousin play having you dressed as a lad? That you would even do such sickens me.”
“You need to stop right now, Merrick,” Emma started to say. She had the perfect alibi, or so she thought, but never had the chance to tell it because Declan picked the perfectly wrong moment to hack and cough.
Again, Merrick’s eyes bulged. His voice was a quiet whisper. “Declan has fever.”
Before she could sputter nonsense about him maybe choking on a drink, the telltale bark echoed off the stone walls. Emma’s shoulders slumped in defeat. No lie would ever cover up that cough. “He does, but we are trying to keep this quiet to prevent fear in the village and . . .” She didn’t need to say the rest as Merrick gasped. He would know exactly who they were trying to keep it from: his father.
Merrick reached out and grabbed her shoulders. “You must leave immediately with Mary. My father will come, and she needs to be far from here.”
“I can’t leave yet,” Emma said. She was proud of herself for not betraying any part of their plan to leave. “Can you keep this a secret? Declan may still recover.”
“It has been too many days since any have seen him. Those who survive tend to break the fever within three to four days.” Merrick paused to piece together his puzzle. “It has been over five since any have had contact with the man.”
“You don’t know . . .” Emma started.
“I ken only that my father will come with force to face a dead or dying man before the week is out.” Merrick’s hands gripped her shoulders even tighter. “Take Mary and flee. Waste no time, for my father will hunt for her. No loose ends will be tolerated. Save yourself and Mary.”
“A week is a long time. There is no way your father will know he is sick if you stay quiet.” Emma’s hand rose to cover the beating of Merrick’s heart. “It doesn’t have to be this way. All I’m asking for is a week. Your father will come no matter what. Give us the time we need.”
She saw his internal battle as his eyes softened and he leaned into her touch. Then she saw the moment she lost him when his gaze looked past her. “I will keep you safe, I vow it. I can nay say the same for Mary for long. Have her gone before my father arrives.”
“Merrick—” Emma began.
“Hold your tongue. As you have a duty to your father, I have one to mine.” Merrick’s hands gentled on her shoulders and lifted to cup her face. “While I dinna wish for such an outcome, we will have lands to share when it is all done. Mayhap in time, we can send for Mary or go to her. ‘Tis the best I can do.”
“No. The best you can do is stay here and keep your mouth shut,” Emma countered, stepping back out of his reach.
“I am expected at my father’s side when he rides within the gates.” A sad smile crossed Merrick’s lips. “If you leave, send me word where I may find you. The word will spread when I have my lands, and you will be welcomed with open arms for all of time.”
“Please, Merrick,” Emma begged as she stepped closer. “Be the man I thought you were.”
“I am what the fates have made me, Emma. But my heart is yours,” Merrick said before his head dipped to steal a quick kiss.
The brush of his lips did nothing to stir her, and she sighed in disappointment at the weakness in Merrick. His greed had won. Before she could again try to talk him out of leaving, he stepped back and made his way to the stairs leading to the first floor and the exit.
“Merrick,” she called to his back. He turned to face her with his sad smile. Stepping completely into the corridor, his gaze noted the sword in her hand before settling on her face.
“Killing me does nay remove the danger. My father comes,” Merrick said without reaching for the sword on his back. “Mayhap some good will come of it. If my father believes Declan close to death, he may nay bring as many fighting men. Should you be fool enough to remain here with Mary, it could aid you.”
Is he correct, or is he trying to trick me into not raising my weapon? In the end, it didn’t matter. Merrick turned his back to her and flew down the stairs as if the devil were at his heels. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he would leave and ride to his father’s. She needed to find Cortland and warn him in hopes that someone might be able to catch up to him and stop him. Doubt filled her as she knew she had been the last hope. If she had been thinking rationally, she would have beaten the man into unconsciousness, but she doubted his gentle nature would have allowed that. Not to mention that he was a trained warrior and would have put up one heck of a fight.
Declan coughed again, and Emma warred with leaving to find Cortland and staying to aid the man. Opting for a different solution, she stood in the corridor and screamed for help, confident that in moments someone would come and the chase for Merrick could begin.
Chapter 12
“How dare you leave me alone on my deathbed, wife!” Declan demanded as he tried to force his body into a sitting position on the bed. The effort only earned him another round of coughing and the certainty he was as weak as a kitten.
Emma rolled her eyes while she strode to the bed. Without a word, she handed him the cup of herbed broth and then rearranged the pillows to support his back.
“Where were you?” Declan asked, though he could guess given her wet hair and the fine floral scent that filled the chamber. Staring at the way she was attired, he asked, “And why are you wearing trews?”
Sitting in the chair by the bed, Emma settled herself before speaking. “I was in the baths, and I prefer the trews. I am so much more comfortable this way.” Her fingers ran over the stitching that closed the seams on the outer thigh. “These are so bad ass.”
“You try my patience. Why did you leave me alone?” Declan ignored her answering laughter and scowled.
“You’re being extremely dramatic for a man who has been without a fever for two days. While it may take a few more before you are out of bed, we both know the danger is gone. Besides, Meggie was here, so relax.”
“‘Tis nearly midday, and ‘tis the first time I have seen you.” Declan knew he sounded like a whiny child, but did not care. None saw to his needs and comfort like Emma. Her company was the only he wanted. There was enjoyment in the stories of the wonders of her home and the arguments that followed over her audacious claims. Her tale of a man sailing to the moon was more than he could force himself to believe.
“Mary and I were in the kitchen, and given the amount of flour covering me, a bath was needed. I swear that child had more on the floor than in the bowl. Anyway, she was learning how to make bread. Since so many are still recovering, extra hands were needed to make certain everyone eats today.”
“Mary should be in bed. She is still recovering,” Declan stated, even though he smiled at the image of a cloud of flour surrounding his daughter.
“Nonsense, she’s fine and ready to go. Do you really think I would let her do anything she wasn’t ready to handle?” Emma’s annoyance filled the room.
How she hates to have her care of Mary questioned. The fire was back in Emma’s eyes, and it was a sight to behold. He had been right, the pale blue burned when her passions were roused. The thought crossed his errant mind. How bright would they burn by my touch and not just my words? Settling against the pillows, he let his mind contemplate the delightful possibilities.
Finally answering her, he said, “If you say Mary is well, I will heed your council.”
“How generous of you, Laird.” Her voice dripped with disgust.
Holding in his laughter only made him cough again. How well she knows me. Emma was the only woman he had ever met who had no fear of him. Declan knew he was a hard man, but life had made him that way. To be the laird, one needed to be confident and strong, and it took a tough man to see orders carried out.
> A timid knock on the door disturbed his thoughts. Before he could reply, Emma called, “Come in.”
Mary’s head peeked around the door. “May I enter?”
His wee daughter was afraid to enter his chamber, and disgust settled in his belly. He thought about how many times as a small lad he had crept into that very chamber to climb into the bed with his parents to seek comfort during a night of storms.
Again, Emma beat him to a reply. “Come in, sunshine.” Her arms were held open in invitation for Mary to climb onto her lap, an offer readily accepted. Within two heartbeats, Mary was tucked into loving arms and kissed on the head, a head covered with the flour dust. Only when settled did his daughter cast eyes on him filled with doubt at her welcome.
Noting Mary’s hands held something wrapped in linen, he asked, “Did you bring something for Emma?”
Mary held out the bundle with a tentative smile. “‘Tis for you if you are hale enough to eat it.”
Without opening the gift, Declan could smell the warm yeasty bread. Inhaling the scent, he grinned at his daughter. “‘Tis what you made this morn?”
“Aye, ‘tis one of the special ones,” Mary beamed.
Opening the warm bundle, he could see the difference from the bread that normally graced his table. To engage his child, he asked, “What makes it so special?”
In a flash, he saw Emma’s influence as Mary rolled her eyes at the question. “Just look at it. You can see the raisins and the cinnamon.” Her exasperated tone mimicked the woman who watched the conversation with thinly veiled amusement in her eyes.
When Mary exhaled at the disappointment of his lack of observation, Emma turned her body away in the chair and shook with silent laughter. Without commenting on his daughter’s behavior, he said, “‘Tis a fine treat for a recovering man.” Taking a large bite, he made sounds of enjoyment and smiled at his daughter. His pleasure was not faked or forced; the bread was a slice of heaven.
“‘Tis verra fine, Mary. However, I think you brought me too much. Mayhap you would share the treat with me?” Mary’s face, lit with pleasure, was so beautiful it made his chest ache. Emma didn’t hesitate as she lifted Mary to sit on the bed by his side. Tucking her under his arm, he handed her the chunk of bread to tear off a piece and then offered the same to Emma. Holding Emma’s gaze, he mouthed, “Thank you.”
Emma took a bite. “This is ridiculously good. I’m glad we made several loaves.”
“‘Tis nay all going to the village?” Mary asked.
“I think it would be okay if we kept one for ourselves,” Emma replied with a wink.
“Why is bread going to the village?” Declan asked. While the villages received ample store of grain and flour, they were responsible for their own cooking.
“The bread goes along with the soup my daughter has made,” Cortland said as he entered the chamber. “It feeds those who still recover from illness. My daughter was concerned some might nay be able to tend their families.” Cortland made his way to Emma’s side. With a kiss to her bound hair, he asked, “‘Tis nay what is expected of the Lady Draig?”
“Very funny, Da,” Emma scowled.
Cortland was correct, such was precisely what the laird’s wife would be expected to do. Even though their marriage contract was only to protect Mary, Emma had acted perfectly. Offering her a smile, Declan said, “You have done well and have my thanks.”
Emma waved away the praise. “Meggie and I were too worried some would go hungry. By the way, you’re going to need more chickens.” With a smirk, she continued, “It’s not like I could run to the market to buy more.”
Declan laughed even though it brought another round of coughing. Again, her fanciful tales filled his mind, as if one structure could ever hold all the food one could ever dream of eating, much less chicken slaughtered and ready to cook. The lass must think me daft. After the coughing subsided, he said, “Meggie will have those who tend the birds leave eggs for hatching. You used our stores well, wife.”
“Da, we all ken Emma married you only to spirit me away. Why do you tease her?” Mary asked with her innocent gaze fixed on him.
Squeezing her shoulder, he said, “I merely play a game with her.” The simple explanation was more appropriate for the child than the truth of wanting to see passionate fire burn within the depths of Emma’s eyes.
Emma rose from her seat with the expected eye roll. “Enough already. Was there something you needed, Da?”
“I have come to take my turn with Declan. Byron will come soon to aid me in carrying the man to the baths.”
Declan grumbled about being carried, but not too much. He would need both men to help him back up the stairs; the thought ate at him.
Cortland added, “I have come from the village and bring news of the repairs made and all that has gone on the last several days. We have much to discuss.”
“Can we go to the village, Emma, please?” Mary begged.
Declan caught Emma’s frown at the idea, which he thought seemed odd. Normally, she was as enthusiastic as Mary was at the notion of a day spent with Aalish. Before he could ask his question, Cortland turned to Emma. “I saw Aalish this morn. She and wee Thomas are better, though she looks tired and could probably use an extra set of hands.” He reached to take Emma’s hand. “She asked to see you.”
Declan could have sworn the color drained from Emma’s face as she listened. There was much he had missed while ill. He knew there were many things Cortland would need to share.
With a clearly false smile, Emma turned to Mary. “We can go for a bit if you like.” At her statement, Mary leapt from the bed and ran to the door. “First, you need to brush the flour out of your hair. I’d say put on a clean gown, but you and Brina will only get dirty.”
Declan asked Cortland, “Who goes with them?” For the first time, Emma did not argue the guard.
“William waits for them in the hall,” Cortland assured him. Facing Emma, he added, “He has a sword for you to carry.” And for once, Declan did not argue her need to carry a weapon.
“I only hope I don’t need it today,” Emma said softly as she followed Mary into the corridor.
Cortland turned to Declan and held out his hand. “Have no great fear for Mary’s safety. The patrols have been expanded with no sign of further danger,” Cortland said.
“Why is Emma fearful of seeing Aalish?” Declan asked.
Cortland ran his hand over his cropped hair, a gesture that usually came with the man’s mind working. “Given their last meeting, my lass should be armed.”
Declan listened in disbelief as Cortland spoke of Aalish’s treatment of Emma.
~ ~ ~
Emma’s pulse raced with the cottage looming before her. Mary dropped her hand and ran to the woman waiting to embrace her. Even with trepidation filling every step, she had to smile at the love encompassed in the hug.
As Brina and Mary ran to play, William said, “I will keep my eye on the lasses.”
“Cortland told you?” Emma asked, glancing at the man.
“Aye, Emma. He warned me you two had words last week, in case you felt the need to return to the keep early,” William answered. “Make peace with the woman.” With that said, he jogged ahead to keep up with the girls.
Emma stopped ten feet from Aalish. Cortland was right—she looked pale and exhausted. Not that it had slowed her down; the laundry lines were full of clothes and linens drying in the warm breeze.
Aalish broke the silence that stretched between them. “You have come dressed for battle.” The woman eyed the leather pants and fixed on the sword strapped to her hip.
“Only to keep Mary safe,” Emma said softly.
The woman walked with measured steps to stand before her. “I thought you might have come to deal with me.” Before Emma could reply, Aalish
threw her arms around Emma and hugged her tightly. “Forgive me, Emma. I dinna ken where my anger came from that day. It must have been the fever. Even worried and scared, I would have never spoken to you in such a foul manner.”
Emma melted into the embrace. It was a minute of extraordinary hugging before she could speak. “You had every right to be worried. I would have done the same if I thought my child was in danger.”
Aalish pulled back and smiled widely. “You limped your way to my door. Come inside, and we will both rest a wee bit.”
The cool of the cottage welcomed her as it had so many other days. Emma sat at the table across from Aalish as she poured water into two cups. Holding one out to Emma, she said, “This day I made it to the well.”
Emma laughed as the tension fled with the cup held out for her. She listened as Aalish spoke of who was still ill and who had recovered and let tears fall for the several who had died. When the woman again apologized for her harsh behavior, Emma held up her hand to stop her. “You had every right to question whether or not Mary was safe with me. I have lied to you from the moment we met. If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me.”
Thomas’ cries filled the air, and Aalish rose to fetch him from the bedroom. His chubby face lit with delight as he spied her. Thomas called out, “Em, Em, Em.”
With no hesitation, Aalish handed the squirming boy to her. “Take him, or we will have no peace.”
Emma took the child and placed a loud kiss on his exposed and waiting neck, and squeals of delight filled the cottage. When the child settled on her lap, she said, “Thank you.”
Ignoring her, Aailsh said, “There is more gossip in the village you should ken, though none question you as Cortland’s daughter. Many say you were sent away as a child to train as a warrior in secret.” Emma laughed at the crazy idea, and Aalish added more. “I saw Cortland this morn when he came to check on my family. When I asked him who you really are, he said it mattered little. You are the daughter of his heart, so he claims. He spoke of his trust and love for you. I understand a child of the heart. Mary is mine in such a manner. If you have earned trust from Cortland, you also have mine.”
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