The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,64
planned to go with you.”
“I ken the situation isn’t ideal.” He groaned, releasing her hands. “It is too dangerous to take you with me.”
“But what about confronting Wilcox? I am an outlaw as well. I must be there to clear my name, too.”
“Agreed. My men and I will have to sail through the Firth of Lorn on our way to Fort William. I’ll stop for you then.”
“But wouldn’t it be easier if I were in the galley with you?”
“I cannot allow you to go. Make no bones about it, we are heading into a lion’s den where danger lurks at every turn.” He cupped her cheek softly. “Stay with Nettie for a few days. I’m certain it shouldn’t be any longer than that. A sennight at most.”
Emma jerked away from his touch. “If you are insistent on leaving me behind, I will stay right here where I am familiar. There is plenty of food to last a fortnight if need be. And Nettie can check on me once or twice a day if it would make you feel more at ease.”
“But—”
She slapped his arm. “Allow me this one concession. I am the one being asked to stay. I should have a say in where I shall sleep.”
He said nothing for a moment before he released a pent-up breath. “Very well, but if you feel uncomfortable being alone, I do not want you to hesitate and go to Nettie’s. They’d love to have you.”
“Oh, aye, everyone would love to have a blind woman bumbling about their cottage, knocking over the lamps and vases and whatnot.”
“You are awfully hard on yourself.”
“I am honest.”
Blast, blast, blast. Emma knew she would only be in the way if she set sail in the galley. But why couldn’t Ciar send his men to trap this Riley person? Why did he insist on sailing down to Dumbarton with them?
Emma didn’t ask. She knew the answer to her question as well.
Ciar needed to face all three culprits and let them know he would not tolerate being played a fool. Nor was he a coward. Any Highlander worth his salt confronted his foe and called them out.
She stopped in the middle of the chamber and buried her face in her hands. “Things have been utterly perfect, so blissfully wonderful. I don’t want it to end.”
Wrapping her in an embrace, Ciar pressed his lips to her forehead. “I ken, mo leannan. You are so dear to me I cannot bear to see you upset.”
“Must you go?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t. “Braemar could fetch him.”
“Nay, lass. I have to face him myself.”
“What about the other two?”
“We’ll bring them to justice once we gain an audience with Wilcox.”
She pushed him away. “But what if the governor doesn’t believe us? We will both be captured and sent to the gallows.”
“Better off to the gallows than hiding for the rest of our days.”
“Nay!”
“Forgive me.” He brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead then pulled her into his arms. “I spoke out of turn.”
“You certainly did,” she said, resting her head on his chest. Oh, how she loved the thrum of his heart. “We will clear our names and set everything to rights.”
“Aye, lass.” He used the crook of his finger to tilt her face up, then kissed her. “I must go.”
“Promise to think of me every moment?”
“Thinking of you will be my driving light.”
She reached back and unclasped the silver medal she wore around her neck. “Bend down.” Securing it around his neck, she said, “Then I shall give you this for protection. Saint Lucia has watched over me since I was two years of age, and now she will bring you safely back.”
“Thank you.” He hugged her once again. “Be careful not to venture outside where you can be seen. Only walk from the passageway to the cove with Albert. You’re familiar with that path, and any passing ships won’t be able to spot you.”
“I will.”
“That’s my lass.” He kissed her cheek one last time. “We’ll be sailing for Fort William before you know it.”
And then he was gone.
Emma stood for a moment while Albert paced by the door. The hollow, belowground cellar suddenly felt cold, silent, and lonely. What if something bad happened to Ciar? What if he didn’t return?
“Dear God, watch over him.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The sun’s rays shone through gaps in the cloudy western sky when Ciar ordered the galley’s sails furled at the confluence of the rivers Leven and Clyde. Ahead, Dunbarton Castle dominated, her fortress walls extending high