The Highland Laird (Lords of the Highlands #8) - Amy Jarecki Page 0,73
breath to calm the ire boiling beneath her skin, Emma pressed her back against the seat. “Dunollie is the only man besides my brother who has ever shown me kindness. I would die for him.”
“Heaven forbid,” Betty mumbled under her breath.
Emma scooted away from her lady’s maid. The pair of them thought they knew how she felt about Ciar, but they never would. They could only see her as an invalid—someone who would always tag along, who would always be there in the background but never have a home or life of her own. Until she’d gone to Achnacarry, Emma believed it herself. She never dreamed that she’d want to leave Glenmoriston and marry. But with Ciar she could do anything. Truly, he understood her better than her own kin.
She needed to find out what had happened to him straightaway.
The fact that he hadn’t come for her made her fear the worst. Had something horrible transpired at Dunbarton? Would she ever see him again? And what about her beloved Albert? Was he still on Kerrera? Had Nettie taken the dog in? Surely she would have fed him once she realized Emma was gone.
Emma spent the rest of the journey pressed against the side wall of the coach, refusing to engage Betty and Janet in conversation. If they believed she was incapable of helping Ciar and unmitigatedly daft for slipping away in the middle of the night, then they could go hang.
Miserable hours passed before the familiar rush of Moriston Falls announced they’d arrived on Grant lands. Not long after, the wheels of the coach rolled over gravelly stones down the sycamore-lined drive, the leaves rustling outside the window.
As soon as they rolled to a stop, Robert’s voice boomed across the courtyard. “Lewis, carry my sister to her bed. Betty, see to drawing her a bath.”
“I am not feeble in body or in mind. I will walk to my chamber on my own,” Emma shouted, reaching over Betty and finding the coach’s latch. She opened the door, though she wasn’t stubborn enough to leap out before a footman grasped her hand. The last thing she needed was for her obstinance to trump her common sense and send her face-first to the cobblestones.
“’Tis lovely to see you, miss,” said Hubert, the footman. He’d been in service at Glenmoriston since he was a lad of sixteen, and Emma would recognize his voice anywhere.
“Thank you. I wish I were happy to be here.”
She held her head high and made her way through the front door, crossed the entry, and whisked up the stairs of the house that she knew so well, she anticipated the creak of the ninth step and the way the banister ended in a smooth curve at the top.
“Whatever is wrong with Miss Emma?” asked Mrs. Tweedie from below. Emma had always adored the housekeeper, but once the woman learned of her escapades, she’d side with Robert for certain.
“She’s had an ordeal,” Janet explained. Good heavens, they all seemed to expect Emma to recover and go about her affairs as if she hadn’t fallen in love with Ciar. As if he hadn’t opened a new window of possibilities for her.
When she finally made it to her bedchamber, she strode inside, locked the door, and flung herself onto the bed.
For the second time since Wilcox had captured her on Kerrera, she allowed herself to weep. Burying her face in a pillow, she wept for Ciar. She knew something dreadful had happened and yet Robert bore him no remorse, insisting Dunollie had crossed the line. Robert swore Ciar should have refused Emma’s help and the fact that he had not done so had made him a lesser man in his eyes.
A lesser man?
“Ciar is a greater man than any other!” she screamed into the pillow. “He was framed for murder and wronged. You discredited him too, brother. When he needed his allies you forsook your dearest friend!”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hugh MacIain shook Ciar’s hand. “Would you like some added muscle? I’d be happy to ride with you and your men.”
“You’ve taken enough of a risk by hiding me in your attic. I’m grateful, friend, but I’d hate to have you and your kin pulled into this mess.”
“I’d gladly ride alongside you any time. One never kens, someday I might be knocking on your keep’s door.”
“You’ll be welcome. Day or night.”
Regardless of the niceties, Ciar could have murdered Livingstone for letting him sleep another day. He accepted the reins of a horse from a stable hand,