Page 26 of Here in Your Arms
Of all the outlandish, implausible things...
"Oh, sure. Maybe I was sent here tofixsomething. That’s always how these stories go, right?"
"Maybe," Emmy said. "Or maybe you were sent here to find something. Or someone."
Rose shot her a sharp look, unwilling to even give a moment’s thought to what Emmy was suggesting. " Oh, for the love of—just don’t. Please.”
Emmy gave a small, knowing smile but said nothing. She simply moved toward the door, pausing with her hand on the latch. "Try to relax, rest if you can," she said gently. “I’ll make sure I return before supper, in case you need me to provide interference with Leana. But be patient with her, Rose. She is grieving.”
Rose nodded.
With that, Emmy left the chamber, closing the door softly behind her.
Alone now, Rose exhaled and let her shoulders slump, exhaustion sinking into her bones.
She wasn’t Margaret, she reminded herself.
And yet...
What did she know at this point? Nothing, it seemed.
Emotionally drained, Rose collapsed back onto the bed, staring at the uneven wooden beams above her, trying to quiet the storm in her head.
A knock came quickly, too quickly for Emmy to have gone far, so that Rose supposed it was her.
“Come in,” she called wearily, closing her eyes.
The door creaked open, but Emmy didn’t say anything immediately.
“I’m just closing my eyes for a minute,” Rose said, “trying to get rid of the image of MacRae’s scowl before it’s permanently burned in my brain.”
When Emmy made no reply, Rose knew an instant panic. She opened her eyes and tilted her head toward the entry and then gasped when she saw the MacRae himself filling the doorway. She sat up too quickly, the room briefly spinning before sheforced herself steady. Her heart lurched, a sense of dread settling low in her stomach.
“I...I thought you were Emmy—Lady MacIntyre,” she said, her voice incredibly small.
The MacRae filled the doorframe, his broad shoulders nearly blocking out the dim light of the corridor beyond. He stepped inside without waiting for permission, his piercing blue gaze cutting straight to her, the door closing behind him with a dullthud.
“Clearly,” he said.
Rose gulped down a swallow and forced herself to stand, hoping her legs supported her. A wicked, wayward thought entered her head with an agonizing hopefulness. Now that she’d just insulted the hell out of him, would he banish her from Druimlach? Could she be that lucky?
He was as close as he’d been belowstairs, six feet away, but somehow, in the tiny chamber, he seemed even larger. She had known he was tall, but standing before him now, in the small confines of the chamber, she trulyfeltit—the sheerpresenceof him, and the unnerving weight of his severe scrutiny.
He did not speak right away.
For a long, unbearable moment, he onlylookedat her.
Rose forced herself to meet his gaze, though every nerve in her body screamed for her to lower her eyes, to fold inward, to make herself small beneath his stare. She didn’t, though. She wouldn’t. Still, she self-consciously ran her fingers through the hair falling over her chest, imagining her bed-flopping had done her no favors.
“I would have words with ye,” he finally said.
Rose nodded and lowered her hands. “I figured that much.”
Though he remained near the door, Rose had to fight the urge to retreat.
He studied her for another moment before speaking again, his voice rough, edged with warning.
"Who are ye truly?” He asked.
