Page 18 of Here in Your Arms
Rose was still getting used to the dynamic between these two, how easily Emmy seemed to handle Brody—this big, intimidating man—as if he were just any other person rather than the formidable medieval laird that he was or seemed to be to Rose. She found their dynamic fascinating.
Brody turned his gaze toward Rose then, his expression serious. “I owe ye an apology, lass. I ken this is nae to yer liking, that ye were, more or less, compelled to go to Druimlach. But it is needed. Had the MacRae come to Dunmara and seen ye himself, I’d have made an enemy for nae having brought this—ye—to his attention sooner.”
There was something sincere about his words, no arrogance or forcefulness, just the truth as he saw it. He might have strong-armed her into this journey—via his wife—but at least he was acknowledging it.
Rose nodded, feeling compelled to acknowledge the apology, if only for Emmy’s sake. “It’s fine... sir,” she added awkwardly, unsure of how to address him. Was he a knight? A lord? She had no idea.
“Oh, just call him Brody,” Emmy cut in. “There’s no need for titles among friends.”
Brody frowned—barely, but noticeably—at his wife, as if her casual approach to rank was mildly exasperating.
Rose gripped Emmy’s waist a little tighter, daring to assert herself a little bit. “It’s fine so long as you promise me I won’t be forced into some medieval proxy marriage, and that I can return to Dunmara with you—that is, if you don’t mind me staying—oh god, possibly for the rest of my life—with you.”
Emmy waved a hand. “Stop. We can only contemplate one odd circumstance at a time. Today is not time-travel’s day.” She shot Rose a reassuring smile over her shoulder. “And yes, you can stay with us, for as long as you need, forever if that’s how it works out. And no, no one is going to force you to wed anyone. And by the way, ew! Imagine seeing someone who resembled your dead fiancé, like only days later, and you’re like,Hey, we should get married.”
Rose snorted before she could stop herself, a reluctant laugh bubbling up.
With that, Brody nodded and moved forward to ride with a few lengths ahead of them with the men at the front of their party.
“While your husband’s explanation does make a little sense,” Rose allowed, “I still don’t understand the need to show a man that a woman exists who looks like his dead fiancé.”
“Frankly,” Emmy replied, “neither do I, not entirely anyway. But let’s see how it plays out.”
After more than an hour, Druimlach came into view, its weathered gray walls rising from the crest of a rocky hill, bordered by a thick timber palisade on one side while the rest of the perimeter wall appeared to be freshly built stone wall, in varying stages of completion. The keep itself was formidable, a fortress more than a home, larger than Dunmara, with high battlements and a square tower that stood sentinel over the land. Beneath the protective shadow of the keep, the surrounding village sprawled in uneven clusters, lanes flanked by cottages and small workshops, some with thin trails of smoke curling out from thatched roofs. A few scattered animals roamed the muddy lanes—pigs rooting near wooden pens, geese waddling across the dirt road—while villagers paused in their daily work to watch the approaching party.
Rose’s stomach twisted as she caught the first astonished stare, having not considered that possibly everyone at Druimlach, from the laird to the lowest peasant, might think she looked like orwasMargaret. She ducked her head against Emmy’s back. The last thing she wanted was to lock eyes with someone convinced they were looking at a ghost.
The party rode through the village and toward the imposing gate. Brody announced their arrival to helmeted men atop the battlements and only moments later, the gate was pulled open from within.
Beside them, Brody reined in his horse, glancing toward Rose before turning his attention to Emmy. “Mayhap it’s best I go ahead and announce our arrival first.”
“What, like warn him?” Emmy questioned.
“Aye,” Brody replied, looking at Rose again. “Best prepare the MacRae before he lays eyes on ye.”
Emmy nodded and Brody nudged his horse forward, breaking away from the party and toward the keep.
Rose exhaled slowly, her pulse quickening as she watched Brody disappear beyond the heavy wooden doors of Druimlach’s hall.
“Well, now I’m a jumble of nerves,” Rose announced quietly.
“We’re just going to take it one step at a time,” Emmy tried to console her. “We’ll be back home in a few hours, and we can move on, or rather put it behind us.”
Rose glanced around the bailey, momentarily distracted by the sights and sounds of Druimlach. Though anxiety still coiled in her stomach, curiosity took hold, and she found herself studying the world around her, same as she had so eagerly at Dunmara, as a student of history.
A young boy, no older than ten, darted past, carrying an armful of firewood, his soft leather-soled shoes splattering mud as he went. Nearby, a group of men gathered around a woodenframe where a fletcher was carefully binding goose-feathers to arrow shafts. Another man, taller than the rest, leaned over the frame, inspecting the work with a critical eye before giving a nod of approval.
Across the yard in a low-roofed shed, a blacksmith hammered steadily at a glowing piece of iron, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal ringing through the air. Sparks danced as he worked, shaping the red-hot steel.
The details fascinated her. She had spent years studying medieval Scotland, had poured over texts and illustrations, but this was so...real. This was history, alive and breathing around her, and not something that could be captured in a textbook.
Glancing around, her gaze collided with a cluster of soldiers gathered atop the wall, now staring down and inside the bailey rather than outward at any potential threat.
Her cheeks heated with color when she realized they were all staring at her.
They were as shocked as she was suddenly flustered under their dazed and shaken stares.
Across the distance, she caught bits of their remarks.
