Emerald (Jewel Trilogy, Book 2) by Lauren Royal Page A
Authors: Lauren Royal
Tags: Historical Romance
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to double-check. He groaned as though in pain, then settled down with a soft snore. She leaned over him, remembering other moments he'd seemed to be hurting. Suddenly she wondered if he could have been injured last night as well. Helping her.
Rising, she swept her shoes off the floor, then caught herself looking back to him. But even if he'd been hurt, it was no fault of hers. She couldn't let herself be swayed. Her decision had already been made.
Slowly she backed away, then turned and opened the door. With one last glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the corridor and eased the door closed behind her.
Leaning against the wall, she calmed her pounding heart while she straightened her bodice and relaced it snugly. Then she slid into her shoes, marched downstairs, through the taproom, and out into the night, trying her best to look as though she hadn't a care in the world.
It was chilly and drizzling. She had no money to hire a horse, no alternative other than to start walking. But the coach would have stopped in one of the towns they'd passed, so if she followed the road, she'd be sure to get back to it by morning.
She set off into the long night that loomed ahead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Mama, must you go? You've been home nary a month."
"I must, wee Alison." Flora MacCallum moved to her youngest's bed and bent to kiss her little forehead. She smoothed the fine, chestnut hair from her daughter's face. "Maybe, with any luck, this time will be the last."
Malcolm crawled over his sister and down to the floor to hug his mother around the knees. "Are you going to be Emerald again?"
"Aye. I'm going to be Emerald one more time."
"But it's the middle of the night."
"Nay, dawn approaches. And others are doubtless on the Gothards' trail already." She knelt to give her bonnie lad a fierce hug, breathing in his scent to sustain her through the days and weeks ahead. Soap and milk, underscored by a faint trace of the dirt she could never quite get out from under his fingernails. She wished she could bottle the aroma and take it with her.
Unwinding his small arms from around her neck, she stood to shrug into a man's surcoat.
"It's lucky you two were of a height." Hearing her mother's voice, Flora turned to see her leaning against the doorway that separated the two rooms of their cottage. "Not many women can wear their husband's clothes."
"Aye?" A strand of long gray hair had escaped her mother's plait; Flora walked over and pushed it behind her ear. "It was the only lucky thing between us."
"Now, Flora—"
"Don't go defending him, Mama." Though her words were firm, she pressed a kiss to the top of her tiny mother's head. All of Flora's height—and she was the tallest woman in Galloway—had come from her father. "I'll never forgive my husband for pledging our home in a game of dice and then getting himself killed in that border raid. Damned halliracket."
"Wheesht! The bairns are listenin'."
"And right they should be." Flora twisted her unruly red hair and piled it on her head, then jammed her deceased husband's hat on top. "It's fair they know why I have to leave them."
"Flora—"
"Just give me peace till this is finished, Mama. One last time. With the reward posted for Gothard, I can pay off Kincaid and then some. We'll be able to breathe. Give the farm our attention. Maybe even get wee Alison her own bed. Won't that be nice?"
"Nice, Mama!" Alison repeated.
Flora's mother bent to sweep a length of broken reed off the floor. The roof needed replacing as well. "Damn your daftie of a father for ever takin' you tracking," she muttered. "Thought you were the son he never had."
"Neither of us chose our men well." Flora stuck a pistol into her boot top and snatched up the sword that was propped in the corner. "Still and on, if Papa hadn't taken me, I wouldn't be able to get us out of the mess we're in today." She kissed her mother's parchment cheek. "Take care of the bairns, Mama. God willing, I'll be back to stay."
Hard
Rising, she swept her shoes off the floor, then caught herself looking back to him. But even if he'd been hurt, it was no fault of hers. She couldn't let herself be swayed. Her decision had already been made.
Slowly she backed away, then turned and opened the door. With one last glance over her shoulder, she slipped into the corridor and eased the door closed behind her.
Leaning against the wall, she calmed her pounding heart while she straightened her bodice and relaced it snugly. Then she slid into her shoes, marched downstairs, through the taproom, and out into the night, trying her best to look as though she hadn't a care in the world.
It was chilly and drizzling. She had no money to hire a horse, no alternative other than to start walking. But the coach would have stopped in one of the towns they'd passed, so if she followed the road, she'd be sure to get back to it by morning.
She set off into the long night that loomed ahead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Mama, must you go? You've been home nary a month."
"I must, wee Alison." Flora MacCallum moved to her youngest's bed and bent to kiss her little forehead. She smoothed the fine, chestnut hair from her daughter's face. "Maybe, with any luck, this time will be the last."
Malcolm crawled over his sister and down to the floor to hug his mother around the knees. "Are you going to be Emerald again?"
"Aye. I'm going to be Emerald one more time."
"But it's the middle of the night."
"Nay, dawn approaches. And others are doubtless on the Gothards' trail already." She knelt to give her bonnie lad a fierce hug, breathing in his scent to sustain her through the days and weeks ahead. Soap and milk, underscored by a faint trace of the dirt she could never quite get out from under his fingernails. She wished she could bottle the aroma and take it with her.
Unwinding his small arms from around her neck, she stood to shrug into a man's surcoat.
"It's lucky you two were of a height." Hearing her mother's voice, Flora turned to see her leaning against the doorway that separated the two rooms of their cottage. "Not many women can wear their husband's clothes."
"Aye?" A strand of long gray hair had escaped her mother's plait; Flora walked over and pushed it behind her ear. "It was the only lucky thing between us."
"Now, Flora—"
"Don't go defending him, Mama." Though her words were firm, she pressed a kiss to the top of her tiny mother's head. All of Flora's height—and she was the tallest woman in Galloway—had come from her father. "I'll never forgive my husband for pledging our home in a game of dice and then getting himself killed in that border raid. Damned halliracket."
"Wheesht! The bairns are listenin'."
"And right they should be." Flora twisted her unruly red hair and piled it on her head, then jammed her deceased husband's hat on top. "It's fair they know why I have to leave them."
"Flora—"
"Just give me peace till this is finished, Mama. One last time. With the reward posted for Gothard, I can pay off Kincaid and then some. We'll be able to breathe. Give the farm our attention. Maybe even get wee Alison her own bed. Won't that be nice?"
"Nice, Mama!" Alison repeated.
Flora's mother bent to sweep a length of broken reed off the floor. The roof needed replacing as well. "Damn your daftie of a father for ever takin' you tracking," she muttered. "Thought you were the son he never had."
"Neither of us chose our men well." Flora stuck a pistol into her boot top and snatched up the sword that was propped in the corner. "Still and on, if Papa hadn't taken me, I wouldn't be able to get us out of the mess we're in today." She kissed her mother's parchment cheek. "Take care of the bairns, Mama. God willing, I'll be back to stay."
Hard
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