Chapter 7
Emeric watched Anna as she followed Maisie up the stairs. Was she really here? It all felt like a surreal dream. He stood there for a moment longer, trying to quell the strange pulsing in his chest.
“Emeric?”
He blinked, then turned to smile at his mother. She had aged in the time he’d been away, her hair grayer, the lines around her eyes deeper, but she still carried herself with the strength he remembered so well.
She reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his face. “It’s so good to see ye, my son,” she said, her lips curling into a warm smile. “Even if the circumstances of yer arrival are a little...unorthodox.”
Unorthodox? Aye, that was an appropriate way to describe his day.
He pushed thoughts of Anna Webster, Irene MacAskill, and everything else out of his mind and tried to concentrate on the present.
“How are things here, mother?” he asked. “How are ye?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, fine, fine. Ye know how things are. The usual challenges to deal with but naught we canna handle.”
Something in his mother’s tone set him on edge. “What challenges?”
But she only shook her head. “Naught ye need concern yerself with. After all, ye are here for a happy occasion are ye not?”
Even as she said the words, the air was shattered by an excited squeal.
“Emeric!”
He turned just as a body cannoned into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Thin arms went around his waist and the familiar scent of honeysuckle enveloped him.
“About time! I thought ye were never going to arrive!”
Emeric laughed and wrapped his arms around the slight figure. “What are ye doing up at this hour, Aislinn? Surely ye need yer beauty sleep?”
His sister, younger by two years, pushed him to arm’s length, looking him up and down just like his mother had done. Her long curly hair, far darker than his own, was tousled, as though she’d just dragged herself out of bed. “Beauty sleep?” she said with a scowl, green eyes fixing on him. “I’m plenty beautiful enough already, ye scoundrel!”
Emeric grinned at his sister’s outraged expression. “Of course! I wouldnae dare suggest otherwise.”
“I should think not.” She wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell? Ye stink like a bog!”
“That’s because I’ve just beenina bog.” His little sister had grown into a woman while he’d been away, it seemed. She still had that spattering of freckles across her nose and that defiant tilt to her chin that he remembered so well, but she was taller, and had filled out. “So. Yehave finally gotten some pour soul to agree to marry ye, eh? Brodie Murray is a brave man indeed.”
Aislinn poked him hard in the chest. “I will pretend I didnae hear that,” she said. “On account of the fact that ye’ve been away so long ye’ve obviously forgotten yer manners. And if ye promise to tell me everything ye’ve been up to.”
“Agreed. It will have to wait until the morning, though. There are things I need to attend to first.” He glanced at his mother. “Is the laird still up?”
Hildie’s expression tightened slightly. “Of course. He doesnae sleep much these days. Ye’ll find him in his study.”
Emeric nodded, then took his leave of his mother and sister, promising to catch up with them again tomorrow. He strode down the passage and deeper into Dun Achmore. The castle hallways were dim, lit intermittently by the dim glow of candlelight. The tapestries hanging on the high walls and the ancient portraits of past lairds seemed to gaze at him with stern and hollow eyes as he passed.
