Page 48 of A Virgin for the Icy Laird
He turned toward her, and she waved a book calledBotanical Medicine.He thought to comment, but she quickly curtsied and left in a flurry of blue.
He stumbled for a moment but regained his composure.
The register was not in the drawer. He slammed it shut with such force that a trinket toppled and fell to the floor. He shouldn’t have let Fergus rearrange the library.
He went to stand at the center of the room, trying to understand Fergus’s mind. Each shelf had an inscription inlaid into the panels. He looked for the most pertinent inscription and found a small shelf under the window titledGenealogy.
He crouched. Just when he thought himself on the verge of success, he scanned two room-length scrolls of parchment and came up with nothing. He replaced the journal of some ancestor whose name had instantly eluded him with a dangerous calm that one only experienced before their rage boiled over.
He would have to tell Fergus no more often.
But that calm cleared his mind. Casually, as if he were Fergus himself, he reached for the bottom shelf and found a finger-sized notch on its side, which could only mean one thing. He pulled.
He placed the folder on the desk and leafed through the pages. He found Morrison’s name on the fourth page. He grabbed a piece of paper and a quill and scribbled down the address. If he left now, he could be back just after nightfall.
He tucked the paper into his pocket and dashed out of the library, driven by a sudden impatience. Fergus would have to fetch his horse and prepare for the journey ahead. While he was giving him orders, he would also remind him that he did not like his life being complicated.
He was deep in thought, so he did not see Emily rounding the corner. He turned too fast. His shoulder caught something solid, and for a heartbeat, he was sure he’d knocked her down.
But it wasn’t her. It was the wooden box she held tight in her arms.
“Ye ran into me this time,” she said with a laugh, though her breath caught.
Instinct had him reaching out. He caught her by the forearms and steadied the box between them in the same motion. The bottles inside clinked loudly in the quiet of the castle. Liquidsloshed, and the sharp scent of herbs and tinctures filled the narrow hallway.
She looked down at once, concern drawing her brows together. Her fingers moved quickly, checking each stopper, making sure nothing had broken.
“Ye are right.” He looked down at the box. “I see yer book has been helpful.”
He released her arms, and she adjusted the box. “Oils for Elize. It is that time of the month. And ye… where are ye off to?”
“Fergus. I need to find Fergus.”
“Daenae let me disturb ye, then,” she said, throwing his words back at him.
Her eyes swept over him. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but then seemed to decide against it and curtsied for the third time that day.
As he walked away, his footsteps dull on the stone floor, he thought it odd to have run into her three times in such a short time. First, the stairs. Then, the library. Now, in the hallway.
Surely, it wasn’t chance. The castle was big enough to get lost in for a day, yet there she was each time, with that box and that quick laugh.
If he ran into her a fourth time, he would have to stop calling it chance. Three times could be a coincidence. Four would be a pattern. He didn’t believe in omens, not really. But the fates had a way of making themselves clear. And they might be trying to tell him something.
“Adair…”
He instantly drew to a halt. He looked over his shoulder to find her eyes shining with an emotion he could not place.
“Are ye leaving the castle?”
Was this the fates’ warning to him? Would it be a mistake to leave the castle?
He turned to fully face her. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, too still. “I am.”
“To the village?”
“Farther away.” For some reason, he felt the need to add, “I will come back later.”
It seemed it was the right thing to say, for her shoulders dropped a fraction.
