Jack listened to her every word. He had yet to take his gaze from her, and he didn’t know why his heart was thrumming in that moment, as if he had run from one side of the isle to the other. He wanted to scoff at the fanciful notion of peace, but this was the second time he had been encouraged to think of the isle as one again, its two halves mended.
He could have said many things to Adaira in that moment, and yet the question that slipped from his lips as a growl was, “Who is Moray Breccan?”
“The Heir of the West.”
Brilliant, Jack thought. Although why should he be surprised that the heir would want to meet her?
“So you will support me if I choose to visit?” she asked.
“It depends,” Jack said.
“On what, old menace?”
“On who you take with you.”
Adaira fell silent again. Jack was swiftly learning he didn’t like these silences of hers.
“Who are you taking, Adaira?” he asked again. “Torin and a retinue of guards?”
“No one,” she said.
“I’m sorry?”
She turned to face Jack once more. Her eyes were inscrutable as she looked at him. “They have asked me to come alone, as a measure of my trust in—”
“To hell with that!” Jack cried. The dishes on the table rattled as he stood. “Adaira, you shouldn’t even consider visiting them alone.”
“I know it sounds unwise, Jack.”
“It sounds foolish and deadly. You forget who they are.”
“I haven’t forgotten, and I’m not afraid of them!” she shouted, as if raising her voice was the only way to get Jack to close his mouth.
And he did.
He stood face-to-face with her and felt the tension in his bones.
She sighed again. Her weariness was returning, but her voice was calm when she said, “So you advise that if I go, I shouldn’t go alone. I suppose that means I need a husband before I visit the west. Two become one under matrimony, don’t they?”
Jack remained silent. He was flooded by a strange emotion, one that made him feel like he was withering. It was jealousy, and he had rarely felt it on the mainland.
He briefly wondered if he was falling ill; he shouldn’t have swum in the ocean at night, when a chill could set in. But as soon as he remembered the moment when they had broken the surface and Adaira had laughed, Jack knew he would choose to do it again, and again, even if time permitted him to redo the past. That he would follow her into the sea. And perhaps that was true only because Adaira held his allegiance and respect as his laird, but perhaps it was due to something else. Something that stirred his soul like breath on embers, rousing old fire.
Gods, he thought with a sharp intake. He needed to smother this feeling now, before it unfurled and grew wings.
Or perhaps he should let it fly.
If he became her husband, he would forfeit his life on the mainland. He would have no choice but to give up his plans to become a professor in order to remain with her, living out his days on the isle. The imagining made him feel cold at first, and his pride flared—all those years studying and working would be wasted—until he met her gaze.
No, not wasted, he realized. Because he would be Bard of the East, and this music turret would become his, and he would play songs for children like Frae and for adults like Mirin. By day he would belong to the clan, singing beneath the sun. But by night, when the stars burned, he would lie down beside Adaira, and he would wholly be hers, as she would be his.
Adaira continued to intently watch him, measuring his expression.
He swallowed, wondering if she saw the same vision he did. One where the two of them were united, bound, laying claim to the other. But then reality returned, rushing between them like a cold tide.
Surely not … Jack mused, and a warring medley of dread and desire rose within him. Surely, she would never want him in such a way, even as he felt static in the air between them. Surely, he would be daft to agree to it. But then Adaira smiled, and he imagined that maybe he would. Maybe he would agree to it, but only out of duty. If she asked him, that is.
“Don’t let me keep you from your study, bard,” she said.
She was dismissing him.
Flustered, Jack strode to the table, retrieving the book. You’re being ridiculous, he told himself. Assuming Adaira would ask him to wed her. She probably wouldn’t even consider him for a partner.
Jack didn’t grant her a bow, or a farewell. He was too angry for niceties, and he departed the room swiftly, the door slamming in his wake.
He didn’t realize Alastair was in the inner garden until he was nearly upon him. The laird stood on the stone pathway by the roses, as if waiting for Jack to emerge from the music turret.