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Chapter Twenty
No, I did not sleep well. But I get up at my usual time anyway and start my daily routine while forbidding myself to think about my wife. Aye, that works—for two hours. That's how long it takes me to shower, dress, eat breakfast, and abscond to my office before she wakes so I can bury my nose in work. But at the close of the second hour, I realize I forgot to wear socks. This won't do. My lack of socks makes it seem like I'm so frazzled by my wife's kiss last night that I forgot how to dress myself. I return to the bedroom to put on socks, then walk out onto the landing.
I glimpse Emery at the bottom of the stairwell, just exiting the vestibule.
How am I meant to avoid thinking about her when she turns up everywhere I go? Well, it is her home too. I can't lock her in my dungeon since, as I've told everyone repeatedly, I do not have such a room.
Shortly after I return to my office, Mrs. Darroch barges into the room. "Emery asked me to tell you she'll be outdoors all morning exploring the grounds. The lass thinks you need a break from her, but that's tosh. What you need, dearie, is to be with your wife, not avoid her."
"Ahmno avoiding her. I have work to do."
"Be nice to her, Rory. She's a lovely lass." Mrs. Darroch turns to leave, but glances back at me. "The last one didn't suit you, mo luran, but Emery is good for you. Donnae cock it up."
She marches out the door, shutting it behind her.
Mrs. Darroch assumes I want my wife to love me, or that I love Emery, and she knows nothing about our arrangement. Perhaps I am cocking it up, but not the way Mrs. Darroch thinks. I cannot let Emery think she means something to me, and I absolutely cannot let myself slide down that slippery slope.
It's easy to be fond of Emery. She's…endearing. Therein lies the slippery slope. I won't fall down it. Never.
Mrs. Darroch won't call me mo luran—"my darling boy"—anymore if she learns why I married Emery.
Several times during the day, I gravitate to the windows in my office to gaze out at the grounds and the forest beyond the castle compound. I see Emery returning from a walk, coming up the trail that leads out to the river. She shouldn't walk out there alone. She shouldn't need to be alone at all. Emery is the sort who wants to be with people, not like me, the Ogre of Loch Fairbairn who prefers to hide in a castle that has become my personal prison.
Emery heads into the house.
I stand here for a few minutes, debating whether to find her and…say something. Cheer her up. But I have no bloody idea how to make her feel better, and I don't want to confuse things between us even more than I've already done. Still, I know her belongings arrived late yesterday, and she might need help unpacking. I can at least carry any heavy items for her. That isn't romantic. It's polite.
First, I ring Mrs. Darroch on the landline to make sure where Emery is. "Do you know where my wife might be?"
"Said she was going to her bedroom."
"Thank you."
Now that I've rationalized my need to see my wife, and confirmed her location, I make my way up to the third floor and Emery's bedroom. The door is open. I step onto the threshold, taking in the sight of the ten boxes she has arrayed on the floor around her. Emery is kneeling on the floor. But she must've heard my footsteps because she'd been looking at the doorway when I appeared.
"This is a nice surprise," she says. "What's up, honey?"
"Mrs. Darroch said you were in here. Thought I'd help you unpack."
"I'd like that." She pats the floor beside her. "Have a seat and dig in."
Approaching Emery, I squat beside her and flip open the flaps of a cardboard box. One by one, I extract items of her clothing. Cardigans. Blouses. Skirts. Jeans. Her clothing got rumpled by the trip to Scotland, but it doesn't matter what she wears. Emery always looks beautiful, even in nothing but a terry-cloth robe. I sit back on my haunches and contemplate each item before carefully folding it and placing it in a stack of similar items. That way blouses don't wind up in a pile with jeans. It makes sense to me. Emery probably thinks it's more evidence that I'm uptight.
Peripherally, I watch her sort books and knickknacks, keeping some and dumping others back in the box once she's emptied it.
I pick up a crumpled blouse and fold it, settling it onto the appropriate stack. Then I notice it. The bizarre object looks like nothing I've seen before. Maybe I have an inkling of what it might be, based on its shape. Though I feel like I shouldn't touch the object, I need to remove it from the box. So I lay the item on my palm.
I clear my throat with deliberate emphasis.
Emery tosses a speckled, polished rock back into a box and glances my way.
Aye, I'm still staring down at the item poised on my palm. The long, cylindrical item with a rounded tip and a battery compartment on the opposite end. I tip my head from side to side while I mull the pink object. "What is this?"
"My vibrator."
I snatch my hand away, and the device plummets to the floor.
"Don't break it," she says, grabbing the vibrator. "Haven't you ever seen one before?"
