“Talk to him,” Maggie whispered into Emma’s ear before she nodded to the west where Finn was disappearing between the trees. “Now.” Maggie’s steely blue eyes did not allow for an argument before she turned to Vaughn, who still hovered nearby, and drew his attention away, setting him to work.
An insistent shove sent Emma on her way, and she reluctantly stumbled through the snow, her feet as cold as ice. The last time she had sought Finn out on an equally cold day, all had ended in a disaster. That day, she had angered him. And yet, here she was, going after a man who clearly could not care less about her. Why on earth did Maggie insist she subject herself to this torture? Was it not clear that Finn had set his sights elsewhere?
Again, the day of her father’s burial surfaced in her mind, and instantly, her traitorous heart had hope.
Cursing under her breath, Emma stumbled onward, trying her best to convince herself that Finn’s kindness that day had indeed been nothing else but that, kindness.
Her eyes fell on branch after branch as she followed in Finn’s wake. A distant part of her mind urged her to pick them up, reminding her of why they had come out here in the first place. Still, Emma could not bring herself to heed those thoughts as she was too busy trying to hold utter panic at bay. What on earth was she doing following him? What was there to say? What should she−?
“Oh!”
It was nothing more than a breathy sound that escaped her lips as her eyes fell on Finn. He stood beside a large fir tree, in the process of cutting off one of the lower-hanging branches. His hands were steady, and the rhythmic sounds of the saw ought to have alerted her to his presence even before she had stumbled upon him. Her mind, however, had been too distracted.
Finn, too, seemed to have been elsewhere with his thoughts for the moment her breathy “oh” filled the air, he flinched as though a shot had been fired near his head. His right hand slipped, and the saw’s teeth scraped over the back of his other hand, drawing blood.
A curse flew from his lips as he spun around, holding his injured hand to his chest. Then his eyes met hers, and he all but stumbled backwards until his back collided with the tree. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, and yet, his gaze remained hard.
More than anything, Emma wanted to turn around and run, but the sight of a drop of his blood running down his hand and dripping into the snow held her in place. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her suddenly warm feet carrying her closer. “I didna mean to startle ye.”
Finn’s teeth gritted together as he stared at her, seemingly at a loss for words.
Still, Emma stepped closer, wondering where the sudden courage had come from to approach him in such a direct fashion. Perhaps it was not courage, she thought as her gaze once more dropped to his injured hand. Perhaps it was simply that his pain was hers, and she could not bear it.
“Let me help ye.” Drawing a handkerchief from her pocket, Emma approached him, her eyes on his to gauge if her doing so would displease him. Although his eyes remained hard, he did not object nor draw away.
When she came to stand in front of him, Emma had to lift her chin to look up into his eyes. It had been seven years since they had last stood this close together, and his warm breath as it fell onto her skin sent tantalising shivers down her back.
A sudden desire rushed through Emma’s body, and for a moment, she feared she would lose all control and kiss him again.
Biting her lip, she forced her eyes down to his injured hand. “It’s not deep,” she mumbled as she gently wrapped her handkerchief around his hand, tying a small knot to keep it in place. “I think ye’ll live,” she whispered as her eyes found his once more, a hint of humour in her voice that surprised her as much as him.
For a split second, his lips seemed to quiver as though wishing to curl up into a smile, and Emma’s heart almost leapt out of her chest.
“What are ye doing here?” Finn suddenly asked, his sharp voice cutting through the soft bond Emma had felt in her heart. “Should ye not be by Vaughn’s side?”
As though slapped, Emma took a step back. “Vaughn? No, I…” She glanced at the branches in the snow. “I came to help ye collect these.”
Stepping away from her, Finn picked up the two branches by his feet. “There’s no need. I can manage.”
Coldness reclaimed Emma’s body, and her foolish heart sank. “I heard ye plan to go to England with Garrett.” Wherever had that come from?
Finn blinked, his gaze returning to hers as his brows drew down. “Where did ye hear that?”
“Is it not true?” Emma pressed, cursing her tongue for it would only get her in trouble. And yet, she had to know if what Maggie had said would indeed come to pass.
Crossing his arms, Finn cocked an eyebrow, clearly unwilling to answer her unless she answered him first.
“Maggie told me,” Emma finally said, feeling her heart calm with the familiar back and forth of conversation. “I believe she heard it from Ian. Why? Was it to be a secret?”
Inhaling a deep breath, Finn shrugged. “Nah, I’m merely surprised ye know as I only mentioned it the other day.” He sighed, and for a reason Emma could not understand, his face suddenly darkened. “News travels fast, ‘twould seem.”
Emma
