“How do ye ken that for sure, though?” Marcus continued to argue. “Because that just doesnae make sense. She might as well have just asked ye for an annulment. Or, continued to tell ye that she dinnae want to be married to ye. Eventually, ye would have sent her back to the abbey.”
Archer growled low in his throat. He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. He was done talking about it.
After he’d told Emilie to pack her things and left the library, Archer had retreated to find Marcus. He didn’t trust anyone else to take her to the abbey, especially not this late at night.
Especially not when there were still so many questions surrounding Finlay and what he would or would not do to stop Archer from outselling him.
He’d found Marcus in his workroom, bent over his sword as he sharpened it. And, the moment Archer had told his man-at-arms that he’d granted Emilie an annulment, it had been an argument.
And he was tired of it.
He’d done his very best to ignore Marcus, to evade his questions in the hope that his insistence would eventually wane. If anything, though, it had done the opposite.
Marcus only seemed more adamant that Archer talk and tell him everything.
“I daenae want to talk about this,” Archer hissed, “I’m done. Daenae bring it up again.”
Marcus opened his mouth to argue just as the doors to the castle opened. Archer’s heart dropped. He knew exactly who would be standing in the doors, and he didn’t want to see her.
And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from looking.
Emilie was standing at the top of the staircase, her frame silhouetted with the light of the castle. She looked like an angel, standing there and clutching something white to her chest.
“Where are yer things?” Archer asked as she began walking down the steps, more and more of her face coming into view as she stepped out of the shadow. “Are ye havin’ the servants bring them down?”
“This is all I’m takin’ with me,” Emilie murmured, dipping her head to indicate the thing she was gripping in her hands.
Archer glanced down, and it took him a moment, but eventually he realized what it was.
“Yer habit?” he asked, unable to stop the confusion from seeping into his voice. “Ye’re only takin’ yer habit? What about yer other things?”
Emilie turned to face him head-on then, and for the first time, he was able to take in every part of her. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, telling him just how much she’d been crying.
Her cheeks were also puffy, and a dot of blood danced on her bottom lip, as if she’d been chewing on it.
“I have nay other things,” Emilie answered in a hollow voice. “And besides, this is all I want to take.”
Archer gulped, imagining the swaths of dresses still in his bedchambers, the ones that he’d had made especially for her. He didn’t want them to remain up there.
He didn’t want to walk past the armoire every day and stare at it, knowing the contents resting behind its doors. He didn’t want the constant reminder that she had been there.
“I daenae want to keep them,” Archer said. “I’ll have a maid pack them and have them delivered to the abbey for ye tomorrow.”
Emilie shook her head.
“The nuns willnae allow me to keep any of it,” she said. “And I daenae want to take it. Donate it to someone in Thrums, if ye must. Or give them to Catherine. The girl would likely appreciate them.”
“Emilie…” Archer began, but she did not listen.
Instead, she turned away, walking past him. She was still clutching the folded habit to her chest as she reached the door of the carriage. Stopping before it, Emilie stared at the door with straightened shoulders.
Even at a distance, Archer could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her back was to him now, so he couldn’t see her face. But he got the distinct impression that she was once again fighting back tears.
“Thank ye for everythin’ Archer.”
The words were so soft that for a moment, Archer wasn’t certain that he had heard them. But when Emilie turned and glanced at him over her shoulder, giving him a soft, tentative smile of goodbye, he’d known that he had.
Marcus stepped forward, glaring at Archer before he pulled open the door to the carriage.