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.

“My laird,” Jack said, stopping abruptly.

Alastair granted him a wan smile. “Jack.” His bloodshot eyes dropped to the book in Jack’s hands. “I see you have Lorna’s music.”

Jack hesitated, suddenly feeling awkward. “Y-yes, I . . . Adaira gave it to me.”

Alastair began to walk in a slow, feeble gait. “Come, Jack. I’d like to have a few words with you.”

Jack’s stomach twisted as he followed the laird into the castle library. The doors shut behind them, enclosing them in the vast chamber whose air smelled of leather and old parchment. Jack watched as Alastair approached two chairs by the hearth, where flames burned despite the summer heat.

“Have a seat, Jack,” the laird said. “I won’t take much of your time.”

Jack obeyed, carefully setting Lorna’s composition across his knees. He opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it. Waiting, he watched as the laird proceeded to pour them each a dram of whiskey. Alastair’s hands quivered as he brought a glass to Jack.

“Sidra says I can have one knuckle’s worth a day,” said Alastair, amused. His face appeared even gaunter, as if he had shed more weight since Jack had first seen him, only days prior. “I try to save it for a special hour.”

“I’m honored, laird,” Jack said.

Alastair carefully lowered himself into his chair, and the men drank the whiskey. Jack’s mind sharpened; he didn’t know if Alastair was displeased or relieved to see Lorna’s music in his possession, and he was pondering what to say when the laird broke the silence.

“The sea has been calm today. I take it that you played ‘The Song of the Tides’ last night?”

“Yes, laird.”