Falling for the Highland Rogue

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘This is Mrs West,’ Lady Selina said, moving closer to her husband and looking even smaller against his bulk. The Gilvry men seemed to like small woman. All except Logan. Or perhaps she was wrong about that.

  ‘She asked for Logan,’ Lady Selina continued. ‘Mrs West, this is my husband, the Laird of Dunross.’

  Her husband gave his wife a glance that spoke volumes. Lady Selina nodded.

  ‘How did you find your way here?’ the Laird asked in that dark dangerous voice, his eyes not at all friendly.

  ‘Lord Sanford gave me directions.’ He’d taken some convincing, too.

  Lady Selina gave a little start and if anything the Laird’s gaze became more intense and more unfriendly. ‘I see,’ he said.

  ‘I understand I am not welcome here,’ Charity said, suddenly tired of it all. Tired of being the object of scorn. Tired of being glared at. ‘I will write my letter and leave. If you would be so good as to give me a moment.’ She turned back to her letter with no idea what to write.

  ‘Ian,’ a new voice said. A voice she knew all too well despite its diffidence. ‘Angus said there was someone from Edinburgh looking for me.’

  Once more she turned on her chair. This time her heart was so high in her throat she could not breathe. Lord, let her not show how his voice made her quake inside. Let her be cold. Reserved. Practical. But as her gaze rested on his face, her insides weakened unbearably. It was Logan, but he looked different. A shade older. A shade harder. As if the purity she had sensed in him had been worn away, leaving a more cynical, less trusting man. That was her doing.

  The pain of it nearly doubled her over. She steeled her face into calm indifference and put down the pen.

  ‘It seems Mrs West has important news.’ Lady Selina’s gaze dropped to Charity’s waist.

  Instinctively, Charity covered it with a hand at the same moment she saw the pity on the other woman’s face and realised what she must be thinking. Her pity must be all for Logan. ‘No,’ she gasped. She shook her head, coming to her feet. ‘It is nothing like that.’

  Logan remained in the doorway. He folded his arms across his chest, his face expressionless, his eyes forest green and hard. ‘Perhaps I could have a few words alone with Mrs West,’ he said, looking at his brother, ‘since she has journeyed such a long way to see me.’ The bitter edge to his voice carved a hole in her chest.

  ‘Of course,’ the Laird said grimly. Lady Selina looked doubtful, but her husband caught her arm in his and led her out of the door.

  Logan didn’t move. Nor did he speak. He just waited, standing as cold as a stone statue.

  Why, oh why, had she not just sent a letter? Because he pulled at her the way a lodestone pulled at iron filings. She who for years had been stronger than steel. She forced herself to meet his cold gaze. ‘I apologise for arriving unexpectedly,’ she said, feeling her way in the face of such grim unfriendliness.

  ‘Why are you here?’ He also glanced down at her belly. ‘If it is not for the obvious reason.’

  The question was a crack in his guard. It provided her with a voice. A very small voice. ‘I found something among Jack’s effects I thought you should see.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t mean that. I mean why did you bring it?’

  Hadn’t she been asking the same question over and over again? ‘Sanford thought I should not risk the mail. If it went astray...’ She glanced down at her feet, unable to meet his chilly stare any longer. ‘I thought there was some urgency to the matter.’ She shook her head. ‘I was delayed by a storm.’

  Oh, why was she bothering to explain? She opened her reticule and held out the letter. His gaze didn’t leave her face. The bleakness was hard to see. Too painful for her heart to feel.

  The rogue was gone. In his place stood a hard, cold man.

  ‘Here,’ she said, thrusting it towards him. When he didn’t move, she tossed it on the writing desk. ‘I will leave it then.’ Hot tears welled in the back of her throat. She swallowed them down. Surely she had cried enough. She strode for the door. Eased passed him and made her way down the stairs.

  He would read it. He would see it was important. Or he wouldn’t. There was no more she could do. As Lady Selina had said, she had already done enough damage. She should never have allowed herself to dream of a future with him, even if only for a short while. She’d allowed him into her heart. Seeing him so cold, so distant, hurt worse than she would have imagined.

  If she truly had caused this change in him, she was sorry for it. She had intended only the best for him. She could not bear the idea that he hated her so deeply.

  But perhaps that was also for the best. The tears welled up all over again. She dashed them away, with a furious sniff. There was no reason to cry.

  At the bottom of the stairs the butler handed over her cloak. She marched down the outside steps. Heartsick, she headed for the gate.

  * * *

  To the echo of the light patter of her feet on the stone steps, Logan unfolded his arms and unfurled fists clenched so tight, his knuckles cracked as they opened. If he hadn’t gripped them so hard, he would either have shaken her where she stood for risking her life by travelling alone, or dragged her into his arms. Neither of which would have been the right thing to do. If he touched her, he would never be able to let her go.

  Why did she have to come now?

  He’d settled back into his life. Put her out of his mind. Forgotten he’d ever met the bloody woman. At least when he concentrated, he could forget her beauty and her lies. He glared at the half-started letter, prowled across the room to look at the few words on the paper. Dear Mr Gilvry. It seemed she had already forgotten his first name. I am sorry I missed seeing you... And there it ended, in mid-sentence. As he suspected, she had planned to leave without speaking to him.

  And he’d hared up here like a jackrabbit chased by a hound when Angus had described the Englishwoman who had called. Like a cur called to heel, more like. He wouldn’t allow it. He would not play her game any longer.

  The hollowness in his chest ached worse than usual. He rubbed at it with his fist, drawing in a breath to ease it and inhaled her lingering perfume, something of flowers and dark spices. Like her, sweet with dark cutting edges. It reminded him of her kisses and her nails on his back— No, he would not think about that. His brush with Charity, his fool-headedness as Ian had called it, had nigh on brought his family to ruin. Only Ian’s quick thinking had given the gaugers nothing to see, but a man’s usual barrel or two in the undercroft. The rest of the stores had been hidden in the cave near Balnaen Cove. And Jack’s death meant there would be no retribution. A lucky escape.

  He picked up the folded piece of paper she had brought, tapped it against his thumb. She had travelled a long way to bring this. She must have thought it important. He unfolded it and glanced at the words. It was a note to O’Banyon dated the day before the duel. Kill him and ruin them, I want it finished. Now. No signature.

  A warning that Jack’s death had not ended it. Their enemy was still out there. Waiting. It was a courageous thing she’d done, braving the journey to carry it here. She must have guessed what sort of welcome she would get.

  He’d seen it in her face. Resignation. Yes, and determination, too.

  He lifted his head, listening to the wind buffeting the walls and her footsteps fading on the stairs. He had to strain to hear them. Unless he was just hearing them in his mind. She must be to the ground by now.

  She would go and that would be an end to it.

  There had been no carriage waiting in the courtyard. No horse either. Which meant she had no means of transport. His back teeth ground together so hard, he thought they would crack.

  He raced down the stairs.

  She was already crossing the bailey to the gate when he emerged into bright sunshine. He paused on the top step, watchi
ng her feminine walk, the sway of her hips, the proud tilt of her head. If you didna’ look at the manner of her clothes, you would know her for a lady. Lady Charlotte Westlake, Rawley had announced, when they left the field of honour.

  She’d never said a word about being a noble lady. But from here, from this distance, he could see her pride. The pride that made her fight like a she-cat for what she wanted.

  And she didn’t want him.

  The ache spiked. The way it did every time he recalled her intention to return to Rawley.

  So why had she made the journey instead of sending it by mail? And why did he feel this flicker of hope? Was he just too stubborn to believe he had made the wrong choice?

  Wasn’t Charity just like Maggie? A woman who had lied to his face to get what she wanted. Hadn’t he known it all along? And still he found her irresistible.

  He ran down the rest of the steps and caught her up in the cool dark shadows beneath the arch. She must have heard him coming, somehow known it was him, because she kept walking. He could not see her face in the shadows. When they stepped into the sunshine her expression as she glanced up at him could have frozen the water in the moat they were crossing.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said. The frost in her voice sent a shiver down his spine.

  But there was more than frost in her voice, there was also weariness and sadness. As if he had somehow caused her more pain.

  Did she still blame him for Rawley’s wound? You would think the damned Englishman would have told her it was Growler who shot him.

  Still he could not see her wandering unaccompanied around the countryside. ‘Where is your carriage? And your luggage.’

  A crease furrowed her brow. ‘I do not have a carriage or much luggage. I came by ship and then by carter. It was the only conveyance coming to Dunross before next week. My luggage I left at the inn where the carter put me down.’

  ‘And the return journey?’

  She stared straight ahead. ‘The carter will pick me up at the tavern in the morning and take me to the nearest stagecoach stop.’

  She’d be gone in the morning. His gut gave a sickening lurch. He should be glad she was going so soon. Knowing she would be in Dunross for even one night was like a blade digging around in an open wound.

  They were already passing the first of the peat-roofed small stone houses of the village. They would soon be at the inn. ‘I will take you to the ship in the morning, in Ian’s carriage.’

  She halted and turned to face him, her face unreadable. ‘I would prefer it if you did not.’

  He lifted his head and stared at the deep blue of the sky. Why? Why had she come to trouble him again? To turn his world upside down? He knew she wasna’ as coldly calculating as she appeared, but he wasn’t sure she knew it too. And he could not stop the nagging worry in his gut. ‘A lady can hardly be travelling in a carter’s wagon alone. I refuse to take no for an answer.’

  She stiffened. ‘You must do as you please.’

  Which meant she would likely not be there in the morning. She would probably walk to the coast to avoid him. ‘Damn it, Charity.’ He winced. ‘Now you have me cursing at you. I apologise, but you really have me confused. Why on earth did you come all this way yourself, when you could have sent the note by mail?’

  She glared at him. ‘I came because I thought the note was important. To make sure it was received.’

  ‘Then I must thank you. I will make sure it gets to my brother.’ He hesitated, but there was no way of holding back his question, he had to know. ‘Are you done with your Englishman already, then, or did he not want you?’

  She recoiled as if slapped in the face.

  He wanted to hit something when he saw the hurt in her face. He had not intended to cause her pain. But for some reason that glimpse of hurt made the wee bit of hope burn brighter.

  ‘Well?’ he asked a bit more harshly than he intended.

  A man in a cart, with two children beside him, drove by them. The man gave a nod. Logan raised a hand in greeting, but he did not take his gaze from Charity’s face. If the walls didn’t come down now, then they never would. And he would just have to get used to his lonely existence.

  ‘I brought the note. Let us leave it at that, shall we? What is the use of further discussion? It is clear that you don’t trust me. I see it in your face.’

  Once more her claws ripped him apart and laid him bare. ‘I want to trust you,’ he said slowly. Because there would never be anyone else for him. He hadn’t be able to so much as look at another woman since he left Edinburgh.

  She picked up her pace. ‘Very gratifying, I am sure.’

  But not good enough.

  Something was happening inside him. A growing feeling of dread that he was making a terrible mistake. And that if he got this wrong, she would pay the price. He took a deep breath and caught her arm, bringing her to a halt, turning her to face him. ‘I told you about the lass from the village. The one I nearly married.’

  She tensed. ‘I remember.’

  ‘She tried to pass off another man’s child as mine. After that I wasna’ very trusting.’

  Shock filled her face. ‘You think I came to play you such a trick?’

  ‘No! That is not what I was saying. Let me finish.’ What was he trying to say? ‘When I see what my brothers have—the love, the joy—I knew that was what I wanted. Not some lass using me for convenience.’

  The wariness in her eyes deepened. ‘Of course. I understand perfectly.’ She tugged at her arm to free it.

  ‘Charity, stop. When I saw you on your knees beside Rawley, looking at me as if I had cut out your heart because you thought I shot him—’ He shook his head to clear the vision from his eyes. ‘I couldn’t do it. Not make you wed me. Not if it was him you really wanted.’

  Her eyes glittered with unshed moisture, yet there was an odd smile on her lips. ‘You fool.’

  ‘Aye,’ he said around the lump in his throat. ‘I was. I am.’

  ‘I thought you’d killed him.’

  ‘It wasna’ me who shot him. But from the look of terror on your face, I knew—’

  An odd smile curved her lips. ‘I was terrified. For you. I thought they’d hang you. For defending my honour—’ She choked on the word. ‘It was you I feared for.’

  The blood drained from his head. He felt dizzy from a lack of blood. ‘You were scared for me?’

  ‘Of course. I...care for you. To lose you to a hangman’s noose and know it was my fault... It wasn’t to be borne.’

  He shook his head. ‘That is not what you said, when I asked you if you loved him.’

  ‘You didn’t ask. You told me.’ She huffed out a breath. ‘After all the trouble I caused you and your family, I thought perhaps it was for the best. I thought you would be better off with some nice innocent Scottish girl. And I was right. Your family thinks so, I can tell.’ She averted her face. ‘Fool that I am, I just could not stay away.’ Her voice sounded husky.

  He cupped her jaw and brought her face around. The tears had spilled over and were sliding down her cheeks.

  ‘Leannan,’ he murmured and opened his arms.

  Quietly she moved into them and rested her head against his shoulder and he felt her shoulders shaking. Not wild sobs born of fear, but something infinitely quieter and sadder that caused his heart to squeeze painfully. ‘It is all right, mo cridhe,’ he said softly, manoeuvring around the ridiculous feather in her hat to find her velvety-soft trembling lips.

  He put his heart and soul into his kiss and prayed she would know this was their last chance. After this there could be no going back, because if she left him again he likely would not survive.

  When they broke apart, she looked up at him, tears clinging to her lashes, her soft pouting mouth rosy red and her eyes soft and misty as a summer mornin
g. ‘Oh, Logan, this is so selfish of me. You deserve so much better. You know the kind of life I have led. You came to me pure and good and I corrupted you. You can’t know how heavy that guilt lays on my shoulders.’

  Corrupted? He tried not to chuckle, though he wasn’t sure he managed to control his face completely when she frowned. ‘If you knew the thoughts going through my head, lassie, from the very first time I saw you and still going on, you wouldna’ be talking about you corrupting me.’ He gazed at her, hard, trying to make sure she understood. ‘It goes far deeper than lust. Whether we like it or no’, we fit together like two spoons in a drawer. I admire your resourcefulness. I liked you even when we were on opposite sides.’ He took a deep breath. He shook his head. ‘I should never have let you go. Too much pride.’

  ‘But your family. I couldn’t bear it if they cast you off because of me.’

  ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘It is what my family did. When my brothers caught me with Rawley in the barn. At first it was Mark they blamed. I could see he was terrified that my brothers were going to kill him. So was I. He panicked, saying he was not the first. I didn’t deny it. I think I was in shock. My brothers told my father. And when Mark refused to offer marriage, my father threw me out. I went to Mark that night. But he feared his father would cut him off if he took me in and refused to see me.’

  ‘The miserable cur. I wish I had shot him.’

  ‘I don’t. I was infatuated, yes, but looking back I know it wasn’t love. If he had married me, you and I never would have met.’

  ‘Aye, there’s that about it.’ He gave her shoulders a squeeze and looked at her, feeling just a little hesitant. But nothing ventured as they said. ‘So if you know you dinna love him, can you know if you love me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I know. But I very much fear your family will not be pleased. Are you sure?’