As she drew nearer, he noticed the pulse at the base of her throat beat nearly as rapidly as his. But her gentle smile captured Logan’s attention. The idea that the ceremony pleased her did the same for him.
Brody smiled at his sister. The boy’s joy was contagious, and an odd buoyancy filled Logan’s chest.
Payne relaxed his perpetual scowl, and Mrs. Bingsley nodded in approval as Fiona halted next to Logan.
“You are lovely,” Logan whispered as he took her hand, gently kissed her knuckles, then tucked that hand into the crook of his arm and pressed it tightly against his side. He searched her face, wanting her to be certain this was what she wanted.
“And you look handsome.” While nerves simmered in the depths of her eyes, no doubt lingered there. Relief swept through him as they turned to face the minister.
Fiona’s quiet voice reverberated through him when she repeated the minister’s words, “I, Fiona Marie Ainsley, take thee, Logan Michael Graham, to be my lawful wedded husband...”
Logan slid a ring on her trembling finger, then said his vows. Before he could believe it could have come to pass, the smiling minister pronounced them man and wife.
He squeezed Fiona’s hands as he held her gaze, needing to anchor himself in the moment by touching her. Next, the minster directed them to sign their names in the registry before the witnesses.
Afterward, his head still spinning, Logan escorted her across the green grass to their home where the breakfast she’d planned would be served. Brody bounced beside them, giving no sign that his ankle pained him, his happiness making Logan and Fiona smile.
“Would you join us for a repast?” Logan asked the minister.
“How kind of you.” The man nodded. “I must return home soon, though.”
They reached the dining room and Mrs. Bingsley announced, “The wedding breakfast is ready to be served.”
Payne looked rather pleased at the prospect.
While food would be good, it was the evening that Logan anticipated. He caught a ponderous look on Fiona’s face as they made their way to their seats.
“What is it?” he asked.
“’Tis curious that such a life changing event can be completed in a few short minutes,” Fiona whispered.
“Mayhap that is for the best. If it drew on overlong, more people might change their minds.”
To his surprise, she laughed.
Breakfast was a lively affair despite the small number of guests. Hot rolls, a variety of bread, ham, tongue, and eggs were served, followed by cake. The servants enjoyed the meal, along with a dram of whisky to celebrate the marriage.
The minster soon said his goodbyes and departed. Payne, Mrs. Bingsley, and the other servants returned to their duties, leaving Logan with Brody and Fiona.
“Is there anything you would like to do this afternoon?” Logan asked the two of them.
Brody bit his lip and looked at his sister.
She smiled. “Do you have a suggestion?”
“May we see some of the ruined parts of the abbey? With you? You mentioned you had more stories of this place.”
“A walk seems like a fine idea,” Logan agreed.
“But your leg—” Fiona began.
“Exercise often eases its tightness.” He patted his stomach. “Besides, I need to walk after eating so much.”
His remark caused Fiona to frown. “I don’t believe you ate as much as Brody.” She touched Logan’s shoulder as she walked past him. “We’ll have to see what we can do to improve your appetite. I will fetch my cloak.”
Brody shook his head. “You’re in for it now, Captain. She’ll be after you to eat all the time.”
Logan hid a smile at the lad’s forlorn tone. “Have you been on the receiving end of her concern?”
“Indeed, and may I suggest you do as she requests? Otherwise, she’ll hound you to death.”
“I appreciate your advice.” Logan knew he should try to eat more but rarely felt hungry enough to bother. “Why don’t you find Thorburn? I’m certain he’d like to accompany us.”
Brody hurried away to do as he’d asked.
Logan wasn’t certain how he felt about Fiona having noticed his lack of appetite. What else had she noticed?
***
That evening, Fiona smoothed her night rail as she waited in her new bedchamber. The softness of the linen did little to calm her nerves. It seemed as if she’d spent most of her time at the abbey with nerves dancing in her stomach, but never as intense as this moment.
She felt ill-prepared for what lay ahead even as she looked forward to it. How should she act, what should she do? Before her death, Fiona’s mother had shared the basics of what passed between a man and woman but, at the time, the information had been the least of Fiona’s worries.
Drawing a deep breath, she crossed to the hearth and extended her chilled hands toward the fire. Logan had been so kind and considerate all day. She need only remember that to ease her worry. He was patient with Brody, and she already cared for him. Her attraction to him surprised her. Mayhap, Sir Stirling truly had a gift for matchmaking.
The creak of the connecting door unraveled her calm. With bated breath, she turned and watched Logan slowly approach. In place of his kilt, he wore a burgundy robe, a hint of his bare chest visible. His limp was barely noticeable when he moved so slowly.
She hoped that was the reason for his slow gait, and not reluctance. Doubt settled heavily in her chest. How she wished she could read his expression. Should she have waited in bed? Was she doing this wrong already?
Firelight cast shadows that danced over his handsome features as he stopped before her. “Fiona.” He touched her unbound hair, which nearly brushed her waist. “You are truly beautiful.”
Somewhere, she found the courage to lay her hand on his chest, needing a physical connection to ensure this moment was real. “Thank you.”
“Is the chamber to your liking?”
“Aye.” She appreciated his attempt at conversation, but his hand held her attention as it glided from her hair to her shoulder to her arm, making her wish he’d kiss her.
“Brody is settled for the night?”
She nodded. “He was exhausted from the excitement of the day.”
“Are you?” His gaze held hers, asking another question she couldn’t begin to guess.
That left her only able to answer the one he’d asked. “Nae. Are you?”
“Nae.” He tenderly took her into his arms and kissed her, his lips firm against hers.
Fiona ran her hands along his shoulders, appreciating the breadth of them. The heat of his body seeped into her and she shifted, enjoying the strength of his hard angles against her soft curves.
He released her lips and pressed kisses on her cheek, then along her neck. She tipped her head back to give him better access, reveling in the desire washing through her. His hands roamed along her back then held tight to her waist.
She slipped her hand into the opening of his robe. A scattering of coarse hair covered his warm chest. Did she dare explore further? Was that permissible?
He moaned as he leaned his forehead against hers and drew in a ragged breath. “I’ve been thinking about this night for some time,” he whispered.
She pressed her lips to his, then against his neck just as he’d done to her. “As have I.”
“I do not deserve you,” he muttered. Then he kissed her long and deep, his tongue taking command of hers, demanding a response.
Passion curled through her and caused a pulsing ache low in her belly. She wrapped one hand around the back of his neck to draw him closer. He lifted her into his arms, as though she weighed nothing more than a pillow.
“Logan,” she said on a gasp, worried about his bad leg.
“Have no fear, my sweet.” He slowly crossed to the bed, where the covers had been drawn, and laid her down. “I believe I could carry you anywhere.”
He shed his robe and let it fall to the floor.
Her gaze devou
red his naked chest with shy delight. How lucky she was to have this handsome man as her husband. Those broad shoulders she’d admired from the day they’d met tapered to narrow hips. His muscled arms and chest caused her mouth to dry. No wonder he’d lifted her so easily. But the sight of his manhood took her aback. She dropped her gaze. He seemed far too large to accomplish what she thought they were going to accomplish.
“Logan.”
“Aye.” He lay down alongside her and kissed her just below her ear.
Tingles ran down her arms in the most wonderful way, causing the tips of her breasts to tighten. Then his finger traced small circles along the neckline of her night rail, and her question fell away. That finger captured her entire focus as it circled closer and closer toward her breast. Her body throbbed as moisture pooled between her legs. Then that finger reached her nipple, and she arched in response.
“Do you have any idea how lovely you looked, standing before the fire just now?”
Her mind could hardly grasp his words as pleasure coursed through her. “Oh?”
“I could see the length of your legs, the curve of your hips, the dark shadow of your nipples.” His low tone and the sweet seduction of his words were like a second caress that invaded all her senses. “I could hardly wait to touch you. To make you mine.”
“Aye.” Once again, doubt fell away. This man was her husband, and she wanted him to be hers in every way. “To have and to hold,” she whispered, remembering their vows.
His hand captured the fullness of her breast. She’d never felt anything so glorious. “To have and to hold,” he repeated. His mouth took hers once again, and he shifted. His hand flattened on her bare thigh and continued upward beneath her gown.
A sense of urgency swept through her. She wanted him to touch her intimately, to fill the emptiness inside her. When his fingers stroked the bare skin of her hip, she quivered. Then he found the curls at the apex of her thighs, and she moaned with need.
She had to find a way to make him feel this same passion. She touched his shoulder, marveling at the muscled flesh, then his sculpted chest and the flat plane of his stomach. Now she could feel the heat and firmness of his manhood pressed against her hip. She reached for him, shocked by the velvety softness.
He ran his fingers along the folds of her center, finding the moistness there. “Aye. Perfect.”
He continued to murmur encouragement as strange feelings rolled through her. He seemed to know her body better than she did.
His fingers found a rhythm as he caressed her intimately, and she attempted to do the same as she touched his manhood. But before more than a few moments passed, he removed her hand. “No more. Not yet. Now I would see you. All of you.” He sat up and pulled her night rail over her head.
He tossed the garment to the floor, and she resisted an impulse to cover herself. But the urge quickly passed as he looked at her so reverently. He eased her leg aside and settled between her thighs. The press of his manhood at her opening gave her pause.
“Hold tight, my sweet.”
Before she could ask just what she should grasp, he entered her. She gasped at the brief stab of pain. Logan held still, kissing her as her body adjusted to his invasion. As he shifted, she realized she no longer felt uncomfortable. Far from it. With a groan, he withdrew then plunged into her, as if he couldn’t help himself. Relishing his powerful need, she arched her hips to welcome him.
In a dance as old as time, they learned each other’s bodies, wants, and needs. Pressure built deep inside her, climbing toward what she didn’t know. “Logan?”
“Let us take this leap together.” He reached between them to touch her slick folds once more, and stars shimmered behind her eyes as her body flew over an edge she hadn’t known existed.
Logan groaned as he thrust into her once more, his features fierce before softening as he took a shuddering breath.
The weight of his body on hers was wonderful. The sensation of being one with him linked them in an elemental way.
After a few moments, he lifted onto his elbows, his gaze sweeping her face. “Fiona.”
The reverence in his expression and in his tone squeezed her heart. Had their joining meant as much to him as it had to her? She could scarcely believe it.
He kissed her again, slowly, gently, bringing tears to her eyes. Was this what she thought it was? Could she be falling in love after all?
Chapter Six
Logan tossed, the covers tangling around his hips as the nightmare scent of gunpowder, the roar of cannons, the cries of men—his men—shattered the once peaceful hills of France. Soldiers fell, while those still standing fought on.
“Push forward!” he shouted to his men, determined to take the hill, as ordered.
He led the charge, but the steep and rocky hillside slowed their advance, as did the rifle blasts and cannon thunder that rained death into their ranks.
Logan halted and yanked his Baker Rifle to his shoulder. He aimed and hit the French soldier barreling toward them. He no longer heard his weapon fire, nor did he feel the recoil. Not after so many shots. As he quickly reloaded, he took stock of his men. They should’ve crested the hill by now. Their current position left them too vulnerable. A smoke-filled haze hung in the air, making the top of the rise difficult to see, but he knew the enemy held the crest.
When his superior officer had ordered him to take the hill, he hadn’t cared that Logan’s men were exhausted and outnumbered.
“Where’s Henderson?” he shouted.
Duncan shook his head, which struck an emotional blow that sent Logan reeling.
Damn and blast. They’d already lost fifty men. How could they capture the hill?
Loud cries punctuated the gun and cannon blasts.
Logan turned to see the enemy racing down the hilltop. “Fire!” he cried, and raised his gun as he dropped to his knees. “Fire!”
He pulled the trigger. One man fell. Graham leapt to his feet and drew his sword in time to stab a wild-eyed soldier running at him. On and on he fought until he staggered with exhaustion, his arm too heavy to strike another blow. The metallic stench of blood filled the air, coated his uniform, turned his stomach.
His eyes stung, whether from the smoke or the thought of how many he’d killed, he didn’t know. He searched the area only to have his heart stop.
Dead.
So many dead.
Bodies often piled two high. His men. The enemy. The colors of their uniforms no longer important. They’d taken the hill, but at what cost?
Then he spotted Duncan and Samuel, the two who’d fought by his side from the beginning of this damned war. Duncan’s eyes stared, but without the mirth Logan had come to expect.
“Nae!” Logan stumbled over bodies to reach his friend’s side, hoping to see Duncan blink. Logan bent and clasped his hand. “Duncan.”
A ragged cry startled him. Logan turned as an enemy soldier raised his sword. Logan released Duncan’s hand, drew his own weapon and rammed the blade through the soldier’s belly. The enemy toppled across another body.
A wet sensation on his leg caused Logan to look down. Blood flowed from a deep gash down his thigh. Trembling, he tried to sit, preferring to die beside the man he’d called a friend, but his knee wouldn’t bend.
“Damned leg,” he muttered. Then his vision darkened.
Logan woke, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. He sat up and ran a hand over his face to dispel the nightmare. Or should he say, memory? Just because it came unbidden in the night didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
Movement on the bed beside him caught his attention. Fiona. Damn. How could he have allowed himself to reach for happiness, let alone with Duncan’s sister?
He should never have agreed to the marriage.
Logan threw off the covers and reached for his robe, nearly stumbling in his haste. When Fiona learned that his orders had killed her brother, she wouldn’t look at him with such sweet tenderness and hope in her eyes.
If only he’
d refused those orders. If only he’d commanded his men to retreat when all seemed lost. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he could relive those seconds that had changed everything. Why hadn’t he died on that battlefield instead of Duncan?
He limped to his chambers, locked the door behind him and wondered how to lock away his heart, as well.
***
Fiona woke slowly, her mind and body humming with memories of the moments she and Logan had shared during the night. Happiness glowed deep inside her and gave her hope. Her feelings for her husband were bigger than she would’ve believed possible. If only Duncan were alive so she might thank him for indirectly introducing them.
She rolled over with a smile, only to find the other half of her bed empty, the sheets cold.
Disappointment swept through her.
Surely, she hadn’t imagined the intimacy they’d shared. Yet the vacant half of the bed made her wonder whether he’d found her wanting.
As she rose to wash and dress, the glow of happiness returned. Surely, she hadn’t imagined how special their wedding night had been. No doubt, she’d overslept. If she hurried, she might share breakfast with her husband. Husband. She smiled at the term.
Before making her way downstairs, she checked on Brody and found him still sleeping soundly. She went downstairs to the dining room but it stood empty.
She sat and poured coffee from the pot on the table. A moment later, a maid entered carrying a platter of ham and eggs. “Has the captain already dined?” Fiona asked.
“Nae, madam.” The maid frowned as if confused by her question. “He left early this morn.”
“Left?”
“To Inverness. On business.”
Sharp pain stole her breath. Why hadn’t he mentioned his trip?
***
“How long will he be away?” Brody asked at breakfast on the third morning, impatience lacing his tone.
“I don’t know.”
Fiona could only conclude that her new husband didn’t care for her as much as she cared for him. The dismal thought brought another wave of sadness that had her blinking back tears.
She’d filled the days seeing to Brody’s morning lessons, and spent the afternoons overseeing the changes she wanted to make in the house. Mrs. Bingsley had been quite helpful in locating rugs, pillows, and several comfortable chairs that had been stowed in the dormitories. The housekeeper explained that some of the furnishings came from Logan’s family home.
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 39