In her bedchamber, she’d added a floral Persian rug, two rather feminine chairs in a soft blue shade and a pretty woven throw across the foot of the bed. Next came Brody’s room, where she added a small desk and a chair. Then she turned her attention to the library, where she placed several rugs on the bare floor and added a settee to the two chairs that faced the hearth, which softened the stark atmosphere.
By the evening of the fourth day, anger at Logan’s prolonged absence filled her—which was better than the terrible hurt. If he regretted their marriage, then he needed to tell her. He couldn’t hide in Inverness forever, using the excuse of business.
Yet, as she settled into bed alone once again, she worried that he could continue to avoid her. Sleep eluded her for a long while, though she must have dozed because the creak of the front door opening awakened her.
The hour was late. Who would be about at this time of night? She rose to look out the window over the front of the house.
A full moon lit the area. She waited a moment, ears straining to catch any further sound. At last, her patience was rewarded. Logan stepped into view in the moonlight, cane in hand, as he limped away from the house in his shirtsleeves.
Joy filled her at the realization that he’d returned only to plummet. He hadn’t come to her. Where was he going at this hour of the night?
He paused to turn and look up, causing her breath to catch when it appeared as if he stared at her window. That was all the invitation she needed.
***
Logan heaved a sigh then turned away from the house. He’d hoped the fresh evening air would help him resist the urge to slip into bed with his wife, but no such luck.
His days away, filled with meetings and other business, had done little to dispel the darkness that had cloaked him since the nightmare. The guilt for not telling Fiona that he was responsible for Duncan’s death had crushed the happiness of their wedding day.
He couldn’t continue living in this limbo. It wasn’t fair to Fiona. He shouldn’t have married her. Nor should he have consummated their marriage. An annulment would’ve allowed her and Brody to return to their lives. Away from him. But he hadn’t been strong enough to resist her.
One more terrible mistake for which he couldn’t forgive himself.
The night air was unseasonably warm for the Highlands. He breathed it in, appreciating the freshness after his time in Inverness. His leg had become swollen and painful on this trip, as if his inner turmoil had a physical manifestation. Sitting in the coach hadn’t helped. Sleep was impossible, which left him prowling about rather than resting in the comfort of his bed.
Stars studded the sky, and the moon lit his way. If only his path with Fiona was as clear. He couldn’t walk far without making his leg worse. Though tempted to push himself, enduring physical pain hadn’t eased his anguish thus far.
Logan paused and leaned against a chapel wall. He missed Thorburn’s company. No doubt, the dog slept with Brody, an arrangement that Logan approved. After the lad’s many losses, he deserved that companionship.
Didn’t Brody’s sister deserve the same? The question sent a pang of longing through him. She deserved a true marriage rather than suffering further because of his inability to resist her.
Where did that leave him?
“Logan?”
His breath caught and he turned to face his wife. His mind stumbled over that fact. Wife. Or perhaps his thoughts tangled because he’d missed her.
She stepped closer, pulling a shawl tighter over her white night rail. “What are you doing out here?”
The sight of her along with her soft voice were a warm balm over his spirit. Her dark braid fell along one shoulder. Her wide eyes held caution. He was sorry to realize that his behavior had caused that wariness.
“Enjoying the fresh air.”
She frowned. “At night?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
She nodded. “Are you...well?”
Fiona deserved the truth. Or whatever version of it he could bring himself to share. “No’ truly.”
“Is it your leg?”
“In part.” Talking about the situation was even more difficult than he’d expected.
Fiona stepped closer. “I would help you, if I could.”
Emotions bubbled up, choking him, before he was able to draw a deep breath, as if he’d been set free.
Then she reached out and placed her hand on his.
And he was lost.
Chapter Seven
Fiona lifted Logan’s warm hand and placed it along her cheek. She needed the connection with him as much as she needed air. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Fear turned her mouth dry. This felt like a pivotal moment in their life together.
But only if she said the right thing.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t certain what that was.
As she studied him in the moonlight, she had no answers. She’d heard the pain in his voice and saw it in the twist of his lips. But he said nothing further.
“Logan, will you allow me to be your wife in full?”
His brow furrowed.
She stepped closer, the heat of his body warming her, giving her courage. “I want to be part of your life in every aspect.” She touched his temple. “Here.” She lowered her hand to briefly press against his heart. “And here. If you’ll have me, I would help you. With all things. Good and bad.”
For a moment, she thought she’d breached his defenses. Then he drew back and looked away.
Hurt swept over her. Should she protest? Beg? Yell? How could she get through to him? She’d come into this arrangement with determination, and she needed to find that strength again now. If she wanted love, she had to be willing to give it.
Did she dare take the risk?
“Logan—”
He shook his head, his gaze catching hers. “There are events you are unaware of.”
“Then tell me,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes as if unable to say more.
“I know you’re honorable. Kind. Tender.” She wished she knew what she might say that would ease his distress. “Duncan shared that in his letters.”
Logan sighed. “He was a good man. He never should have died. It should’ve been me.”
Grief threatened to overwhelm her. “Will you tell me of that day?”
Logan limped away a few steps, where shadows hid much of him.
Her breath caught. Would he refuse her request?
He faced her. “You have the right to know.”
She clenched her hands, her nails biting into her palms.
“Duncan was always the first to volunteer for anything that needed to be done. The men enjoyed his humor, his friendship, and his loyalty, as did I.”
Tears filled her eyes, a mix of pride and loss. “That was Duncan.”
“I told my commander that his order to take the hill was impossible. The enemy outnumbered us three to one, but my protest went unheeded.”
Imagining what her brother, Logan, and all the men fighting beside them had gone through caused her tears to fall.
“I should’ve refused,” Logan said, his voice gruff. “Better that I had faced court martial than lose so many good men.”
“Duncan wrote to me the day before that battle.” She wiped her cheek. “He knew the terrible odds, but firmly believed in the cause you fought for. He was honored to fight at your side, and said there was no one he’d rather make a stand with.”
“I let him down, along with the rest of my men.” Logan ran a hand over his face.
“War is horrible,” she said. “For the men who fight. For the loved ones they leave behind. As I told you upon my arrival, war changes all of us. I can’t begin to tell you how much Brody and I miss Duncan. There’s a hole in our lives that will remain forever empty.”
Logan closed his eyes.
“But isn’t it better to honor his life, as well as the other lives lost, by enjoying the freedom their sacrifice gave us? To find some joy, some happin
ess, even as we remember our loved ones who have gone before us, not just those lost in battle?”
He looked away.
“Duncan didn’t blame you. You shouldn’t blame yourself.” At a loss as to what more she could say, she held her silence and waited…hoped.
Several long moments passed before Logan drew a deep breath and met her gaze. “You are very wise, Fiona. I don’t deserve you.”
She bit her lip, uncertain what he meant.
He limped closer and took her hand. “I fear you received the poor side of our bargain. Not only are you wise, but beautiful and kind. Are you certain you want to share this life with me?”
She squeezed his hand. “Yes, I am. Because I—I love you, Logan. I know we haven’t known each other long, but there is no other word to describe how I feel. Mayhap because I felt as if I already knew you from Duncan’s letters. Or mayhap we’re meant for each other, as Sir Stirling so cleverly deduced.” The butterflies in her stomach threatened to lift her from her feet at the risk she took, but she forged ahead. “Whatever the reason, this feeling grows bigger each day. I love you.”
“Even the impatient, miserable parts?”
“All of you. From head to toe.” She smiled, in part to hide the hurt that he hadn’t said the words back. That was all right, she told herself. Given time, they would come. A quick prayer that it would be so bolstered her determination. “Now then, let us return to the house. I think a warm bath might ease your pain.”
“Fiona,” he began.
She didn’t know what he intended to say, but suspected she wouldn’t like it. Whether he shared an apology for not feeling the same as she or he requested that she not attempt to aid him, it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to hear it.
“Come. The night grows long. This cool air surely isn’t good for your leg.” She placed her hand over his arm and turned toward the house.
Though she wanted to run from the sting of his silence, she wasn’t ready to abandon hope. Not yet. With luck, her heart would withstand the wait.
***
The words were on the tip of Logan’s tongue as they approached the abbey, yet he couldn’t summon the courage to say them. It was as if he needed to hold them inside a while longer, to nurture the flame that already burned for Fiona until it grew stronger…until it burst from him of its own accord. And to make certain she hadn’t said those words out of pity or sympathy or duty. That thought was unbearable.
They returned to the house where Fiona roused a sleepy maid to heat water. Logan hated the fuss, but Fiona refused to listen to his protests, and promised the maid she could sleep longer come morn. The tub was placed before the blazing fire in Logan’s room. She located some of the herbs the cook kept in the kitchen to add to the steaming water.
Fiona left the bedchamber when Logan started to disrobe. He was soon soaking in the tub, the fragrance and heat easing his tension. Or perhaps the loss of tension came from having told Fiona his terrible secret—that he’d failed to save her brother.
He couldn’t quite believe she was prepared to let his failure go so easily.
When she returned to the room, he watched her fluff the bolster on his bed, turn down the sheets, and light a candle beside the bed. At any moment, he expected his words to finally sink in and take hold. Then she’d turn to him with anger flashing in her eyes and stern words on her lips instead of murmurs of love.
As the minutes ticked by and that didn’t occur, he realized he still watched her eyes, still stared at her lips, but now with a different hope.
That she’d look at him with longing in her eyes.
That she might lean over to kiss him with those lips.
Her graceful movements, her sweet lavender fragrance, her tender regard, flooded his senses.
Could she truly love him?
Hope and wonder filled him at the idea.
When the time came to rise from the tub, he retrieved one of the linens warming by the fire to wrap around his waist as his thoughts of her turned to passion. He couldn’t get the image of her in his bed from his mind.
She took another of the linens beside the tub and dried his back, her gentle ministrations an increasing torment. A glance at her focused expression made him realize that her thoughts didn’t mirror his.
“To bed, if you please,” she ordered.
How ironic that the words he wanted to hear didn’t carry the meaning he wished. In an effort to control himself, he placed his weight on his bad leg and focused on the pain, but even that didn’t chase away his desire for her.
Her silky skin glowed in the firelight. Her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, making her eyes appear even larger. How had he thought to turn away from this? Away from her? From the chance at a future together?
He sat on the edge of the bed, keeping the linen in place as he lifted his legs onto the mattress. But the cloth pulled back, revealing his damaged thigh.
“Oh!”
Her cry made him realize that, for the first time, she could see his injured leg, something he’d avoided on their wedding night. He knew how ugly the long, puckered scar was that marred his skin from the top of his leg to his knee. The muscle under the skin had been damaged beyond repair, which added to the odd appearance of his thigh. His knee pained him the most, a deep hurt not reflected by the slight swelling.
“My apologies,” he muttered as he quickly covered it.
Fiona pulled the sheet off just as quickly and continued to stare. He’d never felt more exposed—more vulnerable—in his life, as if all his faults were spread before her for examination, his mask ripped away to reveal his flaws.
“No wonder you’re in such pain. This is terrible.”
Her words had the desired effect on his arousal. She ran her hand along his thigh, and his breath caught. Her fingers explored the skin and scar. His gasp surprised them both.
Eyes wide, she looked up. “Does that pain you?”
“Nae.” In truth, her touch felt glorious.
“Truly?” she asked as she gently trailed her fingers along his leg.
He sighed, thoroughly enjoying the sensation. “Truly.”
Using both hands, she rubbed his thigh more firmly. The pain faded as she worked her way past his knee and then slowly back up. She bent and pressed a kiss on the scar, and his heart hammered in his chest.
“Fiona?”
“Logan.” A small smile curved her lips.
Was that awareness in her eyes? Did she have any idea how she was turning him inside out?
Why had he thought himself better off alone?
With the terrible ache eased, passion took its place. Memories of their wedding night added to his need—her sweet response, the joy they’d found together.
When her hand came alarmingly close to his manhood, he reached down to capture her wrist. “Fiona.”
Her gaze caught on the linen still covering his groin.
Unable to wait a moment longer, he pulled her close and kissed her, long and deep.
“Are you...well?” she whispered, and kissed his cheek.
In answer, he pulled her on top of him, then rolled until she lay beneath him.
Her lips parted in surprise. “That must mean yes.”
“Aye,” he muttered, captured her mouth, and poured what he couldn’t say into his kiss, hoping that, for now, it was enough.
Chapter Eight
Logan entered his library after breakfast only to stop short at the changes that greeted him. A rug graced the floor before the cheerfully burning fire. A settee and two chairs invited him to select a book and settle in to read. A woolen blanket lay over the arm of a chair. By the window, another, larger rug had been placed under his desk and chair. He recognized some of the items—reminders of his past—and couldn’t deny the comfort they gave him.
“Hmm.” Still studying the changes, he limped to his desk, rather enjoying the cushion beneath his feet. The surface of his desk gleamed and the faint scent of polish lingered in the air. Fiona had been busy wh
ile he’d been gone. This must’ve been why she’d left him abruptly after breakfast to speak with Mrs. Bingsley.
“Well?” Payne asked from the door. “Shall I haul it all away, Captain?” His gaze swept the new additions as though they might outflank him at any moment.
“I believe I like them,” Logan said.
Rather, he liked Fiona, and since she’d placed the items here, he liked them, too.
Except “like” wasn’t an appropriate description for his feelings regarding his wife. Far too tame. Everything she did warmed his heart and eased his soul. As when she’d whispered “I love you” as she’d unraveled in his arms the previous night.
“You do?” disbelief weighted Payne’s tone.
At Logan’s nod, the old servant gave a beleaguered sigh.
“Very well then.” Shoulders slumped, he turned to go.
“Payne?”
“Aye, sir?”
“We are going to do all in our power to make Mrs. Graham happy.” Logan leveled a pointed look at the man.
“We are?”
“Indeed, we are.”
Payne pondered the request for a few moments, as though searching for a way to fit the concept into his world. “Aye, Captain.” He nodded then left.
Logan drew back the drapes behind his desk to let in the sunshine. The Highlands looked especially beautiful this morn, their moodiness softened, much like his own. Mayhap Fiona would walk with him later. And Brody, as well.
He made a mental note to employ a tutor for the lad come autumn. That would give the boy time to settle in before starting more rigorous lessons.
Logan paused a moment longer at the window, marveling at the feeling coursing through him. A lightness filled his chest that he hadn’t experienced in some time.
Happiness.
No task was beyond his reach.
Except one—telling Fiona how much he loved her.
Scandalous Lords and Courtship Page 40