by Katy Baker
Logan didn't move. He just watched as they approached, arms hanging loosely. What did he think he could do against three armed men?
One of them lunged, his sword stabbing. Logan stepped to the left, allowing the man's thrust to take him past, then he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted savagely. The man gasped, his grip loosened, and Logan yanked the sword from his grip. He reversed the blade, smashing the hilt into the man's temple. He collapsed without a sound.
Logan didn't pause. He dodged under a wild swing from the second guard, smashed his knee into the man's groin, then, as he doubled over in pain, punched him square on the chin so hard that the man's head snapped back and he smacked into the dirt, writhing and groaning.
That left only the leader.
"Ye'll not find me so easy," he snarled.
He came at Logan like lightning, sword swinging. A jolt of pure terror exploded in Thea's chest as she saw a red gash open up on Logan's bicep. He grunted in pain but danced out of the way of the next blow, stepping close to the man and head butting him square on the nose. The man's nose exploded in a shower of blood and he crashed to his knees, clutching at his ruined face. Logan grabbed him and hauled him up by his shirt, holding his face close to his own.
"I said," he growled. "Get off my land. Now!" Then he hurled the man bodily away from him. The man went flying through the air and landed with a crash by the horses, which shied and whinnied in alarm. Pure fury twisted Logan's features as he lifted the other two men and flung them after their leader.
"Get out!" Logan roared. "Get out and tell the laird if he wants further orders he can send someone with some manners! If I catch any of ye on my land again, I swear by Holy God I will kill all of ye!"
Thea had no doubt he meant his threat. The men seemed to have no doubt either. They climbed painfully to their feet and mounted the horses. Kicking them into motion, they fled across the yard, up the hill, and were soon out of sight in the distance.
Logan watched them go, his chest heaving. Then he turned to Thea. His eyes blazed with fury and for a moment Thea felt a thrill of fear.
"Are ye all right?" he asked. "They didnae hurt ye?"
Something inside Thea crumbled. She threw herself at Logan, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close. "Oh my god!" she muttered into his neck. "I thought they were going to kill you! Don't ever do that to me again!"
Logan stiffened under her touch as though he would pull away but then the tension leaked out of him and his arms came around her, pressing her close against him.
"I couldnae let them hurt ye," he whispered. "I willnae let anyone hurt ye."
Thea buried her face in his neck. It felt so good to be this close to him, to feel his chest against hers and his arms around her. He was sweaty from the forge but Thea didn't care. Then her eyes alighted on the wound on his arm, not two inches from her face and she stepped back.
"Shit! You’re hurt.”
He released her and glanced down at the cut. His arm was sheeted in red as though he wore a glove. Blood dripped slowly into the dirt. "It's only a scratch."
Thea fixed him with a hard look. "A scratch? Inside. Now. That needs cleaning and stitching."
His lips pressed into a line as though he would argue but Thea raised one eyebrow and cocked her head. He nodded then made his way into the cottage.
Once inside, Thea crossed over to the kettle that was always warming on the fire and shakily poured some hot water into a bowl. Logan sat at the table, a gasp of pain escaping him as he jolted his injured arm. The sight of all that blood made her stomach churn.
"Hold still," she instructed as she dunked a cloth in the water and began wiping the blood from his bicep.
For a wonder, Logan did as he was told. He sat still and silent as she worked, watching her with those dark, dark eyes. The water was soon tinged with pink and the cut was clean but deep, cutting almost to the bone. It would need stitching and keeping clean. She should go fetch Ailsa. The healer would know what to do.
No time, she thought. It needs stitching now.
She could dress a wound, treat a burn or splint a twisted ankle. But stitching a sword-slice like this? Without anesthetic?
She pulled in a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "Do you have needle and thread?"
"In the pot on the mantelpiece. And there's a bottle of whisky there too."
She fetched both, handing him the whisky which he opened and took a long swig. Thea cut off a piece of thread and threaded it through the needle. Then she dumped both in the kettle and put it back to boil.
"Why are ye doing that?"
"Infection," she replied. "They both need to be clean or it will fester."
After a few minutes she fished out the needle and thread and moved to stand by Logan's side. With gentle fingers, she probed the wound. A fresh wave of blood sheeted down his bicep and he gritted his teeth, taking another swig from the whisky bottle.
"Do it quickly, lass," he grunted. "I trust ye."
You do? she thought. Oh god. I'm not sure I do.
Then, before she could change her mind, she pinched the skin together and dug the needle through, pulling the thread tight. Logan hissed in pain but moved not a muscle and she quickly stitched the length of the cut. Thea marveled at his self-control. If it was her, she'd likely be writhing and screaming right now. She left a tiny opening at one end of the wound to allow any infection to drain out, then took the honey pot from the table, smeared the wound, then dressed it with a bandage ripped from a bed sheet.
It was done. Thea wiped her forehead with a shaky hand and stepped back, blowing out a long breath. A thin sheen of sweat covered her brow and her limbs felt weak. She staggered and caught herself on the table. Logan's good arm reached out to steady her.
She looked at him. He was so close. Seated not an arm's span away from her, she could hear his breathing and see the way his chest rose and fell under his plaid. His hand, where it rested on her arm, felt warm.
"You must keep it clean,” she said hoarsely. “It will need redressing every day and fresh honey applied."
Logan nodded. "Thank ye, lass."
"You're welcome."
She couldn't stand up anymore. Her shaking legs gave way and she slumped onto the chair opposite Logan and leaned her elbows on the table.
"Will they come back?" she asked. "Those men? I've met plenty of assholes like them and in my experience they won't take kindly to the beating you gave them."
Logan shook his head. "They willnae be back. The laird willnae allow it. He and I have an ...understanding. He'll know better than to send them anywhere near here again."
An understanding? Between the laird and a simple blacksmith? She remembered what she’d found in the stable. None of that gear fitted with the image of a simple blacksmith. Secrets swirled around Logan like shadows.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I had two brothers. We were always brawling when we were younger."
His quick answer didn't fool her. "And where are your brothers now?"
He glanced at her and then away. For a long moment he stared at the fire. Then he whispered, "Gone." Shaking his head as if to clear it, he drew in a deep breath and looked at Thea. “What is the book ye keep reading?”
It was a very unsubtle attempt to change the subject. They both had secrets. They yawned like a gulf between the two of them. Sometimes Thea longed to tell Logan the truth about where she’d come from and how she’d got here. At times she felt sure he would understand. At others she was terrified that he would think her crazy and turn her out of his home. And then what would she do?
"Irene gave it to me. It’s just a book of stories but I was hoping I might find a clue in there as to how to find her. Why would Irene have given it to me otherwise?"
Logan snorted. "Why indeed?” He sighed and leaned back in his chair, wincing as his wounded arm was jolted, and then climbed to his feet. "I must return to the smithy."
Thea's eyeb
rows rose incredulously. "You've got to be kidding! You can't work with that injury!"
"I must. Neither of us will eat unless I do." He strode to the door and out into the yard.
Thea watched him go, a little knot forming in her stomach. There he went again. Just as she thought he might be willing to open up he shut her out and left, unwilling to remain in her presence.
Fine. Let him keep his secrets. What did it matter to her?
She took Irene's book from the pocket of her dress, opened it on the table and began reading. She was about halfway through the book and so far she'd not found anything that might be a clue to why she was here. The poems and stories it contained were an eclectic mix. Some were long, rambling sagas about heroes she'd never heard of. Others were short humorous rhymes, some rude enough to make her blush. Still others seemed to be proverbs or moral stories put to verse. The book was beautifully illustrated with swirling scrollwork around the edges of the pages and pictures of strange beasts, flowers and stylized patterns. Thea guessed the tome would be worth a tidy penny to a collector.
There has to be something here, she told herself. I just have to find it.
She flicked through to a random page and scanned the title. It read Laird’s Curse. It was a poem about three brothers who made a pact with the Fae. As a result, they were cursed to be always alone and to wander the Highlands for all time. Her eyes were drawn to a particular verse.
The mark of the Fae burned into his skin, a brand for all to see, tis the sign of his fateful bargain, and the way to set him free.
Thea sat back. A tingle walked down her spine. Something stirred in her memory. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. She bit her lip, thinking through all she'd heard, all she'd learned since she came here. But the connection danced out of her reach the more she tried to grab for it.
With an exasperated sigh, she pushed the book away. It was starting to get dark. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned. From the smithy she heard the sound of hammer on anvil and shook her head. Stupid man! Didn't he realize he'd taken a sword cut to the arm today? He would tear it open if he wasn’t careful. Not that he'd listen to her, of course. Logan MacAuley was about as stubborn and pig-headed a man as she'd ever met.
Grumbling to herself she threw herself down on the bed, hands behind her head, and stared at the ceiling. The words in Irene's book swam around in her mind, chasing themselves into a knot that got ever more tangled.
Chapter 9
An almighty crash woke her. She bolted upright, heart hammering and looked around wildly. There was no sign of Logan and the candle had burned down to a stub, giving only the barest illumination to the small room. Then a blinding flash lit the room and another crack tore the air. The shutters rattled and over the howl of the wind Thea heard the hissing of rain outside. Another storm. And a big one.
Thea gulped. Holy crap, the weather in the Highlands could be wild. Memories of the storm the night she'd arrived crowded in on her and the little room suddenly felt oppressive. She remembered driving rain, howling wind trying to tear her from the path, freezing waves reaching up to yank her under. Then Logan pulling her to safety.
Logan!
Where was he? Surely not still in the smithy? He would be drenched and freezing if he slept out there in this.
"Idiot man!" she cursed aloud. What was he thinking?
She climbed off the bed, pulled the cloak Ailsa had leant her around her shoulders, and made her way to the door. As she opened it, the wind snatched it from her grasp and slammed it against the outside wall. Wind and rain pelted her so fiercely it drove her back a step. Leaning into the maelstrom, she grabbed the door and closed it firmly before fighting her way across the yard. She held the cloak tight against her body, pulling up the hood and trying to keep out the worst of the rain. Another crack of lightning revealed the yard awash with water. From the stable came the sound of Stepper's terrified whinnies.
Thea squinted ahead through the driving rain. She couldn't see any light shining in the smithy. She ducked inside and was glad to be out of the worst of the wind. The low eaves of the roof were dripping water but inside it was blessedly dry although it was as cold and drafty as a cliff top.
She looked around and spotted Logan lying on the pile of blankets he'd made for himself in one corner. She picked her way around the racks of tools and crouched by his side.
"Logan! Come inside. It's freezing out here. We can rig up a curtain across the room if you're still worried about my reputation. You’ll catch your death sleeping out here in this!"
He didn't respond. Thea leaned closer. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed and his copper colored hair making a halo around his head. The muscles in his face twitched as if he was dreaming and his sun-burnished skin had gone pale. A shiver of unease went through Thea.
"Logan?"
She grabbed his shoulder but snatched her hand back. His skin was like ice. "Logan!" she cried urgently. "You have to wake up!"
There was no response. Thea sat back on her heels, biting her lip. Tentatively she pulled the blanket away and inspected his arm. The bandage was still in place and looked clean enough but Thea knew that could be deceptive. She pressed a hand to his forehead and her palm came back wet with sweat.
"Logan!" she tried again, shaking him as hard as she could.
His eyes flickered open. They were bleary and unfocussed. "I had to do it," he whispered, his words slurred. "I had to make the bargain or we were all doomed." Then his eyes slid closed once more.
Thea hesitated. When she'd been ill Logan had picked her up and carried her as easily as if she was a doll but there was no way she'd be able to carry him back to the house. All she could do was make sure he was warm and dry until morning when hopefully his fever might break. Damn it all! What should she do?
She pulled back his blanket and burrowed in next to him, pulling the blankets over them both. She pressed her body against his, wrapping her arms around his broad chest. The cold from his skin seeped into her but she clung on, determined to warm him with her body heat. It was the only thing she could think to do.
His breathing evened out and she hoped he'd slipped into a proper sleep. She rested her head on his chest, listening to the thump of his heartbeat by her ear. It sounded strong and healthy. She shifted slightly, resting her head on his shoulder so the top of her head lay just beneath his chin. Outside the smithy the storm raged and howled, cracks of thunder splitting the sky and then flashes of lightning picking out the world in stark brilliance.
She lay awake for a long time, listening to the storm and the beat of Logan's heart, but eventually exhaustion washed away even the sound of the storm and sleep took her.
***
Logan opened his eyes slowly. Above him he saw pale morning light seeping through the rafters of the smithy roof. He blinked, trying to clear his sluggish thoughts. His memories were hazy. He recalled thunder and lightning. Had there been another storm? Or had he dreamt it? He'd also dreamt Thea had come to him in the night and they'd spent the night side by side, wrapped in each other's arms. He'd been having a lot of dreams like that lately.
A heavy lassitude filled his limbs and he felt weak and washed out. A dull headache pounded behind his eyes and he was ravenously hungry. Had he been ill?
He shifted and then froze as he spotted Thea curled up beside him. Her eyes were closed. A jolt of pure terror went through him, so powerful it was like he'd been stabbed.
No! He roared inside. No!
He rolled towards her, pushing her onto her back. She flopped like a landed fish. He shook her hard, making her head wobble from side to side. There was no response. Pressing his hand to her forehead he realized her skin was cold. She wasn’t breathing.
"Thea!" he bellowed. “Wake up, lass! Wake up!”
She did not respond.
He rocked back on his heels, his pulse thundering. Oh, Lord above! What had she done? He staggered to his feet and out into the yard. His limbs were so weak they co
uld hardly support him and he staggered to his knees on the wet ground, barely noticing as water soaked through his plaid. The words of his curse echoed in his head like rocks tumbling in an avalanche.
Alone shall ye always be. Only death awaits those who share yer life.
Lord help him, why had he allowed her to stay? He’d reasoned that as long as he kept his distance, as long as he slept in the smithy at night and left her alone in the house, she would be all right. And so it had been for days, until she’d come to him in the night.
Fool! he growled at himself. How could ye have been so careless?
Twice before he'd thought to test the limits of the curse and twice before it had bitten hard and deep, reminding him that there was no cheating the Fae. When he and his brothers had first made their bargain he'd taken work as a farm hand on a remote croft in the north. The family had been kind and he'd soon become careless, accepting a place to sleep by their hearth when they offered. Soon after that their cattle had begun to die and when one of the children suddenly took ill, he knew it for his curse and fled, before any other misfortune could befall them.
A second time he'd been wandering alone as night was falling. An old shepherd had offered him shelter in his hut and Logan had accepted, sure that one night wouldn't do too much harm. He'd woken in the morning to find the shepherd still and cold on his bed, eyes closed and a small smile on his face.
After that Logan had never pushed the bounds of his curse and kept everyone at arm's length. Until Thea.
Why didn't I send her away? he thought bitterly. Up to the castle. Or persuaded Ailsa to let her stay with them. Lord, anywhere would have been better than here with me! Look at what I've done! Lord curse me!
"Logan?"
He spun at the sound of the voice. Thea stood outside the smithy, rubbing her eyes.
Logan stared. "Thea?"
"Were you expecting someone else?"
He moved his mouth to speak but no words came out.
"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Logan shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Ye wouldnae wake, lass. I thought...I thought."