Who the blazes did he think he was, trying to prevent her from reaching Fitzwilliam?
Logan. In the few letters she’d received from Fitzwilliam, he’d never mentioned that name to her. She didn’t know the man, and she couldn’t think of a single innocent reason why he’d be so determined to keep her and Fitzwilliam apart.
But she knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt. Fitzwilliam wasn’t involved in it. He’d never do something so low—not to anyone, and especially not to her.
Whatever tricks this Logan was playing, Fitzwilliam didn’t know a thing about it, and what’s more, Logan wasn’t going to get away with it. She was here now, and she didn’t intend to leave without her betrothed. Grace’s future depended on Juliana’s securing a husband, and she would do so, no matter how many scoundrels she had to chase to make it happen.
She followed the man deeper and deeper into the countryside. Her determination to reach Castle Kinross never flagged, but as the ride dragged on into an hour, then an hour more, her energy did. It grew darker with every step they took—so dark, in fact, it took all of Juliana’s concentration to keep track of the man in front of her. She dared not follow too closely behind him for fear he’d hear her horse’s hooves trampling the dirt, but she also didn’t dare to fall too far behind, in case she lost him entirely.
It had been easy enough to trail after a man on the public road, but it was much harder now she was obliged to be quiet. Horses were large, unwieldy animals, and this poor horse had been deprived of her rest at Inverness. As they plodded along, mile after mile, the horse’s enthusiasm began to ebb. Juliana tried to soothe her with comforting caresses and murmurs, but at one point the horse let out a mournful whinny.
Logan, riding some distance ahead of them, came to a stop.
Juliana froze, her hand on the horse’s neck to quiet her. She was too far back to see if he’d turned his head to search the darkness, or worse, if he was coming toward her. All she could do was remain as quiet as possible, her breath held as she listened for the sound of approaching hooves.
None came.
The silence persisted until at last Juliana allowed herself to gulp in a deep breath. He hadn’t heard them creeping along behind him, after all. She was vastly relieved at it, but whatever comfort she felt vanished when she realized Logan had disappeared around a bend in the road, and she’d lost sight of him.
She urged her horse forward, her heart rushing into her throat. If she lost him, not only would it become impossible for her to discover Castle Kinross, but she would find herself out here alone in the Highlands. She’d been too focused on keeping up with Logan to mark her direction from the Sassy Lassie. She hadn’t the faintest notion how to get back to Inverness.
At the very least, she’d be trapped here through the night.
Juliana didn’t fancy a night alone in the pressing darkness of the Highlands. If hungry, wild animals lurked anywhere, it would be here.
She guided her horse around the bend and peered once again into the thick darkness before her, but she couldn’t discern any shape or movement in the gloom. The man, Logan, seemed to have disappeared.
Apprehension raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but Juliana threw back her shoulders, straightening in the saddle. What nonsense. Men didn’t simply disappear into the dark. He’d only pulled further ahead, that was all.
She urged her horse forward again, this time with a bit more noise and haste than was perhaps prudent. Worse, her nervousness made her clumsy, and she flinched as the horse stumbled over an outcropping of rock.
She brought them to an abrupt halt. “Are you all right, sweet girl?”
But she already knew the answer. The horse was fatigued, and so was Juliana. Under such circumstances there was a high chance of injury to either one or both of them. She hadn’t any other choice but to keep moving, but she couldn’t charge forward without first checking to see if the horse had sustained some hurt.
She dropped the reins, threw a leg over the saddle, and prepared to jump down from the horse’s back and check her legs for injury.
She never got the chance.
A long, hard arm snaked around her waist and jerked her from the saddle. Juliana let out a faint shriek and immediately began to kick and squirm to free herself, but it soon became clear she might as well have saved her energy.
Logan—for of course it was he, lying in wait for her—hauled her against a chest as hard and unyielding as a stone wall, and pinned her there with a pair of arms that felt like two iron bands squeezing her ribs.
“Sneaky bastard, aren’t you?” His deep voice was heavy with menace. “But not sneaky enough.”
Chapter Three
Logan had known for some time he was being followed.
A mile or so back he’d heard something—a horse’s gentle snort, or a muffled nicker—and every one of his senses had sharpened in warning. He’d jerked Fingal to a quick halt and spun around in his saddle, but when he peered behind him he saw only darkness.
He waited, his ears pricked. He heard nothing, but Logan never doubted his instincts. The noise had attuned him to his surroundings, and he could sense someone was there, hidden by the darkness.
He hadn’t heard them approach, and he didn’t know from what direction they’d come, but now he knew they were there, he became aware they’d been following him for some time. He had a warning feeling in the pit of his stomach, one he’d long ago learned not to ignore.
The dusk was thickening, but Logan nudged his heels into his horse’s flanks and eased Fingal into an easy trot, listening carefully for the sound of pursuit. Several long minutes passed in silence, but then he heard the faint thud of hooves hitting the dirt coming from behind him.
Whoever was following him was taking care to keep a careful distance between them, and that would be their downfall.
Logan and Fingal had trod this same pathway so many times before, they could easily find their way home in the dark. They knew every inch of turf between Inverness and Castle Kinross—every hill, every turn, and every outcropping of rock big enough for a mounted rider to hide behind.
His pursuer might know the road, but there was no way he knew it as well as Logan did. Logan simply had to get far enough ahead so the man would lose sight of him, then lie in wait, leap upon the scoundrel when he tried to pass, and drag him from his horse.
Careful not to show any haste that would betray him, Logan urged Fingal farther ahead of their pursuer, toward a curve in the road that wound sharply around a hill. Once they were on the far side, he dismounted, and waited.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The slow, hesitant hoofbeats drew closer, then so close Logan judged his pursuer was mere seconds from rounding the curve in the road…
A large, black shape emerged from the surrounding darkness. The rider, who was cautiously maneuvering the horse around the bend, didn’t have a chance even to attempt an escape before Logan pounced. He snaked his arm around the rider’s waist and with one hard jerk, dragged him from the saddle.
He was just about to throw the blackguard to the ground when a high-pitched scream made him freeze, his assailant still locked in his grip.
That scream. It had sounded almost as if—
“Unhand me at once, you…you…despicable villain!”
Even before the distinctly feminine cry met his ears, Logan realized something was amiss. The waist he’d grasped was far narrower than he’d anticipated, and the bundle now struggling in his arms weighed less than the saddle on the back of her horse.
Her horse.
His pursuer wasn’t a man at all, but a woman, and judging by her slight weight and the soft curves pressed against his chest, she was a wee one at that.
Wee, and…pungent. Good Lord, she smelled even worse than he did, and after days of hard riding he smelled like the very devil. Still, it wasn’t his pra
ctice to manhandle ladies, no matter if they did set his nostril hairs afire. “I’m not going to hurt you, lass,” Logan said, tentatively loosening his grip on her waist.
It was a mistake. She began kicking and writhing like a rabid animal to escape him, and he was obliged to haul her higher against his chest and pin her there to prevent her from hurting both of them. “Be still, will you?”
“Go to the devil, you scoundrel!” she spat, digging her small fingers into his arm in a fruitless attempt to free herself.
Logan stifled a strange, sudden urge to laugh. She might be a tiny little thing, but she had a wicked mouth. “You were following me, beag deomhan. That makes you the scoundrel.”
“Of course, I followed you! You made certain of that when you warned the innkeeper at the Sassy Lassie to conceal the location of Castle Kinross!”
Logan’s head jerked back in shock. This wily little chit had been following him since Inverness, and he’d only just caught her? He was never so careless as that. He’d made a number of enemies over the past few years, and had good reason to stay aware of his surroundings. He’d outmaneuvered more than one blackguard intent on spilling his blood. How could this wee slip of a girl have managed to escape his notice?
Even more to the purpose, she must be desperate indeed to reach Castle Kinross if she’d follow a strange man into the isolated moors in the dark. “Who are you? What’s your name?”
Her only answer was a furious huff, but she ceased her struggles, and after a moment she said, “Let me down, and I’ll tell you.”
“You’ll tell me anyway, lass. You’re not in a position to negotiate.”
“No position to flee, either. If you do set me down, where do you suppose I’ll go? It’s dark, and I haven’t the vaguest idea where I am.”
Logan couldn’t argue with that. After a moment’s hesitation he lowered her carefully to her feet. She jerked free of him and her chin shot up, her furious gaze meeting his. As soon as he got a good look at her, his mouth fell open in shock. “You’re the green-eyed chit from Gretna Green! The runaway bride!”
He stared at her, stunned. She hadn’t followed him here from Inverness at all, but all the way from Gretna Green! It was a four days journey, but he’d made it in three on horseback. How the devil did a lady no sturdier than a hummingbird keep pace with him? She must hardly have slept in the past three days. Good God, she was a stealthy one, to have kept herself out of his sight for so long.
“How the devil did you manage to—” He broke off as something occurred to him. “What have you done with that old fellow…er, that is, what have you done with your husband?”
She gave him a scathing look. “You don’t mean to say you believed he was really my husband?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You said so, and I’ve seen stranger things. Beyond that, I didn’t give it much thought. If he’s not your husband, then who is he? More to the point, lass, where is he?”
She bit her lip. “He’s my servant, of course. I left him at the Sassy Lassie in Inverness.”
Logan raised his eyebrows. “He let you go off alone?”
A guilty look crossed her face. “Not exactly. He, ah…well, there wasn’t time for me to tell him. I’ll ride back to Inverness tomorrow and bring him back with me.”
“You’re saying you left your manservant without a word of explanation to tear off into the dark, alone, after a man you spoke to once? You must be eager to speak to me, to have taken such a risk.”
She moved a step closer to him. “Very eager. You see, I need—”
“Sorry, lass. I can’t help you with that,” Logan said, shaking his head.
Her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean? I haven’t even asked for your help yet.”
“I’m not looking for a bride. The best thing you can do is head back to Inverness, collect your manservant, and get on back to England and beg your father’s mercy.”
Her mouth dropped open, and her cheeks flushed red. “For pity’s sake! You think I came all this way because I want to marry you? Why you arrogant, conceited…No. You must be jesting.”
“I can’t think of any other reason you’d come so far.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Can’t you? Very well, then. I’d be grateful indeed if you’d explain to me how you reached such a startling conclusion.”
Logan shrugged. “Some rake seduced you, lured you to Gretna Green, then took to his heels before you could get him up to scratch. I was kind to you, so you followed me, hoping I’d take the job.”
She stamped her foot. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”
“It wouldn’t be the first ridiculous thing to happen at Gretna Green. Just a few months ago some old English lord or other disguised himself as a woman to fool his grown children, and eloped with his housekeeper to Gretna Green. He was even wearing a bonnet…”
Her face was growing redder with every word out of his mouth. Logan wisely trailed off into silence.
“I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life. Of all the foolish, outrageous notions!” She paced back and forth, throwing her hands about and muttering to herself. At last she drew in a few deep breaths, and when she turned to face him again she was more composed. “I can assure you, sir, I wouldn’t even follow you across a street, much less across half of Scotland! Indeed, you’re the last man in the world I’d ever consider marrying.”
Logan’s lips twitched. “Not the very last. I’d wager you’d marry me before you would your manservant. I’m flattered, lass.”
It wasn’t at all funny, and it was never a good idea to tease a lady who was in a temper. Logan knew that well enough, but all at once the situation struck him as so ludicrous, he couldn’t help himself. Here they were, two strangers, standing on the Scottish moors in the dark, arguing about which of them least wanted to marry the other. What else was there to do but laugh?
His companion didn’t find it as amusing as he did. Not a flicker of humor crossed her face, and her green eyes were cold. “You’re wrong. I’d marry him in a heartbeat if I had to choose between you. Stokes is an honorable man, and you’re nothing but a thief.”
Logan’s grin vanished. He was a thief, and a liar too. The question was, how could some English chit he’d never laid eyes on before know it? “Oh? What did I steal, lass?”
She shot him an accusing look. “You stole my letter. I saw you through the window at the Sassy Lassie. It wasn’t addressed to you, but you took it, you read it, and then you tossed it into the fire.”
Logan stared at her, unable to utter a word. No, it was impossible.
Except she’d clearly said “her letter.” Her letter.
He’d only burned one letter when he’d been in Inverness.
The letter Lady Juliana Bernard had written to Fitz.
Logan had spent the better part of the ride from Inverness to Castle Kinross arguing with himself about that letter. A month ago, Fitz had received a letter from a friend in Surrey, and the man had mentioned Lady Juliana had become betrothed to some English marquess or other. That she’d found another gentleman to marry didn’t excuse Logan’s crime, but when his conscience pricked at him, he’d relieved the worst of his guilt by reminding himself she hadn’t come to any harm because of what he’d done.
Then he’d read her letter today and discovered not only wasn’t she married, but she was on her way to Scotland to claim Fitz.
Leaving Surrey on…arrive in Inverness in…keep your promise…
Had his dear brother Fitz promised to marry Lady Juliana Bernard if she came to Castle Kinross? If he had, he must have been urging her to make the journey in his earliest letters to her, before Logan started intercepting the correspondence between them.
If he hadn’t been so distracted by that bloody letter, he might have realized sooner that someone was following him.
Not just someone…<
br />
He met her gaze. “What’s your name?”
“I think you know very well who I am.”
He did know, yet even as she stood before him, her green eyes flashing fire, he could hardly credit the evidence of his own eyes. He wanted to hear her say it.
“We had an agreement, lass,” he murmured, moving a step closer to her. “I’ve set you down as you bid me. Now, what’s your name?”
She raised her chin. “Lady Juliana Bernard.”
Lady Juliana Bernard. The author of all those cream-colored letters, with the Marquess of Graystone’s crest stamped into the red wax.
Fitz’s betrothed, and the future Duchess of Blackmore.
At least, she had been once. Not any longer.
In the letter, she’d told Fitz she was coming to Scotland to find him, but as Logan had made his way over the moors tonight he’d come up with a dozen different arguments in his head as to why that would never happen.
It was nearly six hundred miles from London to Castle Kinross. English heiresses didn’t simply hop into carriages and travel hundreds of miles to retrieve their betrothed.
Even if she did take it into her head to scurry off to Scotland, the fact that she didn’t know precisely where to find Castle Kinross should have deterred her. It wasn’t more than twenty miles from Inverness, but the castle was tucked into a remote part of the moors, on the edge of Beauly Firth. It wasn’t the sort of place one stumbled upon, least of all some English lass who’d likely never laid eyes on Scottish land in her life.
But then she’d solved that problem neatly enough, hadn’t she? No wonder she’d seemed so dull-witted at Gretna Green. She’d been in shock. She must have known the moment she laid eyes on him it couldn’t be a coincidence he looked so much like the Duke of Blackmore.
She’d been quick to capitalize on her good luck.
He stared down at her, not sure what to make of her. She looked like she should be sitting in a drawing room sipping tea, or lounging on a tufted silk settee, sketching baskets of kittens, or dancing a waltz in some stuffy English ballroom. Instead, Lady Juliana Bernard was here on the Scottish moors in the dark with a stranger, defiance written in every line of her perfect face. If he hadn’t seen her with his own eyes, Logan never would have believed it.
To Wed A Wild Scot Page 4