Brice was watching her creep along the trunk, shaking his head. “Ach, the wee thing’s mad, innit she? Brave, though,” he added, with unmistakable admiration.
“Aye. She’s brave. Bloody foolish, too.” Logan tossed his coat to the ground and dropped onto his arse on the bank to tug off his boots and stockings. Then he picked his way over loose branches and protruding roots to the end of the fallen tree trunk resting on the side of the muddy bank.
“Don’t come after me, Mr. Blair,” Lady Juliana ordered. “The trunk is a bit tippy, you see, with only the mud on either bank to support it.”
Logan swallowed. “Tippy?”
“Yes. Your weight may throw it to one side or the other, and I’ll lose my balance.”
Logan opened his mouth to argue, but he could feel the cold, slimy mud seeping through his toes even now, and he knew she was right. There wasn’t a thing he could do aside from wait, and prepare to jump in after her if she did fall into the burn.
None of them spoke while she crept along the tree trunk. When she at last made it to within reaching distance of the lamb, Logan let loose the breath he’d been holding. “I beg your pardon, mo bhean uasal, but how do you plan to snatch up the lamb without both of you tumbling over the side?”
“I have a plan.”
Logan wasn’t at all surprised to hear it. Despite his growing anxiety, he couldn’t help the small smile that rose to his lips. “Of course, you do. Do you care to share it with us, lass?”
She didn’t answer, but in the next moment she crouched down and braced her hands on the trunk in front of her.
“Juliana!” Logan leapt forward, certain she’d lose her balance and fall, but Brice restrained him with a hand on his shoulder.
“She’s all right. Stay where ye are.”
She was all right. She’d reached down with her hands to steady herself, dropped to her bottom, then flung her legs onto either side of the trunk so she was straddling it. Once she was steady, she reached out her arms and gathered the lamb against her chest.
“Don’t cry.” She ran a gentle hand over the lamb’s head. “Yes, I know you’re frightened, but you’re all right now, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
There was no question of her turning around with such a squirming, bleating bundle in her arms, so as cool as you please she began to shimmy her way back across the trunk with her back to them. It wasn’t at all ladylike, as her skirts were hiked up to her knees, but Lady Juliana, who was still cooing soothingly to the lamb, didn’t seem to notice.
Logan and the Robertson brothers watched her in silence, their mouths open, identical expressions of amazement on their faces. None of them said a word until Dougal, overcome with admiration, breathed, “I think I’m in love with that lass.”
“Aye. Me too.” Callum gave a vigorous nod. “She’s a verra fine lass.”
“Yer both eejits.” Brice cocked his head, watching as Lady Juliana scooted her way toward them. “Not but what she is a fine lass. Tenderhearted, too, the way she went after the poor wee creature. A tender heart’s a fine thing in a lass, don’t ye think so, Logan?”
Logan didn’t reply. His whole attention was fixed on Lady Juliana. She’d made it far enough so he could reach out and grab her without too much effort. He was debating whether it was wiser to do that or just let her come along on her own when the lamb, seeing itself within leaping distance of the safety of the bank struggled free of her arms and jumped over her shoulder, wailing and bleating like a banshee.
The sudden movement upset Lady Juliana’s balance, and with a little cry of dismay she lost her grip on the slippery bark, and tumbled into the burn with a splash.
The Robertson brothers let out a startled shout. Dougal and Callum both leapt forward, but Logan was already there. He jumped in after her, caught hold of one of her arms, and pulled her back to the surface. She was gasping with shock and cold, and Logan didn’t waste any time. He wrapped one arm around her back, the other under her knees, hauled her against his chest, and struggled against the rushing water until he fell onto the bank, with Lady Juliana still in his arms.
“Give ’er here before ye both drown.” Brice was there, holding out his arms for her.
Logan was strangely reluctant to let her go, but before he could protest that he had her, Brice grasped her under her arms and dragged her further up the bank to safety. Dougal and Callum each took Logan by an arm and yanked him out after her. He crawled up the bank, his chest heaving with effort.
Lady Juliana lay on her back with her eyes open. She was alert, but her breathing was labored, and her face pale. Logan hung over her, the Robertson brothers at his back, and waited with growing alarm for her to say something.
It was a while before she did, but at last she fixed her gaze on Logan, opened her mouth, and asked, “Is the lamb all right?”
Logan stared down at her, unsure whether to laugh or shout at her until her ears bled. In the end, he did neither. Instead he staggered to his feet, plucked up the lamb, who was shivering on the bank a few feet away, and laid her gently on Lady Juliana’s chest.
* * * *
Logan had never before seen any of the Robertson brothers move as fast as they did when Lady Juliana entered their farmhouse.
They scurried about as if Queen Charlotte herself had just honored them with her presence. Logan thought sourly that if they’d made half as much effort searching for the sheep, Lady Juliana might not have fallen into the burn in the first place.
“Take a seat right ’ere, my lady.” Callum dragged the best chair in the room closer to the fire and patted the seat.
“Wait! Callum, you eejit, let me take Logan’s coat off ’er first. It’s wet.”
Callum shot Logan an accusing look as Dougal tenderly removed the coat from Lady Juliana’s shoulders. “Yer coat is wet, Logan. Muddy, too.”
Logan scowled. “That does tend to happen when a man jumps into a burn, Callum. My shirt and breeches are damp as well, so if you don’t mind, a blanket would be wel—”
“A blanket, ’o course! Dougal, go fetch the lass a blanket.”
Dougal darted out of the room as if his heels had caught fire. He returned a moment later, draped a thick blanket over Lady Juliana’s shoulders, then tossed another one across the room to Logan. “Here. Stop yer moaning.”
Logan caught it and used it to dry the last of the droplets from his hair. It had taken them the better part of an hour to ride back to the Robertsons’ farm, so his clothes were mostly dry.
He tossed the blanket aside and threw himself into the chair across from Lady Juliana’s. She was still holding the lamb on her lap, just as she’d done the entire ride back to the Robertsons’ farm. None of them had tried to take it from her, not even when she entered the farmhouse. It snuggled against her, its white, woolly head resting on its curled legs.
“Aw, look at the wee thing.” Brice paused with a tea tray in his hands and grinned down at Lady Juliana. “Ye should keep ’er, my lady. Take ’er back to the castle with ye.”
“How kind you are, Mr. Robertson. Thank you.” Lady Juliana beamed at him.
Logan could have sworn he saw Brice Robertson blush.
“Ach, well, it’s nothing at all, lass.” Brice fumbled with the teapot, his big hands clumsy, but at last he managed to pour a cup of tea. “Here ye are. This’ll warm ye up.”
Lady Juliana took it with a grateful smile, but Logan noticed once she finished it she was still shivering under her blanket. He reached over and fingered a fold of her heavy riding habit.
Still damp. Likely her hair was, too.
He grabbed the bottle of whisky from Brice’s tray and poured a generous measure into a glass. “Here. Drink this.”
She accepted the glass, took a tiny sip, and wrinkled her nose. “It burns.”
Logan chuckled. “Drink it. It’ll warm you faster than tea will.�
��
She sipped obediently from her glass, and after a little while her eyelids began to droop. When she dropped into a doze, Logan gently drew the glass from her slack fingers and set it on the table.
“Poor lass,” Brice murmured. “She’s too weary to keep ’er eyes open.”
Logan studied her in silence. Her heavy, dark lashes rested on her pale cheeks, and the fair hair that had escaped its pins hung in damp curls around her face. One hand rested on the chair’s arm, but the other was still cupped around the lamb’s head.
She looked very small sitting there, half-buried in the blanket Dougal had put over her, but in every way that mattered, there was nothing small about Lady Juliana Bernard.
Brice was right. She was a brave lass. A bit mad too, perhaps, certainly sharp-tongued and impatient. Bhig galla, just as Callum had said. She was as troublesome a lady as Logan had ever known, but he also didn’t know many ladies who’d risk their own safety to rescue a terrified lamb from drowning.
Shouldn’t someone do the same for her?
For all her bravery, for all her tenderness of heart, Lady Juliana was drowning, and by some strange twist of fate, he was the only one who could pull her back to the surface again.
Logan hadn’t slept at all the night before. He’d been up pacing from one side of his bedchamber to the other, haunted by the despair on Lady Juliana’s face when he’d left her alone in the library last night. The hurt and disappointment on Fitzwilliam’s.
He might have been able to brush aside his pangs of conscience again this morning, but then Lady Juliana had gone and saved that blasted lamb…
To some people, it would have been a small enough thing. It was just a lamb, hardly worth anything really, but to Logan, compassion wasn’t a small thing at all. He’d seen the lack of it too often to think of it as insignificant.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh and turned his attention from Lady Juliana to Brice. He’d been distracted by her all day, but now it was time to get down to business. “I want to talk to you, Robertson.” He nodded at the other two men. “Dougal and Callum, too.”
Logan hadn’t come here today just to search for sheep. That had been a convenient excuse to visit the Robertsons’ farm. He glanced from Brice to Dougal, and from Dougal to Callum. All three Robertson brothers were big, strong, healthy men—the sort of men with the brawn and the heart to make a success out of a chance at a new life.
It was a chance he wanted to give them.
If he did decide to go to England with Lady Juliana, this would be his last opportunity to do so. If the Robertson brothers went, other members of the clan would follow.
One of Brice’s red eyebrows rose. “All right, then. What do ye want to talk about?”
Logan leaned forward in his chair and fixed his gaze on Brice’s face. “I want to talk to you about Cape Fear Valley, in North Carolina.”
Chapter Ten
Logan and the Robertson brothers did talk, for far longer into the night than Logan thought they would. By the time he and Lady Juliana were mounted and riding west toward Castle Kinross the sky had darkened to a midnight blue, and thousands of frosty silver stars were winking above.
They hadn’t gone more than three or four miles before Logan realized his companion wasn’t going to make it as far as the castle. She’d never admit it, but he could see she was chilled to the bone, and swaying in the saddle as if she was one yawn away from toppling to the ground.
The Robertsons’ farm was the closest, but Logan couldn’t bring her back there for the night. Lady Juliana’s reputation would never recover if anyone found out she’d spent a night alone with four unmarried men, especially if one of those men was Dougal Robertson.
No, he’d have to take her to the Macaulay farm. He’d planned to stop there on his way back to the castle in any case, to leave some supplies Mrs. Selkirk had given him to take to Widow Macaulay, but it was well past midnight now. Agnes Macaulay wasn’t going to be pleased to find Logan and an exhausted, half-drowned English chit on her doorstep in the middle of the night.
But he didn’t have any better ideas, so he turned Fingal’s head and set a slow, steady pace northward. The farm was about an hour’s ride away, but they’d only made it half that distance before Logan was obliged to reach for Lady Juliana’s reins and bring her horse to a halt.
He leapt down from Fingal’s back. Lady Juliana startled awake when he wrapped his hands firmly around her waist. “Are we there already?” She squinted into the darkness around them, puzzled. “Where’s Castle Kinross gone?”
Logan hid a grin. “I expect it’s right where we left it. Here, let me help you down. Hold the lamb steady.” He gave her a gentle tug, and she slid down from her horse’s back without a word of complaint. Logan caught her easily in his arms, his grin widening. Her wits were definitely befuddled with fatigue, otherwise she never would have jumped into his arms without an argument.
Instead, she hugged the lamb to her chest and tucked her head under Logan’s chin. She smelled like Ruthven Burn and damp wool, but Logan didn’t mind it. That is, he didn’t like it—certainly not enough to bury his face in her hair for a quick sniff. No, the very idea was ridiculous, and he’d deny it to his dying breath.
“Steady, Fingal.” Logan lifted Lady Juliana onto his horse’s back, then swung up behind her. She had the lamb in her lap, and Logan had her in his. There was very little room for the three of them in one saddle, but Lady Juliana was too fatigued to ride any further. He couldn’t just let her fall from her horse, could he?
No, there was nothing for him to do but spread his legs a little wider and wedge her curvy backside between his thighs. His body roared to life, and he forced a half-dozen breaths of cold air into his lungs to discourage it.
It didn’t work. An ice-cold plunge into Ruthven Burn wouldn’t have worked.
He gritted his teeth, and wrapped an arm around her waist.
It was going to be a long ride…
Logan sighed, and set Fingal to a brisk walk. The swaying of the horse beneath them soon lulled Lady Juliana into another doze. She murmured something in her sleep, and her body relaxed against his. He instinctively gathered her closer against his chest and angled his head to get a glimpse of her face.
Her green eyes were closed, her thick eyelashes shadowing her cheeks. Her lips were slightly parted, her mouth soft. Her fingers had gone slack, but even in her sleep she kept the lamb safely wrapped in her arms. Logan shook his head, a reluctant smile on his lips. Damned if he knew how she was going to get the animal back to England with her.
Logan struggled with his eager body the entire ride to Macaulay’s, but strangely enough, the time seemed to fly by. Before he knew it, they were riding past the fence he and his father had helped build years before and into the small farmyard. The house was dark and silent, but one of the stable boys startled awake when they rode into the yard.
He came out of the stables rubbing his eyes. He fixed his bleary gaze on Logan, Lady Juliana, and the lamb, then rubbed his eyes again. “That you, laird?”
“It’s me, Douglas. Beg pardon for waking you, but can you take care of Fingal and Domino here?” Logan tipped his head toward the black-and-white horse Lady Juliana had been riding. “They’ve both been ridden hard today. Oh, and take the lamb, too.”
Douglas scrambled to Logan’s side. “’Course I will. Ye just leave ’em here with me, and I’ll tuck ’em up tight fer the night.”
“Good man, Douglas.” Logan dismounted carefully, one hand on Lady Juliana’s waist to steady her. He reached up with the other to scoop the lamb from her arms, but it didn’t care for the idea of being wrenched from its warm cocoon. It began bleating piteously and kicking its skinny legs in protest. One of its little hooves landed on Lady Juliana’s chin, and she woke with a start.
At first, she gazed down at the lamb as if she were surprised to find it th
ere, but after a moment understanding dawned, and she settled it back down on her lap. “There now, don’t fuss.”
Once the lamb was quiet again, Lady Juliana raised her head and took in her surroundings. Her eyes widened as she glanced around the unfamiliar barn, then widened further when they rested on Douglas. “This isn’t Castle Kinross. Where are we, Mr. Blair?”
“Widow Macaulay’s farm. You’re in no shape to ride another three hours. We’re spending the night here.”
Logan expected an argument, but Lady Juliana only raised an eyebrow. “Fitzwilliam won’t like it.”
No, he wouldn’t. Even with Widow Macaulay as chaperone, Fitz was going to be furious. “We’ll deal with Fitz tomorrow. Here, now hand the lamb down to me.”
Lady Juliana clutched the lamb to her chest. “No. I want to keep Fiona with me.”
“Fiona?” Logan rolled his eyes. Of course, she’d name the lamb Fiona. The English thought all Scottish lasses were named Fiona. “How do you know it’s a girl?”
“It’s a girl,” said Douglas, who was watching the scene with interest. “If ye just lift ’er tail, ye can tell by the—”
“Never mind lifting her tail, Douglas. What do you intend to do, Lady Juliana? Bring the animal to your bedchamber and tuck her into bed beside you?” Logan reached up and plucked the lamb from her arms. “Douglas will take good care of the troublesome little…that is, er…Fiona. Won’t you, lad?”
“Aye, sir.” Douglas grinned as Fiona burrowed her small, soft head into his shoulder. “She’s a sweet wee thing, innit she?”
Logan reached up to lift Lady Juliana down, but she shifted away from him before he could wrap his hands around her waist. “I’m perfectly capable of dismounting without your assistance, Mr. Blair.”
“Dùr bhean,” Logan muttered, and Douglas grinned.
Lady Juliana frowned down at him suspiciously. “What does that mean?”
To Wed A Wild Scot Page 12