“It means stub—” Douglas began, but Logan cut him off.
“Are you coming down, or not? We haven’t got all night, Lady Juliana.” Her legs were likely numb and would collapse beneath her as soon as her feet touched the ground, but Logan dropped his arms and stepped back.
Lady Juliana swung one leg over the saddle and attempted a graceful leap to the ground. She made it down well enough, but her last claim to dignity disintegrated as her legs buckled beneath her.
She let out a faint cry and would have fallen to the stable floor, but Logan caught her and swept her up into his arms. “I think a tumble into Ruthven Burn is enough excitement for one day, don’t you?”
“Mr. Blair!” Lady Juliana gasped as the floor disappeared beneath her feet. “Put me down at once! What do you think you’re doing?”
“Carrying you to the farmhouse. The Widow Macaulay will have my head if a young lady under my protection crumples into a heap on her doorstep. Be still,” he added sternly, when she began to wriggle to get free. “If you can’t manage to get down from a horse, what makes you think you can walk to the door?”
“The fact that I’ve walked to hundreds of doors throughout my lifetime, all without your assistance?”
Logan grinned at the note of pique in her voice. If there was one thing Lady Juliana despised, it was having her abilities questioned. “This one door won’t make any difference then, will it?”
He balanced her against his shoulder and pounded on the door with his fist, but there was no answer. The house remained dark and silent.
“She’s a bit deaf.” Logan raised his fist and pounded again, harder this time.
“Oh, dear. This is dreadfully rude of us.” Lady Juliana was biting her lip. “Perhaps we should go on to Castle Kinross after all. You’ll frighten the poor thing to death with all that banging!”
Logan let out a short laugh. “Nothing frightens Widow Macaulay.”
“You mean to say she’s not afraid of someone breaking down her door in the middle of the night? Why, that’s utter non—”
The door flew open then, and Lady Juliana’s words died away.
The Widow Macaulay stood on the doorstep in a brown-and-white spotted dressing gown. Her hands were on her hips, her hair flew in wild gray tufts around her head, and she wore a scowl fierce enough to frighten the devil himself.
“Good evening, ma’am.” Logan hitched Lady Juliana higher on his chest and managed an awkward bow. “I beg your pardon for disturbing you at such a late hour, but—”
“Well, now ye’ve done it, haven’t ye, Logan Blair?”
Logan had learned long ago never to admit any wrongdoing to Widow Macaulay. He blinked innocently at her. “Done what? What did I do?”
She jerked her chin toward Lady Juliana. “Ye gone and stolen yerself an English lass.”
Logan didn’t even bother to ask how she knew Lady Juliana was English. By the time he’d turned five, he’d already decided the Widow Macaulay knew everything. “I didn’t steal her.”
“Well, where’d ye get ’er, then?”
“She’s a guest at Castle Kinross. This is Lady Juliana Bernard, a friend of the duke’s, visiting from England.”
“Humph. Why does she look like she’s been trampled by a herd o’ sheep?”
Logan sighed. They weren’t going to get through the door until Widow Macaulay was satisfied. “We went out to the Robertsons’ to search for some missing sheep. Lady Juliana fell into Ruthven Burn when she rescued a lamb. She’s too cold and exhausted to make it back to the castle, but we couldn’t stay at the Robertsons’.”
“No. Not with that rascal Dougal Robertson there.” Widow Macaulay regarded Juliana with shrewd gray eyes for a moment, then jerked her chin toward the hallway behind her. “All right. Bring ’er in. Can she walk?”
Lady Juliana scowled up at Logan. “Of course, I can.”
She tried to wriggle free again, but Logan’s arms tightened around her. “Better not risk it. She fell when she tried to dismount.”
“Take ’er to the back bedchamber. I’ll fetch her a drink and some dry clothes.”
Widow Macaulay disappeared around a corner, muttering to herself, and Logan made his way to the back of the house. When they reached the bedchamber, he laid Lady Juliana down carefully on the bed.
She glanced up at him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I, ah—I thank you for your…solicitousness, Mr. Blair.”
Logan frowned down at her. “There’s no need for you to be embarrassed, mo bhean uasal. You’re exhausted, and your limbs are stiff from being so long in the saddle. I’ve seen burly farmers experience the same.”
Her brows rose, as if the last thing she’d expected was for him to make excuses for her.
“You’re not used to such a hard ride as we had today,” he added, when she remained silent.
“Well, I confess it was a bit more strenuous than a jaunt through Hyde Park.” She stole another glance at him. Her face relaxed a little when she saw he wasn’t laughing at her.
“There’s no shame in accepting help, Lady Juliana.”
She snorted. “No, but you’re hardly one to deliver that particular lecture, Mr. Blair.”
Logan thought of the many times he’d refused Fitz’s help since his brother came to Castle Kinross. “No, maybe not.”
“Stubborn.” She let out a long sigh. “We have that in common.”
She went quiet, but before Logan could withdraw from the room she surprised him by saying, “I’m afraid if I ask for help too often, I’ll forget how to help myself. It wouldn’t be so surprising, really. I was raised to be decorative, not useful.”
Logan stared down at her, too astounded to say a word. Decorative? Is that all she thought she was? He’d never known a more determined, independent woman in his life. He’d also never known a more obstinate, willful, maddening one, but one thing Lady Juliana Bernard was not was useless.
He sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep a respectable distance between them. “You rode for hours today—a good part of it after taking a swim in Ruthven Burn. You saved Fiona, and made the three Robertson boys your devoted slaves. Would you have believed you could do all that before today?”
She shook her head, a rueful smile on her lips. “No. None of it. I wouldn’t have believed myself capable of journeying to Scotland to coerce a reluctant gentleman into becoming my husband, either.”
His lips twitched. “You don’t need me anymore, you know. Any one of the Robertson brothers is yours for the asking.”
She laughed. “What nonsense.”
“No. Dougal in particular is smitten. Your daring rescue of Fiona sealed his fate.” He was quiet for a moment, studying her face. “What made you do it? You must have realized how dangerous it was. It’s a miracle you and Fiona didn’t both end up at the bottom of the burn.”
“Yes, I suppose so. I didn’t really think about that at the time, though. She was cold and frightened, and…crying, and she’d watched her poor mama drown. I couldn’t just leave her there to die. I never would have forgiven myself if I hadn’t at least tried to help her.”
“Maoth-chridheach,” he murmured. “Tenderhearted, just as Dougal said.”
She seemed not to know what to say to that, but her gaze met his. Both of them were quiet, the tension building between them as they stared at each other without speaking. The silence grew heavy with expectation until Logan, almost without knowing he did it, leaned toward her.
As he drew closer her green eyes darkened, and her lips parted…
He didn’t leap upon her, or take her mouth hard, as if he had every right to it. No, he took his time, his mouth drawing closer to hers so gradually he was made achingly aware of how badly he wanted her kiss long before his lips touched hers.
But when they did…when they did…
A sigh unlike any he’d e
ver heard before left Juliana’s lips. Her mouth was so warm, her lips softer than he ever could have imagined. He kissed her carefully, his lips gentle and teasing until she opened her mouth under his.
Logan went still, but only for the space of a single heartbeat. Then he buried his hands in her hair and surged between her lips with a groan, his tongue flicking and teasing the tender pink skin. She braced her hands on his chest, her fingers curling around his coat to pull him closer. He shifted until his body was pressed against hers, and he could feel every soft, warm curve of her against him.
A deep growl vibrated in his chest, and his mouth became more desperate. She clung to him, meeting every one of his hungry kisses, every sensuous stroke of his tongue. Logan’s control slipped further with every taste of her sweet, eager mouth. His restless hands moved over her back, then lower, down to her hips.
He’d forgotten where they were—had forgotten everything but her taste, her touch. He was seconds away from dragging her across his lap when footsteps coming down the hallway penetrated the haze of his desire. Just before the door opened, he managed to tear his mouth from hers.
He leapt up from the bed and hurried to the other side of the room just as Widow Macaulay bustled into the bedchamber. She had a tray in her hands and some clothes thrown over her arm. “All right, here we are, then. A wee dram of whisky will warm ye, and here’s a night rail and a dress for tomorrow, and…Logan? What ails ye, lad?”
Logan backed toward the door, his chest still heaving with his ragged breaths. “Nothing at all, just…I’ll leave you alone.”
He fled into the hallway, closing the firmly behind him. He wandered into the kitchen, fell heavily into one of the wooden chairs at the table, and dragged a shaking hand through his hair. He was still struggling to catch his breath, and his heart was pounding.
Christ, he’d kissed her.
He hadn’t planned to kiss her. He hadn’t thought about it beforehand. They’d been talking about Fiona, and then the next thing he knew he was leaning toward her, his gaze on those parted pink lips, and…
Had he even wanted to kiss her?
He’d hardly had a chance to think the question before the answer was there, echoing inside his head.
God, yes.
He’d spent the past few hours in a saddle with her, with the sweet curve of her arse pressed between his legs. He’d had to force himself to imagine Brice Robertson’s red nose hair to keep from embarrassing himself.
Damn right, he wanted to kiss her. She was beautiful, and he was a man, wasn’t he? What man wouldn’t want to stroke that soft skin, or tangle his hands in that thick, silky hair? His tastes usually ran toward lush, dark-haired Scottish lasses, but he’d have to be mad not to want to taste that sharp tongue of hers, plunge between those warm, pink lips and—
“Yer English lass wants to see ye.”
Logan leapt to his feet and turned to find Widow Macaulay standing in the kitchen doorway. “She does?”
“Aye.” She crossed the room and shook a warning finger in his face. “She’s half asleep already, and I won’t have ye standing in there all night long gawking at her. Ye make it quick, and ye mind yer manners with that lass, Logan Blair.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Logan couldn’t think of any reason why Juliana would want to see him, but he made his way down the hallway to the back bedchamber and knocked softly. “Lady Juliana?” He pushed the door open and tiptoed to the bed.
She was lying on her back, her eyes half-closed, a mass of loose curls spread out across her pillow. When she saw him standing there, her lips curved in a sleepy smile.
Logan stared down at her, swallowing.
Mind your manners, mind your manners, mind your—
“You’re a heroic sort of man, aren’t you, Mr. Blair?”
Her voice was so soft Logan had to draw closer to hear her. “Heroic? No, I’m not heroic, lass.”
“Yes, you are. You pulled me from the burn, then you carried me here on your horse, and when I nearly fell in the stables, you caught me. Whenever I’m about to take a tumble, you seem to be always there, waiting with open arms.”
Logan wasn’t sure how to reply to that, but Lady Juliana didn’t seem to expect an answer. “I’m not looking for someone to save me, you know. All I need is a husband. I’d hoped for a quiet one, with no heroics or drama about him, but that’s not you, is it?”
Logan’s lips quirked. “If you promise to stop falling down, I promise to stop catching you.”
She raised a hand, but then let it flop back down onto the bed. “It’s not just that. I want a dull husband, but you’re not…you’re all fierce glowers and broad shoulders and dark blue eyes and soft lips…”
Soft lips? She thought he had soft lips? Logan leaned over her, eager to hear what else she thought, but she trailed off, and her eyes drifted closed.
He waited, but she didn’t stir, and after a moment he reached down and drew the coverlet over her.
He was about to turn away when her fingers closed around his wrist to stop him. “It wouldn’t have to be like a real marriage. You wouldn’t need to stay in England for long, just…I only care that Grace is safe. My father is…he’s very ill, you see, and once he…” Her voice hitched, and she drew in a deep breath. “Once my father is gone, you could return to Scotland.”
“Return to Scotland?” Did she mean she and her niece would return to Castle Kinross with him, or—
“If you wish it. I’d agree to a divorce, once my father—”
Logan drew his hand away and strode over to the window before she could say any more. He was more upset by her offer than he could explain. A divorce would shame and humiliate her. Her fine friends, even her family might shun her if her husband divorced her.
Had he really driven her to such extremes?
He leaned his hands against the windowsill and stood there for some time, peering out into the darkness, his thoughts a baffling mix of remorse and confusion. By the time he returned to the side of the bed, Lady Juliana had fallen asleep. He felt a quick, sharp stab of disappointment, but perhaps it was for the best.
He didn’t have any answers for her.
Logan slipped quietly into the hallway, intending to sleep on one of the settees in the sitting room, but any hopes he’d had of avoiding Widow Macaulay died a quick death.
“Stop right there, Logan Blair.”
Logan froze. He might be the laird, but Agnes Macaulay had known him since he was a drooling infant. She hadn’t the slightest qualm about flaying the skin from his bones with that barbed tongue of hers.
She stared hard at him for long enough to make him squirm, then asked, “Ye going to marry that lass?”
Logan opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Yes? No? I’m going to marry her, then divorce her?
He hadn’t any idea which answer was the truth, so he said nothing.
His expression must have said it all, though, because Widow Macauley let out a delighted cackle, as if he’d given her just the answer she wanted. “That’s what I thought. Ye were a naughty little lad, Logan Blair, but even then, I never took ye for a fool. Glad to see I was right.”
Chapter Eleven
The next day dawned cool and sunny. Despite their late night, both Logan and Juliana rose early, and were on the road to Castle Kinross only an hour after the sun peeked over the horizon.
There was no more talk of soft lips or blue eyes, and no more talk of marriage. There was no more sharing a saddle, either. Lady Juliana and Fiona rode Domino, and Logan did his best to convince himself it was much more comfortable having Fingal’s saddle to himself.
Neither of them mentioned the kiss.
Logan thought about it, though. He spent most of the ride playing over those moments in his mind. His stomach leapt every time he recalled her warm lips pressed against his. He would have sworn Juliana w
as thinking of it, too. She took care not to look at him, but every time she felt his gaze on her face, her cheeks reddened.
Logan reconciled himself to a quiet ride, but after a few more miles passed, Juliana surprised him by saying, “You never intended to be gone from Castle Kinross for longer than a day, did you?”
“No. I meant to return last night.”
“When I saw your saddle bags, I assumed…” She trailed off, biting her lip.
Lady Juliana had been there when he’d unpacked his saddle bags this morning, and turned over to Widow Macaulay the medicine, cloth, and other supplies Mrs. Selkirk had sent.
“You assumed I was a dishonorable scoundrel and a coward, as well as a thief.” Logan’s temper sparked, but then he noticed the mortified flush on her cheeks, and his anger softened. “You had cause to think so, I suppose.” He hadn’t given her any reason to trust him.
“Perhaps, but I’m sorry I…that is, I beg your pardon, Mr. Blair.”
Logan glanced at her. He hadn’t expected that. “I accept your apology, and I beg your pardon for taking your letters. I regret it.” He blew out a breath, relieved to have that weight off his chest.
“Why did you do it?”
“I told you why, the night you arrived. I thought it was better for the clan if Fitz married Emilia.” He still thought so, but he didn’t say it.
To his shock, Lady Juliana said it for him. “Because of who my father is, you mean.”
Logan tensed. There was no anger in her voice, yet he still hesitated to bring Lord Graystone into it. It would only be natural for her to defend her father, and he didn’t want to open another rift between them. Then again, if they did marry, they’d have to have it out sooner or later. “Yes.”
She was watching him carefully. “Then thievery is not your general habit, Mr. Blair?”
Logan’s gaze jerked to her face. “No.”
“You mean to say, then, that you wouldn’t have taken my letters for any reason other than to protect your clan?”
“I—yes. That’s what I mean to say.” He hadn’t had to say it, though, because again, she’d said it for him. Logan stared at her, amazed. He’d expected her to defend her father, and instead she’d defended him. He would have said he couldn’t be more shocked than he was at that moment, but then she said something that made his mouth drop open.
To Wed A Wild Scot Page 13