“If it had been Grace’s welfare at stake, I would have done the same thing. We’re not so different, Mr. Blair.”
That startled a smile out of him. “No. Odd, isn’t it?”
Her lips quirked. “Very.”
They fell into a surprisingly comfortable silence after that, but as soon as they arrived at Castle Kinross, their peace was shattered.
Fitz must have been watching for them, because he was waiting in the entryway when they entered, his arms folded over his chest and his lips pressed into a thin, angry line. Emilia was there as well, looking anxious.
“Where,” Fitz began, his voice colder than Logan had ever heard it. “Where the devil did you two spend last night, Logan?”
“Fitzwilliam!” Emilia cried, shocked at the curse.
Fitz didn’t reply. His gaze remained locked on Logan, his eyes like blue ice. “Logan?”
Logan was as anxious to have the explanation out as Fitz was. “We rode out to Robertson’s farm. By the time we left it was too late to make it back here, so we spent the night at Widow Macaulay’s.”
“Widow Macaulay’s?” Emilia breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, that sounds perfectly respectable, so—”
“Why is Lina wearing that dress? It doesn’t even fit her!” Fitz turned to Emilia. “Didn’t you tell me she was wearing your riding habit when she left yesterday?”
Emilia shot Juliana an apologetic look. “Well yes, but—”
“Well, Logan? If it’s as simple as you claim, why was Lina obliged to change clothes? It looks like she’s wearing one of Widow Macaulay’s gowns!”
Fitz was glaring at Logan, but before he could say a word in reply Juliana marched up to Fitz and poked her finger into his chest. “That’s because I am wearing one of her gowns. And I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but kindly stop speaking of me as if I’m not here.”
Logan smothered a grin. Lady Juliana hardly reached Fitz’s shoulder, but that didn’t stop her from scowling fiercely up at him.
Fitz blinked down at her. “You don’t understand, Lina. Logan should never have taken you to Robertson’s farm to begin with. He’s risked your reputation—”
“My reputation! Oh, for pity’s sake! What does that matter now? And Logan didn’t take me anywhere. I followed him to the Robertsons’ farm, and then I fell into Ruthven Burn, and Mr. Robertson gave me the lamb I rescued, and we ended up at Widow Macaulay’s for the night, and if you don’t believe me, then you can go to the stables and see Fiona for yourself!”
No one said a word after this outburst. Fitz and Emilia were gaping at Juliana, and Logan, who couldn’t make much sense of her tale despite having witnessed the entire thing, was trying not to laugh.
The silence stretched on until at last Fitz cleared his throat. “I want to speak to Logan alone. Emilia, will you please take Lina upstairs? Logan, I’ll attend you in the library in five minutes.”
With that, Fitz turned on his heel and strode away.
Logan looked at Juliana. “That went well. See? I told you we’d manage him.”
Her eyebrows shot up, but then she caught his grin and a smile curved her lips. “You did say that, didn’t you?”
She didn’t have a chance to say any more, because Emilia took her by the hand and dragged her up the stairs. Logan watched them go, then wandered off to the library, threw himself into a chair before the fire, and rested his muddy boots on the ottoman.
He already knew what Fitz was going to say to him. He could hear the words in his head as clearly as if he were reading them aloud from a page.
Stolen letters…ruined reputation…an honorable man would…
The worst of it was, it was all true. Juliana wouldn’t be in this mess if he hadn’t taken her letters, and that made him guilty of everything else that followed.
Then there was the child, Grace, to consider. He was fond of children. Fonder than he was of adults, truth be told. He’d noticed the way Juliana’s eyes lit up whenever she spoke of Grace, and he didn’t like to think of the child being sent off to live with a scoundrel because of something he’d done.
Then there was that kiss…
Logan’s lips curved. Well, he wouldn’t be the first man who’d married to gratify his lust.
“That’s a satisfied smirk you’re wearing. I can’t think of a single reason why you should be so pleased with yourself. Plenty of reasons why you shouldn’t be, however.”
Logan glanced over his shoulder to find Fitz standing just inside the library door. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask you to keep those reasons to yourself, would it?”
“None at all.” Fitz came into the room, paused at the sideboard to pour himself a glass of port, then strolled over to the fireplace. He threw himself into the chair across from Logan’s and fixed him with a cool stare.
Logan shifted uncomfortably. It was unsettling to see his own face staring back at him. Fitz had been at Castle Kinross for months, but Logan still wasn’t used to seeing his image in anything other than his mirror.
“Well?” Fitz crossed an ankle over his knee and raised one dark eyebrow at Logan.
Logan scowled. It wasn’t just Fitz’s appearance, either. It was his voice, his gestures—everything about him. It was damn unnerving they could look so much alike, yet still be so different. “Well, what?”
Fitz’s eyebrow went up another notch. “Even if your adventure with Lina last night was as innocent as you say, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. You know that, right?”
Logan didn’t try to deny it. If it got about that he and Lady Juliana had spent a night together away from Castle Kinross, her reputation would be ruined. “I know.”
Fitz waited for him to say something more. When Logan remained quiet, Fitz considered him for a long moment, his eyes slightly narrowed. For the first time it occurred to Logan that the brother who’d been so agreeable since he arrived at Castle Kinross could be pushed too far. He’d make a worthy adversary once he was.
Fitz studied the glass of port dangling from his fingers. “Given the circumstances, perhaps you’d like to reconsider the question of your marriage to Lady Juliana?”
Logan was already considering it, but he stiffened at the commanding note in Fitz’s voice. “That sounds like an order, brother. Every bit the duke, aren’t you?”
“I’m the laird, as well. Or have you forgotten that?”
Logan recrossed his ankles, uncaring that his boots left a muddy streak on the pale-yellow silk ottoman. Fitz might be his elder brother, but Logan had been his own man for twenty-eight years, and he wasn’t going to start answering to someone now. “Do you think to issue commands to me, brother?”
He expected an angry retort, but Fitz only gave him a calm shrug. “Lina’s reputation has been compromised. I don’t blame you for it, but I do want to know what you intend to do about it.”
Logan had just been asking himself that same question, but that did nothing to prevent the spark of temper rising in his chest. “I haven’t decided yet, but when I do, you can be sure I’ll speak to Lady Juliana about it, not you. It’s none of your concern, Fitz.”
“Lina’s my dearest friend. Everything to do with her is my concern.”
Logan thought he heard a proprietary note in Fitz’s voice, and his brows lowered. Fitz might have grown up with Juliana, but they were no longer betrothed. He didn’t have any claim on her. “You should have thought of that before you fell in love with Emilia.”
As soon as the words left his lips, Logan wished them back. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean—”
An angry flush rose to Fitz’s cheeks. “Perhaps I would have, if you hadn’t hidden Lina’s letters from me, but I’m afraid it’s rather late for that now. So, let’s get back to the point, shall we? What do you intend to do about Lina?”
It was a bloody good question. Pity he still di
dn’t have an answer.
Logan dragged a hand down his face. He never should have kissed her. If he’d never kissed her, he wouldn’t know those tempting pink lips were even more delicious than they looked. He’d have no idea that the sensation of Juliana’s fingers dragging through his hair was enough to bring him to his knees at her feet.
Those green eyes…
Try as he might, he couldn’t think of a single thing to dislike about her wide green eyes. He’d avoided looking directly at her today, but more than once, when his gaze caught hers, he’d struggled to look away again.
He liked her eyes best when they were flashing with temper.
Which they often did, when he was around. Would it be the worst thing in the world to gaze into those flashing green eyes every day? He’d have to keep her in a temper, of course, but that would be easy enough.
And that kiss…good Lord, that kiss.
Logan thought of her lips opening under his, and a lust unlike any he’d felt before unfurled in his belly. Juliana hadn’t said a word about consummating the marriage, but the union wouldn’t be legal otherwise. She’d be his wife, after all.
But was a single, knee-weakening kiss a good enough reason to leave Scotland? This was his home, and his father’s home before him. The Blairs had lived at Castle Kinross for as far back as anyone could remember. Logan had always imagined he’d marry a sweet, blue-eyed Scottish lass someday, and raise a half-dozen or so dark-haired Scottish children here.
And if he’d started to dream of green eyes instead of blue, and fair hair instead of dark?
Christ, he didn’t know. He couldn’t make sense of how he felt, or what he wanted. He knew the right thing to do was to marry Lady Juliana and pull her free of the chaos he’d plunged her into, but knowing it was right didn’t mean he wasn’t plagued with doubts.
He thought of what Juliana had said last night, about accepting help from others. Leaving Scotland would mean accepting Fitz’s help—trusting him—and he wasn’t sure he could do that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever trust Fitz, no matter if they were brothers.
There was a chance the clan would thrive under Fitz’s leadership, and all might yet be well. There was also a chance Fitz would grow bored with Scotland. He could begin to find life here tedious, and start to yearn for his friends in England. He could choose to move Emilia back to Surrey, and leave the clan behind.
“You’ll have to make a decision soon, Logan.” Fitz’s voice was gentler now, and Logan wondered if his brother had seen the struggle on his face. “Lina’s father needs her, and that’s to say nothing of Grace. She can’t remain in Scotland much longer.”
Logan dropped his head into his hands. “I know. I’m trying to…I’m doing everything I can, Fitz.”
Fitz was quiet for a moment, then he rose from his chair and dropped a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Do everything you can to make up your mind to marry her, Logan. Meanwhile, I’ll do everything I can.”
Logan frowned up at Fitz. “If I choose not to marry her, there won’t be a thing you can do about it.”
Fitz looked down at him, an enigmatic smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll see, brother. We’ll see.”
Chapter Twelve
Three days later
“Kiss me, Kate, we shall be married o’ Sunday…”
Juliana tossed Shakespeare aside with a derisive snort. Well, it was perfectly delightful a kiss should have led to Kate’s wedding, but not every lady was so lucky.
A kiss hadn’t led to anything at all for Juliana, other than three long days of silence. After their adventures at the Robertsons’ farm, she’d hoped she and Logan had reached some sort of…well, if not an agreement, at least a truce. She’d even half-convinced herself he’d eventually agree to marry her, but since they’d returned to Castle Kinross, she hadn’t exchanged more than a half-dozen words with him.
He’d become more distant than ever.
He rode out early each morning without telling a soul where he was going. Even his valet wasn’t privy to his whereabouts. He did return in the evenings, but only in time to change his dress and join the family at the dinner table.
Then he’d take his place across from her and sit through five or more courses without addressing a single word to her. He did look at her a good deal, with a raw intensity in his gaze that made her breath catch. She was hard-pressed to describe his expression, but she thought it was more analytical than anything else. He studied her the way a mathematician studies a particularly complex problem, as if she were a knot to be untied. It wasn’t at all flattering, yet those blue eyes sweeping over her never failed to make her flush with heat.
It was disconcerting, to say the least.
With every day that dragged on, she became more and more convinced marriage to a London fortune hunter would have been much easier than this. What a pity the easiest thing never proved to be the most effective. She hadn’t used to think so—she hadn’t used to think of anything in terms of ease or difficulty. One didn’t, when they were so rarely faced with a challenge.
But then adversity was meant to build character, wasn’t it? A lady never knew what she was capable of until she was forced to rise to a challenge. Or not rise to it, as the case may be.
Well, she’d risen to it. She’d risen all the way to northern Scotland. As little as three months ago she would have shrunk from the idea of such a journey, but now here she was, scheming to marry a man who’d taken to fleeing his home every morning to escape her.
This time, he was succeeding.
She’d made her way down to the stables just as the sun was rising this morning, intending to coax some information about Logan’s daily jaunts from one of the stable boys. As luck would have it, she arrived just in time to see Logan Blair himself riding out of the stable yard, his gray stallion’s massive hooves kicking up a thick cloud of dust behind him.
Logan must have taken the stable boys to task after she’d followed him to the Robertsons’ farm, because no plea, threat, or bribe could induce any of them to divulge his direction. Juliana, more disheartened than ever, had returned to the library for another empty, endless day of worry and anguish.
Precious moments were ticking by. She still had no idea how Fitzwilliam planned to bring Logan around to the marriage, or if he’d even made any progress on it. All she knew was Fitzwilliam left every morning to conduct some sort of mysterious business in Inverness, and was usually gone for most of the day.
She was going mad, sitting about the castle all day with nothing to do but wait. Emilia had done her best to entertain Juliana for the first two days, but she’d left for her father’s farm yesterday morning to spend some time with her family before her wedding.
Aside from Stokes, who hadn’t yet forgiven Juliana for abandoning him at the Sassy Lassie, she had no one to talk to, and nothing to distract her.
Juliana gave up pretending to read and crossed the room to peer out the window. As if the day weren’t gloomy enough already, it had begun to rain. She stood and watched the drops strike the glass. Well, it was some consolation at least to imagine Logan Blair soaked to the skin and shivering.
She turned from the window with a sigh, and crossed to one of the bookshelves. Sir Walter Scott had seemed an apt choice for today, but the novel wasn’t holding her attention. She needed something a bit more scandalous to distract her. Richardson, perhaps, or Henry Fielding. Ah, yes—there was a copy of Tom Jones, just one shelf above her head.
Juliana rose to her tiptoes and reached for the first volume, but just as her fingertips grazed the spine a sudden loud knock made her jump back, a startled cry leaving her lips.
What in the world?
Her eyes widened as the knock came again, this time followed by a mysterious scuttling sound. The noises seemed to be coming from the other side of the bookshelf.
Rats, perhaps?
Juliana shuddered at the thought of a rat large enough to make such a loud noise. She wasn’t a squeamish, missish sort of lady, but any sane person drew the line at rats.
She started to back slowly away, intent on putting some distance between herself and the giant rats, but then another sound met her ears. It sounded like…
A sniffle, followed by a muffled sob.
A weeping rat? No, surely not.
She was now certain the sounds were coming from behind the bookshelf, and they were so close it was as if someone was standing just on the other side of it. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
The only reply was a childish hiccup.
Juliana’s mouth fell open. Dear God, there was a child trapped on the other side of the bookshelf! There must be an alcove of some sort there. She’d heard some of these ancient Scottish castles had secret rooms and passageways.
She began pushing and pulling at anything she could reach, her hands moving frantically over the edges of the shelves, the spines of the books. There must be some sort of switch or mechanism to swing the shelf aside. She only had to find it, and—
Yes! Just there, on the edge of one of the lower bookshelves was a place where the wood was a bit more worn. She pushed her hand against it. It felt loose, as if there was nothing supporting it from behind, so she pressed harder, and all at once the entire shelf swung heavily inward.
It was as dark as pitch on the other side.
She stuck her head into the narrow opening, and a blast of cold air hit her in the face. She immediately burst into a series of violent sneezes, and the smell of must and mildew nearly knocked her back again. She paused at the threshold, uncertain what to do, but in the next instant a frightened whimper met her ears. Her eyes adjusted to the dark just in time to see a very small boy with tears running down his cheeks dart down a passageway and disappear around a corner.
To Wed A Wild Scot Page 14