Where the devil could she have gone?
She’s likely halfway to Surrey by now…
A chill washed over Logan as memories of their wedding night came crashing down on him. Her green eyes, wide and anxious, staring up at him as he hovered over her. The startled cry that left her lips when he’d pushed inside.
He shuddered. Mo Dhia. It had been an utter disaster.
He let his forehead drop into his hands. How could he have made such a mess of it? It wasn’t as if he’d never had a woman before. He wasn’t a debaucher, but he also wasn’t a saint. He knew how to give a woman pleasure. Up until last night he’d flattered himself he was a skilled lover.
But he’d never taken a woman’s innocence before, and Juliana wasn’t just any woman. She was his wife.
His wee, dainty, delicate wife.
And he was a huge beast of a man, big and rough and clumsy…
Logan hissed out a curse. Now the marriage had been consummated, he doubted she’d ever let him near her again. She’d probably fled their bed the moment he’d fallen asleep, and crept back to her own bedchamber. Even now she was likely there, her cheek resting on her tear-stained pillow, having nightmares about the lecherous fiend she’d married.
Logan’s jaw tightened. Damn it, he wouldn’t have his own wife afraid of him. He rose from the bed, tugged on a shirt, a pair of breeches, and his boots, and made his way into the hallway and down the stairs, muttering to himself all the while.
Won’t have her hiding from me…fetch her back to my bedchamber…won’t lay another finger on her unless she asks…
“I beg yer pardon, sir!”
Logan came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hallway. A chambermaid was kneeling on the floor near Juliana’s bedchamber, picking up a few pieces of coal she’d dropped from her scuttle. He’d been so distracted he’d nearly run right over her, and she was staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes.
It wasn’t even dawn, and he’d already terrified two women.
“Is her ladyship inside?” Logan nodded toward the door of the guest bedchamber where Juliana had been staying since she arrived at Castle Kinross.
“No, sir. Mrs. Selkirk says ’er ladyship’s gone back to England. She sent me up ’ere to fetch the coal.”
“Gone to England? What, already?” Was it possible she’d actually gone without him?
No, she wouldn’t do that. Juliana hadn’t gone to such great lengths to secure a husband only to leave him behind now.
The girl shrank back, her eyes wider than ever. Logan drew in a deep breath and forced himself to speak calmly before the chit scurried off like a frightened mouse. “What makes you think her ladyship has left Castle Kinross already?”
“Saw ’er creeping out to the stables a while back,” the girl said, her voice shaking. “She were dressed for travel.”
Logan stared at her, panic tightening his chest. He could only think of one reason Juliana would creep off to the stables alone.
Jesus, was she actually leaving him? His chest grew tighter with every breath as he raced down the stairs, through the door, and into the stable yard. He was about to burst into the stable when he caught sight of Stokes lingering by the doors. “Where is she?”
Stokes’s face darkened when he saw Logan, but he jerked his head toward the open stable doors. “Inside.”
Logan pushed past Stokes and raced into the stables, searching for Juliana in the dim light. He couldn’t have said whether he was relieved or furious, but some powerful emotion was clawing at his throat. He wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a tirade—he only knew it was going to burst free with some violence the moment he saw her. “Juliana?”
“I’m here.”
Her voice came from a far corner of the stables. He stalked toward her, his confused emotions burning their way up his throat to his lips, but as soon as he saw her, they dissolved on his tongue.
She was sitting on a hay bale, her blue riding skirt spread out in a pool around her, holding Fiona in her arms. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.
“Juliana.” Logan forgot his anger and his panic, forgot their disastrous wedding night, and forgot he’d believed less than a minute earlier that she’d left him. He rushed to her side. “Don’t cry, mo bhean.”
“It’s foolish of me, I know.” She dragged her sleeve across her eyes to dry her tears, but they kept falling. “I shouldn’t have taken her from Mr. Robertson. I knew all along I’d have to leave her behind.”
“If you don’t want to leave her, we’ll bring her with us.” The words landed in the dusty air between them, surprising Logan. The last thing he wanted was to share a cramped carriage with a nervous lamb, but he would have promised anything to make Juliana stop crying.
He shook his head, amazed at himself.
“No, we can’t bring her with us. She’ll slow us down, and it isn’t fair to her to drag her all the way to England. I won’t be so silly as that, though I don’t deny I’ll miss her.” Another tear rolled down Juliana’s cheek, and she pressed her face against the lamb’s woolly head. “My father always kept hunting dogs, but I never had a pet of my own.”
I’ll find you another lamb, dozens of them…
The words jumped from Logan’s head to his lips with alarming speed, but before he had a chance to say them Juliana rose, and with a final sniff put Fiona down on top of the hay bale. “I’m sorry, Fiona, but it can’t be helped.” She leaned down and pressed one last kiss on the lamb’s head, then turned to Logan.
“I’ve asked Stokes to ready the carriage for the ride to Inverness. I’m prepared to leave whenever you…” She trailed off, appearing to notice for the first time he was wearing only a shirt and breeches. Her gaze seemed to linger on his bare neck, but she quickly averted her eyes, her cheeks flushing pink. “But perhaps you’re not quite ready to leave yet.”
Logan’s gaze followed that wash of pink color as it swept down her throat, absurdly pleased by it. If a hint of his bare skin could make her blush like that, perhaps all hope wasn’t lost, after all. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
By the time Logan washed, dressed, and returned to the yard, Stokes was mounted, their baggage was secured, and Fitz and Emilia were waiting in the stable yard to bid them goodbye.
“Promise me you’ll stop often to rest, Lina. You won’t be much good to your father if you’re ill when you arrive in Surrey.” Fitz pressed a kiss to one of Juliana’s cheeks, then the other. “There’s one for Grace, as well. You’ll give it to her for me?”
Juliana smiled and squeezed his hands. “Yes, of course.”
Fitz took Logan aside while Juliana and Emilia said their goodbyes. “She’s yours now, Logan,” he murmured, looking at Juliana. “Take care of her.”
After last night Logan wasn’t sure he knew how to take care of a wife, but he nodded.
“Goodbye Logan. I’ll miss you.” Emilia pressed her cheek to his. “Promise me you’ll bring Juliana back for a visit soon.”
Logan thought it was much more likely Juliana would send him back to Scotland alone, but he nodded again. He took Juliana’s hand to help her into the carriage, then climbed in after her and shut the door behind him.
The carriage rolled quietly out of the stable yard, Stokes following them on horseback. They stopped at the Sassy Lassie, where they left Fitz’s carriage and hired another to take them as far as Dalwhinnie.
They didn’t speak much. Juliana’s face gave nothing away, and Logan wondered what she was thinking. Was she worrying about their disastrous wedding night? Grieving over Fiona still? Fretting about her father and Grace? Or was she thinking of their wedding ceremony the previous evening?
Until Juliana arrived at Castle Kinross, Logan had never given his wedding day, or his bride, much thought. Both had always been hazy in his mind—something that would happen with some unknown lady, in a far distant
future.
A Scottish lady, that is. He’d have laughed at anyone who told him he’d marry an English heiress in a rushed ceremony without any of the Scottish traditions he’d always assumed would take place on his wedding day.
There were no bagpipes. He and Juliana didn’t exchange rings. The bells at the kirk in Inverness remained silent. There was no dancing, and no brandy-soaked wedding cake. If he hadn’t been wearing the Kinross tartan it could have been any ceremony, taking place anywhere, between any two people.
Logan glanced at Juliana, tucked into a corner of the carriage. The pretty pink color he’d seen this morning hadn’t returned to her cheeks, and she was drooping with exhaustion.
“Try and sleep, Ana,” he murmured, after they’d traveled a half-hour in silence. “It will make the time pass more quickly.”
A wan smile lit her face. “Yes, perhaps I will.” She lapsed back into silence, and it wasn’t long before her head dropped against the window and her eyelids fluttered closed.
Logan didn’t sleep. He sat in his own corner watching her, listening to her deep, even breaths and worrying at a stone he held in his pocket.
He’d carved their names into the stone yesterday afternoon. Even now he didn’t know why he’d bothered, other than it was a Scottish tradition for a wedded couple to have an oathing stone. Juliana wasn’t a traditional Scottish bride, but he’d thought she should have one memento of her wedding day.
He’d intended to give it to her this morning, but then he’d woken up alone. He’d found it in his sporran when he retired to his bedchamber to change for the journey. He’d considered tucking it into a drawer and leaving it behind, but at the last minute he’d snatched it up and dropped it into his coat pocket.
Foolish of him, really. This wasn’t a real marriage, and given the drastic decline in Lord Graystone’s health, it was likely to be over before it began.
But it wasn’t over yet. When they retired to their bedchamber this evening they’d still be husband and wife, yet legally speaking there wasn’t a single reason Logan should ever bother Juliana with his attentions again.
All that fine, pale skin he’d imagined worshipping with his hands and mouth, left untouched, unkissed.
His throat went dry as his gaze moved over her thick, fair hair. He could remember just what it felt like, tangled in his hands. Was the delicate curve of her neck as delicious as her sweet pink lips were? Would she cry out for him, beg him?
He’d dreamed of her standing naked before him, her pale skin flushed, the heavy curtain of her hair tumbling down to her waist. Since she’d come to Castle Kinross he’d spent more than one lonely night in his bedchamber lost in fevered imaginings of her. Even when he hadn’t liked her he’d wanted her, and his need for her had grown deeper with every day that passed.
It had nothing to do with her sensuality, or her beauty. No, it was something else altogether. He couldn’t describe it, but it was the same thing that made her tongue so sharp, her dainty little chin so stubborn. It was the same thing that made her hold her own with the Robertson boys—the same thing that had sent her out onto that tree trunk to rescue Fiona.
A faint smile crossed his lips. Bhig galla, just as Brice had said.
The surprise of her…
Maybe that was all it was. Logan didn’t know. He knew only he wanted her, badly.
But not like this.
He let his head fall back against the squabs. He’d imagined her in his bed over and over again—had imagined taking her, making her his—but in every one of these heated fantasies she’d been in his bed for one reason only: because she desired him as desperately as he desired her.
Not because they had to consummate their marriage to make it legal, or because she was his wife, and it was her duty. He’d never taken a woman to bed for any other reason than she wanted him, and he didn’t want to begin with Juliana.
She was his wife. His wife.
Beads of sweat popped out on Logan’s forehead as he thought of how small she was, how fragile her body was compared to his. He was experienced with women, but Juliana wasn’t anything like the hearty, lusty, Scottish lasses he’d bedded.
Still, she was a woman, not a child, and much stronger than she looked.
Wee, but hearty.
He glanced at her again to reassure himself of this, but that turned out to be a mistake. She was lying across the seat now, her folded hands tucked under her cheek, and if anything, she looked even smaller than she had when she’d gotten into the carriage. Her entire body fit easily on the narrow cushion.
Mo Dhia, was she shrinking?
Logan dragged his sleeve across his damp forehead.
Christ, he was nervous. An enormous, nervous husband with a fierce, burning desire for his tiny, innocent wife wasn’t a promising combination.
If she did let him near her again, he’d just have to be careful, that’s all. So very careful. No letting his weight rest on her. No rubbing or squeezing. Certainly, no squeezing—
“Logan? What’s wrong?”
Logan jerked his gaze toward her.
She hadn’t moved, but her eyes were open now, and she was regarding him with a furrowed brow. “You’re grimacing, as if you’re in pain.”
It’s not my pain I’m worried about, but yours.
Unfamiliar heat crept into Logan’s cheeks. “It’s just the carriage. It’s cramped.”
Juliana straightened in her seat and concealed a yawn behind her gloved hand. “Yes, I expect it is, for you. Will we stop to change horses soon?”
They’d already stopped once, but Juliana had slept through it. “Yes, at Aviemore.”
“How far is it from Aviemore to Dalwhinnie?”
Her voice was strained, and Logan knew she was thinking about her father. “Another thirty miles or so. We’ll travel as quickly as we can, and with any luck we’ll reach Guildford by the end of the week.”
They changed horses at Newtownmore and again at Etteridge. By the time they pulled into the inn yard at the Castle Arms in Dalwhinnie, dusk had fallen. Logan shook some life back into his stiff limbs, then descended from the carriage and approached Stokes, who was just dismounting. “Secure three rooms for tonight, Stokes, if you would.”
Juliana was overwhelmed, exhausted, anxious for her father, and likely dreading a repeat of last’s night amorous fiasco. Only a savage would bother his wife with his attentions under such circumstances. Since he wasn’t certain he could keep his hands off her, it was best if they each had their own bedchamber.
Stokes raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing, only tossed his reins to the waiting ostler, then disappeared into the inn.
Logan returned to the carriage and offered Juliana his hand. She placed her gloved fingers in his palm, and he couldn’t help but notice his hand swallowed hers.
Juliana decided against dining in the bedchamber. Logan tried not to take this as an indication his wife didn’t wish to be alone with him, and escorted her down to dinner without complaint. After they’d dined he took her back upstairs, but he didn’t venture into her bedchamber. Instead he offered her an awkward bow as he hovered in the doorway. “I’ll bid you goodnight now, Juliana. I wish you a pleasant evening.”
She’d passed by him to enter the room, but now she jerked around to face him. “You’ll bid me good…you mean you’re not staying with me tonight?”
Logan’s eyebrows shot up. She almost sounded disappointed. “After last night I thought you’d prefer it if I—”
“No. I don’t prefer it.”
If it hadn’t been for the furious blush in her cheeks, Logan might have thought he’d misheard her. “You, ah…you want me to stay here tonight? With you?”
She turned toward the looking glass, biting her lip and stealing glances at his reflection. “You’re my husband, Logan. Of course I want you to stay with me. That is, if you want to.
I understand it if you prefer to have your own bedchamber.”
She thought he’d rather sleep without her? Logan shook his head, stunned. “I don’t prefer it.”
When he met her gaze in the mirror she looked quickly away, and tenderness swelled inside him. She was nervous, and he…well, he was the man, for God’s sake. It was his responsibility to reassure her. If he couldn’t find a way to help his bride relax, tonight was sure to end in disaster, just as last night had.
He closed the bedchamber door, came up behind her, and rested his hands gently on her shoulders. “Are you anxious, Ana? There’s no need to be.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but this was one of those rare instances where the truth wouldn’t do either of them any good.
Juliana met his gaze in the mirror. “I, um…well, aren’t all new brides anxious?”
Logan, encouraged by this reply, ventured to press a chaste kiss to her temple. She smelled delicious—like something fresh and green. He inhaled deeply, his head swimming as her scent flooded his nose. “Aye, I think they are, but I’ll do my best to see it isn’t as terrible as it was the first time.”
“Oh, no! I don’t think…I didn’t mean for you to think…it wasn’t terrible.”
“Unpleasant enough, though?” Logan grinned to take the sting out of his words.
Her cheeks reddened. Logan was still half-dazed by the scent of her skin. He didn’t step back when she turned to face him. She was so close she was nearly in his arms. He gathered her gently against him, tightly enough so she could feel his body brush against hers, but not so tight she could feel anything…distressing.
She laid her hands on his chest. “Not unpleasant, no. Just…” she swallowed, and her gaze lowered so she was staring at his cravat instead of into his eyes. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Logan stared down at her in astonishment. Jesus, is that what she thought? That she was at fault? “You didn’t do anything wrong, bòcan. Last night was my fault, not yours. I should have taken care of you, and I failed.” He touched his lips to her forehead. “I’d never intentionally hurt you, Juliana. You know that, don’t you?”
To Wed A Wild Scot Page 21