To Wed A Wild Scot

  “You’ll need all your strength to see your father,” he added, his forehead creased with concern.

  Her father. Shame washed over Juliana at finding her father hadn’t been uppermost in her thoughts. Since she’d received Lord Arthur’s letter, she’d spent nearly every moment thinking about him, praying she wasn’t too late, both for her father’s sake, and for Grace’s.

  “I love him, you know,” she said suddenly. “My father. I love him, but I’m angry at him still, and I don’t want to be. I want to forgive him, but…”

  But she couldn’t, and how unfair, how selfish that made her. To resent a father who was afflicted with a disease that made him a stranger to himself. A father who’d always loved her with such tender affection. To withhold forgiveness from him now, as he hovered on the verge of death—

  Logan didn’t speak, but he reached for her, his large, warm hands closing over both of hers. She met his gaze, and the compassion in his face made tears rush to her eyes. “He gave me everything, Logan. His love, his attention, everything I could have asked for—”

  “No, he didn’t. He didn’t give you his trust.”

  “His trust? What do you mean?” Juliana clung to his hands, her voice thick with tears.

  “He didn’t trust you to take care of Grace, or to take care of yourself. That’s a difficult thing to forgive in someone you love, but you will, in time.”

  Juliana frowned. “Of course he trusts me. He’s my father, Logan.”

  He studied her in silence. She didn’t understand the look in his eyes, but it made her want to hide her face from him.

  He didn’t argue with her, but he drew his hands away. “You need to rest, Juliana. You’re pale and shaky. Come, you won’t be any help to your father if you’re ill.”

  Juliana waited for him to say more, but he remained silent, so she turned her gaze back to the window. At some point she must have fallen asleep, because when she came to again the coach had rolled to a stop, and Logan was leaning over her, gently shaking her shoulder. “Wake up, Ana. We’re here.”

  Juliana gazed groggily up him, then jerked awake as the meaning of his words sank in. She struggled upright and glanced out the window. They’d drawn up in front of the entrance to Graystone Court.

  “We have to find Lord Arthur at once.” Juliana fumbled for the coach’s door, but Logan got there first. He opened the door, leapt out onto the drive, then offered his hand to her.

  Juliana scrambled out, intending to rush for the entrance, but her body was fatigued and her legs numb from so much time spent in the carriage. She was grateful for the solid strength of Logan’s arm supporting her.

  Before they could reach the door, it swung open. Her father’s butler, Pinkerton, and Lord Arthur stood there.

  Juliana froze halfway up the stairs, her blood going cold. Lord Arthur’s skin was gray, his face lined with worry and exhaustion. He looked as if he’d aged ten years since she saw him last. “Is he…is my father…” She trailed off into silence, afraid to finish her question.

  Lord Arthur hurried down the stairs to meet her. “We put him straight to bed when we returned from Bath. The journey weakened him, and he hasn’t risen since. He’s very ill, my lady, and his mind wanders. You must prepare yourself.”

  Juliana ran up the rest of the stairs, still clutching at Logan’s arm. “Grace? Where is she?”

  Lord Arthur hurried up the stairs after them. “On the road from Buckinghamshire. I wrote to Lord Pierce from Bath. He and Lady Pierce are on their way. They should be here tomorrow with Grace.”

  They’d reached the entrance hall. Pinkerton held out his hands for their cloaks. “How do you do, Pinkerton?” Lady Juliana asked, with a sympathetic glance at the butler. She’d never seen him so distressed. Her father was a stern, uncompromising master, but Pinkerton had been with him for decades, and they’d grown fond of each other over the years.

  “It’s kind of you to ask, my lady. I’m as well as I can be, under the circumstances. Your father has always been good to me, as you know.” Pinkerton’s gaze slid to Logan, and he offered him a stiff bow. “I beg your pardon, sir.”

  It was taking all of Juliana’s strength not to give in to the tears pressing behind her eyes. She’d known since she received Lord Arthur’s letter that her father was gravely ill, but she could see by the grief on Pinkerton’s and Lord Arthur’s faces it was even worse than she’d thought.

  They would lose him in a matter of days only. Perhaps a matter of hours.

  The small girl inside her that would always revere her father wanted to collapse to the floor, to weep and rail at fate. Logan’s quiet, solid presence beside her was the only thing keeping her upright. “This is my husband, Logan Blair, Laird of Clan Kinross.”

  Pinkerton was too well-trained to show any surprise, but Lord Arthur’s eyes went wide with shock. “Blair? But I thought you meant to marry—”

  “Mr. Blair is the Duke of Blackmore’s brother.” Juliana’s fingers clutched at Logan’s coat sleeve. “It’s a long story, Lord Arthur, and I’d like to see my father at once.”

  “Yes, of course.” Lord Arthur gave her a hasty bow. “Pinkerton, if you could show Mr. Blair to the drawing room—”

  “No. My husband will accompany me to my father’s bedchamber.”

  Given that Logan had never met the marquess, it was highly irregular for to him to appear in his lordship’s bedchamber. Even Logan seemed surprised at it. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes. You’re my husband. I want you there,” Juliana said, without a trace of hesitation. She didn’t want him to leave her side.

  “Very well.” Lord Arthur gave Juliana a measuring look, but he didn’t offer further argument. He followed them up the stairs to the family wing on the third floor, and down the hallway to the end, where the marquess’s apartments were.

  Juliana opened the door to her father’s bedchamber. The drapes had been drawn across every window, and only one lamp burned. The dimness was a shock after the bright sunshine outdoors, and an odd, musty smell hung in the air—a smell of closed apartments, and decay.

  Juliana crossed the room, but stopped before she reached her father’s bed, fear clawing at her throat. He hadn’t stirred when they entered, and he was so quiet and still. If he’d passed, and she hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye to him—

  “It’s all right.” Logan’s warm hand settled in the small of her back. He urged her gently forward. “The coverlet over his chest is rising and falling.”

  Juliana swallowed and crept forward again until she was standing beside her father’s bed. A choked gasp left her throat as her gaze settled on his face. It had been less than a month since she’d last seen him, but he was so altered she wouldn’t have recognized him. His once noble cheekbones were sunken, and his aristocratic nose was a sharp blade rising from his shrunken, waxy face. He was covered with what looked to be dozens of blankets, but even their bulk couldn’t disguise how feeble he was, how diminished his frame.

  “Father?” Juliana perched gingerly on the edge of his bed and took his hand. “Father, it’s Juliana.”

  He didn’t stir, and his eyes remained closed. Juliana, unsure what she should do, gave Logan a helpless look. “Should I wake him?”

  Later, she’d wonder why she’d asked Logan that question instead of Lord Arthur, but in that moment, she didn’t try to explain it to herself. Her heart was shattering in her chest, and she turned instinctively to Logan.

  He drew a step closer. He looked down into her face and brushed a stray hair from her cheek. “You should forgive him,” he murmured, his voice so soft only Juliana could hear him.

  Forgive him.

  Juliana gazed down into her father’s face, no less beloved for the ravages of age and disease, and whispered, “I—I already have.”

  She had. Of course, she had. If the words felt awkward leaving her lips
it was only because she was in shock.

  Her father’s demands regarding her marriage, the dreadful risk he’d taken with her own and Grace’s happiness—surely none of it mattered now? How could it, compared to all the love he’d given her? Everything he’d done, whether misguided or not, had been done out of love for her. She couldn’t be so wicked as to withhold forgiveness from her dying father.

  She laid a hand against his wasted cheek. His skin felt hot and dry to her touch, and her heart gave a miserable throb in her chest. He might slip away without waking, and then he’d never know she was here, that she’d come to him—

  “Juliana?”

  Juliana started, and blinked the tears from her eyes. She leaned closer to the bed and saw her father’s eyes were open. “Yes, Father. I’m here.” She clasped his hand between both of hers. “I’m right here next to you.”

  “I knew you’d come. Always been a good girl…always been so proud of you, Juliana.” His voice was weak, but the ghost of a smile drifted across his cracked lips.

  “I know, Father. I know.” Juliana wasn’t certain he could focus on her face, but she forced a smile to her lips.

  Her father struggled to inhale few wheezing breaths. “Is Jonathan with you? Jonathan, and Emma?”

  Juliana drew in a shuddering breath. Her father had never recovered from the blow of losing his only son. No parent should have to live through losing a child, and Juliana couldn’t bear to speak of it to him now. “Jonathan and Emma…send their love, Father, and promise they’ll see you very soon.”

  This soothed him, and his eyes dropped closed. Juliana hung anxiously over the bed, fearing he’d lost consciousness, but after a short time he opened his eyes again, and fixed on Juliana’s face. “You’re married?”

  The now-familiar wave of anger and sadness washed over Juliana, but she made herself smile down at him. “Yes. Just as you wished.” She drew Logan forward. “Father, this is my husband, Lo—”

  “Fitzwilliam.” Her father reached out a feeble hand to Logan. “Fitzwilliam. Thank God.”

  Fitzwilliam? For a second Juliana was confused, but then she realized what had happened. The room was dark, her father’s mind was wandering, and Logan looked so very much like Fitzwilliam it was only natural her father would mistake one for the other.

  But it wasn’t just that. Her father wanted to believe it was Fitzwilliam standing there. That it was Fitzwilliam she’d married.

  “You’ll take care of her, Fitzwilliam. Of her, and Grace.”

  Logan shot Juliana a questioning look, as if he were waiting for her to say something. Juliana opened her mouth, but somehow the words froze on her lips. Marriage to Fitzwilliam was the last thing her father would ever ask of her. All he wanted was to know his last living child was safe, that someone he knew and trusted would take care of her.

  How could she take that away from him?

  When she remained silent, Logan stepped closer to the bed and took her father’s hand. Her father patted it weakly. “Knew you’d be a duchess, Juliana. Duchess of Blackmore.”

  Her father’s dearest wish, that she’d become a duchess someday.

  It had never been her wish.

  A peaceful smile lit her father’s face. He sank against his pillows with a contented sigh, and dear God, he looked so happy, so relieved to know she’d married Fitzwilliam at last.

  He’s dying…

  “Yes, Father. The Duchess of Blackmore at last, just as you wanted. Fitzwilliam and I are…very happy.”

  She couldn’t bear to look at Logan when she said it. She thought of how they’d been this morning—how she’d felt when he’d told her she was beautiful. The soft catch in his voice when he called her mo bhean.

  My wife…

  What a coward she was.

  She’d dared to fall in love with him, only to betray him when it mattered most.

  Another tear rolled down her cheek. Of all the tears she’d shed, it was the bitterest.

  Logan didn’t say a word or withdraw his hand from her father’s, but Juliana sensed his entire body go rigid. The air around him shifted, grew colder.

  They didn’t speak again. Juliana remained on the bed with her father, one of his hands clasped between hers, and Logan withdrew, melting into the shadows. Lord Arthur remained by the window, a respectful distance away.

  Juliana wasn’t sure how much time passed. It was dark, and the moments both contracted and stretched around them until time no longer made sense.

  When Logan took her out of the room much later, her father was dead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Graystone Court

  Eight days later

  Logan knew he was being watched.

  He wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, but ten minutes or more had passed since he’d sensed the wide, dark eyes on him and glanced up just in time to see her duck back behind the library door.

  He slowly turned over the pages of his book, waiting. Sooner or later she’d gather up the nerve to approach him. Grace was shy, but she had a good deal of her Aunt Juliana’s backbone in her. So he sat quietly, his legs stretched out in front of him. He kept his gaze fixed on the book in his hands and did his best to look harmless.

  It must have worked, because a few seconds later Grace gathered up her courage enough to creep around the edge of the door and venture a few steps into the library. Logan pretended not to notice her, and she gradually made her way closer, creeping like a wary mouse, one hesitant step at a time.

  Soon enough, she was hovering beside his knee. “Mr. Logan?”

  Logan looked up from his book and raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “Hello, Grace. Where did you come from?”

  “From ’round the door. I was hiding there,” she said with a shy smile.

  Logan’s lips quirked. Grace had the sweetest smile. “Were you? You must have been quiet, because I didn’t see you there. Do you need something?”

  “It’s pretty outside, and warm, too.”

  Logan glanced across the room to see the late afternoon’s rays illuminating the window. They were into July now, and the sun continued to promise a warm summer. “It is.”

  Grace fiddled with her skirts. Logan noticed she was dressed for riding in a dark brown skirt and jacket that vaguely resembled a lady’s riding habit. This time he didn’t have to feign his surprise.

  She’d never asked him to take her riding before.

  As promised, Lord and Lady Pierce had brought Grace to Graystone Court the day after Logan and Juliana arrived. The child had kept a careful distance from him that first week. Whenever she did happen to encounter him, she’d either run away or hide behind Juliana’s skirts.

  Logan hadn’t pushed her. Grace had just lost her grandfather, the house was in turmoil as mourners came to pay their respects, and her beloved Aunt Juliana was pale and withdrawn, caught in a crushing wave of grief.

  By the end of the week it grew calmer. Lord and Lady Pierce had taken their leave yesterday, after Lord Graystone’s body was interred in the family tomb beside his beloved son’s. Juliana had spent the better part of today alone in her bedchamber, and the house was quiet.

  Grace had been consigned to the tender care of her nanny for the day. Mrs. Culpepper was a worthy woman, but not a terribly amusing one. Grace soon grew bored with her company and turned her attention to Logan who, while far more terrifying than Mrs. Culpepper, was also a great deal more interesting.

  She didn’t speak to him at all at first, but she took to following him about from room to room. She’d kept a wary eye on him all morning, but when she’d reassured herself the only alarming thing about him was his size, she’d bravely invited him to play at paper dolls with her.

  Logan wasn’t very good at paper dolls. The fragile bits of paper were too tiny for his big hands, but Grace was patient with him. After a morning of pl
aying at Cinderella and the Glass Slipper a tentative friendship had sprung up between them. Soon enough Logan found himself drinking tea from miniscule china teacups and helping Grace rock her dolls to sleep.

  She hadn’t yet ventured outside the house with him, but it looked as if that was about to change. Grace had evidently given this invitation some thought, because she was shrewd enough to begin with flattery. “My aunt Juliana said you have a big gray horse at your house, and that you’re a very good rider. Is that true?”

  “I do have a gray horse, and I suppose I’m a decent enough rider, though I’m no better than your Aunt Juliana is.” Logan smiled, but saying Juliana’s name caused him a pang in his chest.

  “What’s your horse’s name?”

  “Fingal. It’s a Scottish name. Fhiongail. It means ‘fair stranger’ in English.”

  “We have a big horse in our stable named Finnegan. He’s not gray, but maybe you’d like to ride him still?” Grace turned big, hopeful dark eyes on him.

  “I would like it, Grace, but does your aunt Juliana know you’re going out for a ride?” Logan didn’t want to disappoint Grace, but he wouldn’t take her out without Juliana’s knowledge.

  Grace nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes. She said a ride would do her good. She’s coming down now.”

  Juliana was coming down? Logan tossed his book onto a table and jumped to his feet. He’d hardly seen her since the day they arrived in Surrey. She’d come down for dinner when Lord and Lady Pierce were here, but last night she’d taken a tray in her room.

  Since she’d lied to her father about marrying Fitzwilliam, neither she nor Logan seemed to know what to say to each other. His new wife had told her dying father she’d married his brother. What was there to say, after that? They could hardly even look at each other now.

  So, Juliana avoided him, and Logan brooded over it.

  He wanted to tell her the lie didn’t matter to him. He wanted to reassure her he understood why she’d done it, but he couldn’t make the words leave his lips.