To Wed A Wild Scot

by Bradley, Anna

  Grace made a running leap and landed in the middle of the bed with a grin. “There! Are you awake now?” She tried to snatch Juliana’s hands and pull her from the bed, but Juliana caught her niece in her arms and gathered her tightly against her chest.

  Out of this whole tangled mess with her father and Logan, this was the one thing that had gone right—the only thing in Juliana’s life that made sense.

  Grace.

  Her niece was hers now. No one—not her father, and not Lord Cowden—could take Grace away from her. No matter what happened with Logan, Juliana would always be grateful to him for giving her such a precious gift.

  She buried her face in the springy dark hair under her chin, but Grace wasn’t in the mood to be cuddled. She squirmed free from Juliana’s arms. “No, there isn’t time! Mr. Logan told me he has to go out this afternoon and won’t be home until after dark. If we don’t ride now, we won’t get to go with him at all. Please, Auntie Juliana!”

  Logan was off again today, then, and likely wouldn’t return until close to dawn, just as he had last night. Juliana’s heart sank, but she forced a smile for Grace’s sake. “Yes, all right. Fetch my dark green riding habit, won’t you? I’ll be ready in a moment.”

  Grace pranced about like an overeager puppy while Juliana gathered her hair up into some pins and donned her riding habit. “Mr. Logan,” was a decided favorite with Grace, and he was becoming more so every day. She was going to be devastated when Logan went away. Juliana’s heart sank another notch thinking about it, but Grace didn’t give her time to wallow. She grabbed Juliana’s hand and tugged her toward the stairs.

  Logan was in the entryway waiting for them, and Juliana’s breath caught at the sight of him. He was wearing a dark blue coat that made his eyes appear bluer than ever, and his tight buckskin breeches accentuated the long, muscular line of his legs. A lock of his dark hair hung over his forehead, and a hat and riding crop were dangling from his elegant fingers.

  She’d been so ashamed of her lie she’d hardly dared look at Logan these past weeks, but as he stood there below them, his face turned up to watch them descend, Juliana felt a hint of that same determination that had helped her coax him into marrying her. Her chin inched up a notch, and for the first time in days, she forced herself to hold his gaze.

  He didn’t look away, but he didn’t smile, either. His face was cool and set as she came down the last stair. “Good morning, my lady. Are you ready for our ride?”

  Juliana flinched. His tone was perfectly polite, his bow proper, but his eyes were hard. Her throat went dry, and her murmured “yes” was so soft she wasn’t sure Logan even heard her.

  If he had, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead he turned to Grace, and the polite smile melted into a playful grin. “Hello, Miss Grace. You look very smart in your riding outfit this morning. I’m guessing you know your way around a horse.”

  “Oh, yes. I do!” Grace took his hand, and said to Juliana, “Mr. Logan is going to ride Finnegan today, because that name sounds most like Fingal, his own horse’s name.”

  Juliana nodded and allowed Grace to hurry them out the door. Grace led the way to the stables, skipping happily along in front of them, leaving Logan and Juliana to follow behind, locked in an uneasy silence.

  It was, unfortunately, a hint of things to come. Once they were all mounted and riding through the estate grounds, Grace continually darted off to explore whatever caught her eye, leaving Logan and Juliana to drown in the sea of awkwardness between them.

  Juliana opened her mouth a dozen times, and closed it a dozen more without venturing a word. How had it gotten as bad as this so quickly? Back at Castle Kinross they’d always had plenty to say to each other, even when they’d been arguing. This abyss between them, this deafening silence, was unbearable. She had to do something, say something—

  “Aunt Juliana!” Grace had ridden ahead, but she paused now and waved a beckoning hand toward Juliana and Logan. “Come this way, and see the last of the bluebells!”

  Juliana waved and started to make her way forward, and Logan brought Finnegan into step beside her horse. “Everything you said about Grace is true. She’s as lovely as you told me she is.”

  Juliana turned to him in surprise. Logan hadn’t offered her more than half a dozen words over the past three days, but if there was one subject on which they could talk easily, it was Grace. “She is. Now you see why I came all the way to Scotland on her behalf. She’s worth every single one of the six hundred miles between Surrey and Inverness.”

  Logan’s mouth turned down. He struggled with himself for a moment, but then a harsh laugh tore from his chest. “You didn’t come all those miles just for Grace.”

  Juliana glanced at him and saw the polite mask he’d been wearing for days had cracked a bit around the edges. Her heart began to pound. “Why did I come, then?”

  He let out another short, hard laugh. “Come now, Juliana. We both know why. You came for Fitz, of course. Your betrothed. Pity that didn’t work out.”

  It had been some time since Juliana thought it a pity—nearly from the first moment she’d laid eyes on Logan, in fact. “Do you suppose I think it’s a pity, Logan? Or are you referring to your own feelings?”

  He shrugged, but he didn’t meet her eyes. “Your father would have thought so, otherwise you wouldn’t have lied and told him you’d married Fitz. The Duchess of Blackmore, remember, Juliana?”

  There it was, the dark, ugly thing she’d put between them with her lie. “I told you once before, Logan. I don’t care about being a duchess. That was my father’s dream for me, but it was never mine.”

  “What about Fitz, Juliana?” he asked quietly. “Was he part of your dream?”

  He turned to her then, and Juliana gasped at the raw pain she saw on his face. She reached out a hand to him. “Logan, I—”

  “Aunt Juliana?” Grace was waving impatiently at them. “Aren’t you coming? I’m riding ahead!”

  Juliana tore her gaze from Logan’s face and called to Grace, “No, I don’t like you getting so far ahead where I can’t see you. Wait for us, please.”

  Grace frowned, but she lowered her riding crop and obediently brought her horse to a halt.

  Juliana turned back to Logan, her heart rushing into her throat at the lost look on his face. “Fitzwilliam was never a part of my dream. Not in the way you mean it. I care for him, and I always will, but—”

  Juliana broke off suddenly, her gaze jerking back to Grace. Had she caught something out of the corner of her eye? Some sharp movement that made foreboding shoot up her spine? Had Grace made a sound, or had Juliana somehow sensed something was coming, in the way of a parent always on the alert for her child?

  She didn’t know. Even much later she couldn’t say how she knew something awful was about to happen, but she stopped mid-sentence and whirled toward Grace.

  And what she saw…what she saw…

  A scream tore from her throat. “Grace!”

  Logan jerked his head toward Grace. They were only a few yards away from her—close enough so they could both see every moment as it unfolded with painful clarity.

  But not close enough to stop it.

  The small mare Grace was riding had taken a sudden fright to something in the grass—a snake, most likely. The mare lunged forward, nearly throwing Grace over her head, but then with a terrified whinny she reared back, her hooves stabbing at the air.

  Grace let out a sharp cry and grabbed for the horse’s mane. She might yet have held on if the mare hadn’t regained her balance only to dance sideways, trampling at something at her feet. The snake that had spooked her flopped lifelessly between her hooves, and she reared up again in a panic.

  “Grace!” Juliana screamed again, her voice hoarse with terror.

  Logan surged forward. Juliana darted after him, a prayer on her lips as he got closer and closer to Grace, bu
t just as he drew close enough to grab her around the waist and tug her free from the panicked horse, Grace’s fingers tore loose from the horse’s mane. The momentum sent her flying backward, and she was falling, falling…

  Dear God, she seemed to fall forever, but at the same time too quickly for Logan to be able to do a single thing to stop it.

  The next thing Juliana knew, his shouts were ringing in her ears. A sound was clawing its way up her throat, but before she could scream a third time, Grace hit the ground with a brutal slam. Logan leapt from his horse and ran toward her. Juliana didn’t recall dismounting, but her feet crashed into the ground as she ran after Logan, praying with every step she took the mare wouldn’t trample Grace under her pounding hooves.

  Instead, the mare bolted. Logan shot forward and fell to his knees beside Grace.

  Juliana didn’t remember running. She didn’t know if she sobbed, or if any tears ran down her cheeks. Later, all she could remember was Grace, one arm twisted beside her head, and blood—very red against her pale face—trickling from her nose.

  * * * *

  You need to forgive him…

  These words in Logan’s soft voice kept repeating over and over in Juliana’s head. He hadn’t spoken for hours, yet she could hear him as clearly as if he’d just said the words aloud.

  She wasn’t sure why these words should be haunting her now, unless it was simply that it was impossible to ignore the similarities between this moment and the last evening of her father’s life.

  She and Logan were in a dark room, sitting beside Grace’s bed. Juliana held one of the child’s small hands tucked inside her own, but Grace’s other arm was secured in a sling. The surgeon who’d come in to set the broken bone had assured them it was a simple fracture, and Grace would suffer no lasting effects from the injury. They’d had the doctor in as well, but he’d been optimistic about the knot on the back of Grace’s head, predicting with a calm smile the worst struggle would be keeping the child confined to her bed long enough for her to heal.

  Since this morning, Juliana hadn’t spared a thought for anything other than Grace. Her father and even Logan had receded to the back of her mind while she waited in agony to see how severe Grace’s injuries were.

  When the doctor told her Grace was going to be just fine, the relief was like nothing Juliana had ever felt before. It did something to her—shook something loose inside her, and the evening of her father’s death came crashing down upon her again.

  And with it, something else. Something Logan had said to her that day in the carriage, before they’d arrived at Graystone Court.

  She’d told him her father had given her everything, but Logan had shaken his head. Then he’d said something she hadn’t understood at the time.

  He didn’t trust you. That’s a difficult thing to forgive in someone you love.

  Juliana found the outlines of Logan’s face in the shadowy room. It had taken time, but now she thought she understood what he’d been trying to tell her that day. Somehow, he’d known how she felt before she did herself.

  Until this moment, she’d struggled to understand why she couldn’t forgive her father. He’d been ill when he amended his will—not in his right mind. Juliana knew that, yet even after his death she could feel a hard, cold knot of anger in her chest when she thought about the last few months of his life.

  She’d told herself she was a selfish, ungrateful daughter—that only a monster would withhold forgiveness in the face of a beloved father’s death. She’d told herself over and over again he’d only wanted her to be safe, to protect her, yet she still hadn’t been able to let go of her anger and resentment toward him. She hadn’t known why at first, but as the days passed her confused thoughts started to untangle themselves in her head.

  Her father had loved her dearly. He thought her perfect—a diamond of the first water, destined to become a duchess. He couldn’t have been prouder of her charm and intelligence. She was everything he ever wanted in a daughter, and he saw her as a credit to him.

  But he’d never really seen her. And she…well, she’d seen herself through his eyes, hadn’t she? An accomplished, charming, decorative lady of fashion. For a long time, she’d believed she wanted the same things for herself her father wanted for her.

  But that wasn’t the truth. It never had been.

  The truth was, until she’d been forced to act to save Grace, she hadn’t had any more faith in herself than her father had. Deep down, she’d doubted herself. There was a part of her father that hadn’t believed she was capable of taking care of herself and Grace, and a part of her had wondered if he was right.

  But underneath the trappings that were so important to her father, there was a great deal more to Juliana than either of them had suspected. A woman of strength, of determination and grit. That was the part her father had never seen. He’d never even suspected it was there.

  But Logan had.

  Never once, since she chased him from Inverness to Castle Kinross, had he ever underestimated her. She hadn’t let him.

  This man—this fierce, maddening Scot—he’d helped bring out another side of her. The side that was willing to struggle for what she wanted, to fight for what mattered to her. He’d made her pursue him, made her meet every challenge, because nothing less than everything she had, everything she was, would ever be enough for him.

  “I never wanted to be a duchess,” she said suddenly.

  Her voice sounded loud in the quiet room.

  Logan’s head snapped up.

  “I never wanted to be a duchess,” she repeated softly, more to herself than to Logan. It was the truth. The titles, the properties, the fortune—none of it had ever mattered to her the way it mattered to her father.

  Logan said nothing, and more words rushed to Juliana’s lips. She had so much to say to him, so many words locked away inside her heart. “I always imagined I’d marry Fitzwilliam. He was one reason why I came to Scotland. You’re right about that. I’ve always loved him.”

  Logan remained silent, but she sensed the sudden tension in him.

  “At one time I might even have said I was in love with him, but that was a long time ago. I’ve known for years I love Fitzwilliam in the same way I loved Jonathan. Not as a lover or as a husband, but as a brother, and a treasured friend.”

  She could feel Logan’s gaze on her face, but still he didn’t speak. A brief silence fell, and Juliana gathered in a breath. She’d finish what she had to say, because the time had come to be brave enough to tell the truth. She wouldn’t turn coward now.

  In the end, it was much easier to say it than she’d thought it would be.

  The truth always was, wasn’t it?

  “I never loved Fitzwilliam the way I love you, Logan. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you. I’ll always regret I didn’t have the courage to tell my father that before he died. I never meant to hurt you, and I—I’m sorry I did.”

  Logan sucked in a breath, but Juliana didn’t wait for him to speak. She’d come this far, and her heart already felt lighter for it. “My father might have thought it a pity I never became a duchess. Maybe you think so, too—think it’s a pity we married, I mean. But I don’t, Logan. I don’t want anyone but you.”

  Still, Logan didn’t say a word. Juliana waited, but when another few minutes passed in unbroken silence, she raised Grace’s hand to her lips, pressed a kiss to her palm, and rose from the chair.

  She did look back—just once—before she left the room.

  Logan sat motionless beside the bed, half-lost in the shadows.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Juliana was sitting in front of her looking-glass when Logan entered her bedchamber. Her hair fell in a mass of golden waves over her shoulders, with long locks of it trailing down her back. Pins were scattered across the table. Juliana’s brush was in her hand, but she wasn’t using it. She was perfec
tly still, staring at her reflection in the glass as if she no longer recognized herself.

  Did she know how beautiful she was? How strong? Did she know her father’s blindness to that strength didn’t make it any less true, or any less a part of her?

  Does she know how much I love her?

  Logan closed the bedchamber door quietly behind him. As he made his way slowly across the room toward her, he drew off his cravat, his coat, and his waistcoat and let them fall heedlessly to the floor.

  He was nearly close enough to touch her when she raised her gaze from her reflection, and her green eyes met his. She didn’t say a word, but Logan saw her long, pale throat move in a swallow, saw the way her pulse fluttered wildly under that fine, soft skin.

  He slid his suspenders over his shoulders, then tugged his shirt over his head. When he reached her at last his bare chest was heaving, as if he’d run miles—days—just to reach her.

  She was watching his reflection in the mirror, her gaze following his every breath, his every move, but when he touched her at last—the softest touch only, his hands landing gently on her shoulders—she squeezed her eyes closed.

  “No. Look at me, Juliana.” He slid his palms over her shoulders, settled them in the curves of her neck, and waited.

  Her eyelids fluttered open, and then her green eyes were on him, burning him everywhere they touched. How had he ever thought he could leave her? What a fool he was, to imagine he’d survive a day without that gaze on him, warming him. He could as soon go without breath, without sunshine.

  He gathered the thick mass of her hair in his hands and raised it to his lips. “Did you think I wouldn’t forgive you, bòcan?” He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, hungry for her springtime scent. He inhaled deeply, until his head was swimming with the dizzying scent of crushed leaves and sun-warmed grass.