To Wed A Wild Scot

  The slip of paper with Cowden’s vowels remained safely tucked away in Logan’s coat pocket. He’d had to reduce Cowden’s manservant to a bleeding pulp to keep it there, but brawls and bloodshed aside, Logan was several thousand pounds closer to getting what he wanted. For that reason, he was inclined to call the evening a success.

  He doubted Juliana would see it that way, however.

  He studied his reflection in the mirror with a grimace. Even he was shocked at his appearance, and God knew this wasn’t his first brawl, or even his first knife wound. The thought of his tenderhearted wife seeing him in such a state made him sick to his stomach.

  Where was that damn servant? He yanked on the bell again, then went back to the mirror. The cravat he’d tied around his upper arm was stained with blood. He didn’t dare remove it for fear it would start oozing again, but he’d been smart enough to tie it under his shirt sleeve instead of over it.

  Right. He’d just have to remove his shirt himself.

  He got the hem free easily enough, but he couldn’t stifle a soft hiss of pain when he tried to pull the shirt over his head. Lifting his injured arm was agony. To make matters worse, the linen was stuck to his lacerated skin with dried blood, and nothing short of a hard tug would loosen it.

  By the time he’d gotten free of his shirt he was shaking. He gripped the edge of the table with one hand, waiting for the dizziness to pass, but the room was still spinning when the bedchamber door opened behind him.

  Logan looked up, hoping to see the servant he’d summoned.

  It wasn’t a servant.

  “Logan?” Juliana’s voice was a strangled whisper, and she was staring at him with her hand over her mouth.

  It was his wife.

  She looked so horrified Logan’s head snapped toward the mirror again, and he let out a silent groan as he saw himself the way she must be seeing him.

  It couldn’t have been worse. If he’d spent the entire ride from Cowden’s to Graystone Court trying to come up with the best way to terrify her, he couldn’t have succeeded any more brilliantly than he was right now.

  The bloody cravat, the slashes on his arm and chest. The swollen jaw, the gash in his ear, the blood in his hair…damn it, he hadn’t even managed to hide the blood-stained shirt from her. It was still clutched in his fingers.

  He tossed it aside, and held up his hands. Then he remembered they too were covered with blood, and he quickly shoved them behind his back. “It’s all right, Ana. I’m not hurt.”

  I’m not hurt? Christ, was that the best he could do? His wife wasn’t a fool. Anyone could see he was hurt—people with blood smeared across their chests generally were. “That is, I am hurt, but it’s not as bad as it looks.”

  She was shaking her head, her other hand now pressing against her stomach as if she feared she would be sick. Something dark descended on Logan as he stared at her, something he’d never felt before.

  Helplessness.

  He’d done this to her. He’d put that look of horror on her face. He wanted to go to her, to take her into his arms, but the thought of staining her with his blood made him recoil.

  He couldn’t comfort her. He didn’t know how to help her.

  Not once had Logan ever failed to justify his clan’s faith in him. Illness, injury, sick or lost children—whatever the crisis, his clan turned to him when despair threatened, and he found a way to take care of them.

  But now, faced with his silent, trembling wife, he didn’t know what he could say or do to take care of her. Her, the one person in the world he wanted to protect more than any other. Why couldn’t he care for her? How could the powerful love he felt for her make him so weak?

  His helplessness overwhelmed him, nearly knocking him to his knees. It was stronger than anything he’d ever known. Stronger than the ferocity that had saved his life tonight. Stronger than the four long years of anger and grief he’d carried inside him since the day he watched Rosal Township burn. Stronger even than the will his father had instilled in him, the loyalty and devotion that made him fight to protect his clan.

  Strong enough to defeat him.

  It all caught up to him then. The burning pain he’d been denying, the blood loss, the long ride from Lord Cowden’s, the chill he couldn’t overcome—it all slammed down on him at once, and he staggered from the blow.

  A soft cry tore from Juliana’s lips. Logan’s gaze darted to her face. He could see the exact moment when she put aside her confusion and fear, and focused on the one thing that mattered the most to her.

  Him.

  In an instant, her entire demeanor changed. She dropped her hands to her sides, flung her shoulders back, and pressed her lips together with determination. “Logan.”

  He was fading in and out, but Logan felt her hands slide around his waist, the brush of her fragrant hair against his shoulder. She was speaking to him, saying something else, but he couldn’t hear her. He knew only that she was supporting him—she, his wee wife, supporting him.

  His arm must be so heavy across her slender shoulders, but they were moving together, slowly, across the room toward the bed.

  He fell onto it with a grunt. The ceiling above him was spinning and weaving, and he couldn’t feel Juliana beside him anymore. He reached out for her, a plea on his lips, and then she was there again. Her small hand slipped into his. He heard her voice, saying something about a basin of water and bandages, but he couldn’t make sense of it.

  Bandages…who needed bandages? Who—

  He shot up, struggling to rise from the bed. Grace. She’d fallen off her horse. She was hurt, and he had to get to her before her horse trampled her—

  “No, Logan. Lie down.”

  Soft hands were holding him to the bed, and the sweetest voice he’d ever heard—her voice—was low in his ear, murmuring to him. He couldn’t tell what she said, but he went still, listening eagerly. A cool hand stroked his hair back from his face as the room darkened and faded to black around him. She leaned over him, still whispering soothingly, and he knew then, in a way he hadn’t known before…

  If he was given the chance, he’d listen to her voice forever.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Let me see if I have this right, Lady Juliana.” The doctor snapped his bag closed and rose from the chair beside Logan’s bed. “First Miss Grace tumbles off her horse, and now Mr. Blair finds himself at the wrong end of a blade, all in the space of two short days?”

  Juliana grimaced. Had it only been two days? It felt as if weeks had passed since Grace’s fall. “I’m afraid so.”

  “A broken arm, a mild concussion, and now a half-dozen knife wounds.” The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know what’s come over you all, but I advise you to take the greatest care of yourself, my lady. We don’t need any more injuries at Graystone Court.”

  “No, indeed we don’t,” Juliana agreed, glancing down at Logan. He looked much better now he was no longer drenched in blood, but between his chest, arm, and ear he was half-smothered in bandages.

  “Good. Now, how does Grace get on? Healing properly, I trust?”

  Juliana nodded. “Properly, and quickly. I’m amazed at how much energy she has already.”

  “That’s the way with children. She’ll be running about before Mr. Blair here is.” The doctor turned a stern look on Logan. “Remain in bed until your chest injury heals. It’s an awkward place for a wound. If you don’t take care you’ll tear it open, and then we’ll have a festering infection on our hands.”

  Logan didn’t argue, but Juliana recognized the obstinate twist of his lips. It was going to be a battle, keeping him immobilized. A small six-year-old child was one thing, but an enormous, stubborn Scot quite another.

  “I’ll see myself out.” The doctor waved Juliana away when she moved to follow him to the door. “Keep an eye on our patient, my lady. He looks like the sort wh
o’ll be out of that bed as soon as you turn your back on him.”

  Juliana crossed her arms over her chest, eyeing Logan. No doubt he’d do his best to escape, but she was just as stubborn as he was. She’d lock him in this bedchamber and station her two largest footmen outside the door if she had to, but Logan would not be stirring from that bed.

  She’d had quite enough of this. Logan was keeping a secret from her, and she intended to find out what it was before it killed him.

  The doctor closed the door behind him, and Juliana crossed back to Logan and perched on the edge of the bed. A dozen questions were racing through her mind, but she didn’t venture a word. She simply looked Logan in the eye and waited. She’d used this same tactic on Grace before, and really, men weren’t so different from children when it came to illness or injury, were they?

  If she held her tongue long enough, he’d confess. The guilty always did.

  Logan looked down at his hands, then toward the window, then he made a great show of inspecting the dressing on his arm, but at last he could stand it no longer and his pleading blue eyes met hers. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

  “Oh?” She folded her hands in her lap. “Tell me, Logan. What do I think?”

  He grimaced at her tone. “You think I got into a brawl.”

  Juliana raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  Logan squirmed in the bed. “That is, I did get into a brawl, but not for the reasons you think.”

  Another eloquent raise of the eyebrow. “And what do I think were your reasons for this brawl?”

  Logan kicked at the covers, but didn’t answer.

  “If you’re quite finished with telling me what I think, then I’d be pleased to hear the truth. Tell me where you’ve been going the past few days.”

  The obstinate twist returned to Logan’s lips. “There’s nothing to tell. By this time tomorrow it’ll be over, and it won’t matter any—”

  “No.”

  “No?” Logan’s brows pinched together. “What does that mean?”

  “Look at me.” Juliana leaned over him, forcing him to meet her gaze. “Yesterday morning you left without a word of explanation. This morning you returned—a full day later—covered in blood and bruises. Now you’re telling me it doesn’t matter, and it sounds as if you’re planning to go off tonight to let whoever stabbed you finish the job. Well, I won’t have it, Logan. You’re my husband, and you owe me an explanation.”

  Logan dropped his gaze, a guilty flush on his cheeks. “I knew you’d worry if I told you, and I didn’t want—”

  “Do you suppose I didn’t worry because you chose not to tell me? I spent the entire night waiting for you, hoping every moment for your return. But when you did return at last, you…” Juliana’s voice hitched. “How do you think I felt, seeing you hurt and bleeding? I thought you were—”

  “Please don’t cry.” Logan took her hand. “I’m sorry I worried you, bhean. For the past few days I’ve been working to fulfill a promise I made to Fitz before we left Castle Kinross. It should have been an easy enough task, but it turned ugly. I don’t want you involved in it.”

  “What did you promise?” Fitz hadn’t said a word to her about any promise, and now Juliana was beginning to see why. “What did you tell him you’d do?” When Logan didn’t answer right away, Juliana drew her hand away. “No more secrets. I have a right to know.”

  Logan blew out a long breath. “Fitz wants to buy some land in Perth. He asked me to make an offer on it, but the blackguard who owns it refuses to sell. He’s planning to toss Clan Murray aside to make way for Cheviot sheep.”

  “What blackguard is this?” Juliana asked, but a shiver of fear was already creeping down her spine. No, it couldn’t be. Fitzwilliam knew how dangerous Benedict was. Surely, he wouldn’t ask Logan to risk his safety.

  “Lord Cowden.” Logan spat the name. “He owes thousands of pounds in gaming debts. Every gentleman in England holds his vowels. Fitz hoped the debts of honor would induce him to sell, but Cowden refused.”

  Juliana wasn’t surprised. As well as Fitzwilliam knew Benedict, he’d never really understood how deep Benedict’s malice went. No practical concern like money could ever outweigh Benedict’s thirst for revenge.

  Benedict would never sell. Not because he gave a fig for the land. No, he’d do it for the pleasure of thwarting Fitzwilliam. He would act against his own interests to keep Fitzwilliam from having something he wanted. That was the sort of man Benedict was.

  “I’ve been calling on him this past week to see if I could find a way to persuade him to sell, but he’s held fast. So, last night I challenged him to a wager, and—”

  “And he lost,” Juliana whispered, her voice unsteady. She knew better than anyone a loss wouldn’t stop Benedict. It would only make him more desperate, more ruthless, and more dangerous. He’d never give up that land to Fitzwilliam, no matter how many wagers he lost.

  “He lost.” Logan took her hand again. “Two thousand pounds, on a single game of piquet.”

  “Two thousand pounds!” Juliana gasped. Dear God, it was a fortune.

  “Aye. He wasn’t pleased. I left with his vowels in my pocket, and he sent his manservant after me to retrieve them. We got into a, ah…scuffle.”

  “A scuffle! Is that what you call it? You came back here carved up like a Christmas goose!”

  Logan grinned at that description. “It’s not as bad as all that. But aye, the scoundrel had a blade, and he managed to get in a few slices before I left him bleeding in Lord Cowden’s stable yard.”

  Juliana shook her head. Logan considered the matter settled because he held Benedict’s vowels, but the opposite was true. This business between Benedict and Logan had just begun. “What happened to Lord Cowden’s vowels? Did his manservant get them back?” If he had, it might put an end to this, but if he hadn’t…

  “No, of course not.” Logan looked offended. “The paper is in my coat pocket. I don’t want the money, just the land in Perth. Cowden has too many debts to be able to meet them all, even with his wife’s money. He loses another wager with me and he’ll have no choice but to settle his debt with the property.”

  No choice? A man like Benedict—the sort who’d stop at nothing to win no matter what it cost—always had a choice. “What do you intend to do now?”

  Logan shrugged, as if the thing were as good as settled. “Go back to Cowden’s tomorrow, challenge him to another wager, and then another until he gives up the land in exchange for his vowels. That will finish the cursed business.”

  Oh, no. A chill rushed over Juliana’s skin. It was madness to suppose Benedict would simply give up the Perth land without a murmur, no matter how many thousands he lost. He was far more likely to order his manservant to attack Logan again. He’d done so once. What was there to stop him from making a second attempt? How far would Benedict take it, before he’d admit defeat?

  Juliana couldn’t be sure, but she knew this: he’d take it much further than she’d ever willingly let Logan go.

  She clutched at Logan’s hand, dread lodging in her stomach. “You don’t understand who he is, Logan. He won’t behave honorably. What if he loses again, but refuses to settle the debt?”

  Logan let out a short laugh, but his blue eyes were hard. “I don’t plan to give him a choice, mo bhean.”

  Juliana swallowed. Benedict would be equally as determined not to give Logan a choice. It would end with another brawl, or worse. She hadn’t the slightest doubt of it, and with Logan in this weakened condition…

  He might brush off his injuries, but he was pale with exhaustion and blood loss, and he was in a good deal of pain. He was trying to hide it from her, but his lips were white at the edges, and every time he stirred in the bed she saw him wince. Logan was a big, powerful man, but as strong as he was, he was still flesh and bone. There was no way he could withstand more inju
ries.

  If this manservant should attack him a second time…

  Juliana thought quickly. There had to be another way to settle this, one that didn’t involve any more brawls, or another stabbing. Something civilized, like some sort of trade, or exchange. Not money, though. Benedict would always choose revenge over money, no matter how deep his debts. No, it had to be something else. She had to offer him something he knew it would hurt her to lose—

  Juliana sucked in a quiet breath. There was only one thing she had she was willing to offer him. One thing it would cause her so much pain to lose, it would be enough to satisfy even Benedict.

  Bile flooded her throat at the thought of seeing him again. She was no coward, but there were some people it was wise to fear, and Benedict Reid was one of them.

  Logan squeezed her hand. “I’ve dealt with much worse than this, Juliana. It’s going to be all right. I promise you.”

  Juliana gave him a vague nod, but her thoughts were in a whirl. It would need to be done at once, this afternoon. Logan would insist on returning to Benedict’s tomorrow. She wanted the business settled well in advance of that.

  She hadn’t any doubt Benedict would receive her. He wouldn’t be able to resist.

  All she needed now was for Logan to go to sleep and she’d duck out. She’d be back at Graystone Court before he even knew she’d gone. If he knew what she intended to do, he’d stop at nothing to prevent her.

  She rose from the bed, reached behind him to plump his pillows, and pulled the coverlet over him. “You need to rest, Logan. Go to sleep.”

  She began to move away, but he grabbed her hand. “I don’t feel like sleeping. Come to bed, galla.”

  Juliana stared down at him, openmouthed. “You must be jesting.”

  “I’d never jest about something so important.” He drew her toward him with much more strength than she’d expect from a man in his weakened state. She tugged her hand free, but a smile rose to Juliana’s lips. He really was incorrigible. “Later.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “After you’ve rested.”