To Wed A Wild Scot

by Bradley, Anna

  James’s face creased in thought. “Hour ago, maybe? Maybe more.”

  An hour? That was an eternity. If Cowden was intent on harming someone at Graystone Court, an hour was plenty of time to accomplish it. “Think carefully, James. Where were they exactly the last time you saw them?”

  James caught the panic in Logan’s voice and his eyes went wide. “Toward the woods, I think, sir. Miss Grace likes the bluebells—”

  The woods. Anyone could have come upon them there, and no one in the house or the stables would be any the wiser. “Saddle Finnegan for me, James. Quickly, lad.”

  James swallowed. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”

  Logan waited in an agony of impatience as James ran off to do his bidding.

  Lord Cowden was either going to be very surprised to see him, or not surprised at all.

  * * * *

  Logan returned to Graystone Court less than two hours later. It hadn’t been a pleasant visit. At least, not for Logan. Lord Cowden had seemed to find it much more satisfying.

  His lordship had been overjoyed to find Logan once again in his drawing room, and no wonder. To have the chance to tell Logan, in explicit detail about the bargain he’d made with Juliana—a bargain Logan clearly didn’t know a thing about—had likely given Lord Cowden more pleasure than any other moment in his life.

  It rankled, but that was the least of it.

  Logan went straight to his bedchamber upon his return. Juliana was there waiting for him, pacing and wringing her hands. She whirled around when he opened the bedchamber door and started to rush toward him, but when she saw his face, she stopped. “Logan! I was worried sick! Where have you—”

  “Where were you and Grace this afternoon, Juliana?” Logan was more upset than he’d ever been in his life, but he took great care to keep his voice calm.

  Juliana’s gaze swept over him, and her green eyes went wide with shock. “You’ve been out riding? After the doctor specifically told you to stay in bed? Why, Logan?”

  “I went to call on Lord Cowden. We had an interesting talk. But you haven’t answered my question, Juliana. Where were you and Grace this afternoon?”

  Juliana didn’t seem to hear him. Her gaze darted between his arm and his chest, her face going pale when she saw the blood that had seeped through the white bandages. “You’ve opened your wounds again. You’re hurt. Why, Logan? Why would you go there again? He nearly had you killed this morning! Don’t you understand what he’s capable of? He’s dangerous—”

  “Stop it, Juliana.” Logan crossed the room and grasped her by the shoulders. “I know how dangerous he is, so you can imagine how terrified I was to find you went to see him earlier this afternoon, alone, without telling anyone where you were going!”

  He jerked away from her and crossed to the other side of the room, his hands clutching his hair. Mo Dhia, he couldn’t remember ever being in such turmoil in his life. Part of him wanted to shout at her, and the other part wanted to snatch her to his chest, bury his face in her hair, and beg her never, never to risk herself like that again.

  Juliana didn’t answer. When Logan turned around she was standing where he’d left her, as white and still as a marble statue.

  Logan struggled to take in a calming breath. “I’m not going to ask you again, Juliana. Where did you take Grace this afternoon?”

  “The rose garden, then the bluebell wood,” she whispered.

  The bluebell wood, just as James had said. If he’d simply gone to the wood he would have found them there, but instead he’d rushed off to Cowden’s like a damn fool. He saw his mistake now, but at the time he’d been so hazy with panic he couldn’t think at all. “Did it occur to you, even for a moment, I might be worried when I couldn’t find you?”

  “I—I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon.”

  “But I did wake up, Juliana. I woke up and found you, Grace, and Lord Cowden’s vowels all missing. I thought…” Logan didn’t want to say what he’d thought, or ever think about it again.

  She took a hesitant step toward him. “I’m sorry. I never meant to worry—”

  “You gave Cowden Rosemount.” Logan’s voice was flat, his chest heavy with anguish. “Damn it, Juliana. Why?”

  The words tore from his throat. Juliana recoiled at his harsh tone, his clenched fists. Once again Logan fought for breath, fought for calm, but he knew it was futile. There wasn’t enough air in all of Surrey to reconcile him to what she’d lost.

  No, not lost. Given up. For him.

  “I didn’t give it to him, Logan. I traded it for the land in Perth. I was going to explain everything to you this evening, after you woke. I never intended to keep it from you.”

  Logan let out a bitter laugh. “You could hardly hide it from me, could you? According to Cowden, you have the deed to the Perth land!”

  She reached out a hand to him. “Look at me, Logan. Why are you so angry?”

  Logan did look at her, and the plea in her green eyes nearly undid him. He ached to take her hand and draw her against him, but he didn’t move. “I told you I’d take care of this business with Cowden, Juliana. Did you think I couldn’t manage it on my own? Is that why you went to him behind my back?”

  Juliana looked shocked. “No! How can you think so?”

  It hurt Logan to think she’d doubted him, but even that wasn’t the worst of it.

  The worst part, the part he couldn’t bear thinking about, was that Juliana had endangered herself for him. She’d lost her mother’s estate—a place that had been a home to her, a place she cared deeply about—for him.

  He was supposed to take care of her, to protect her.

  That she’d lost something so precious to her for his sake was unbearable.

  “You and Fitzwilliam want the Perth land, and I knew Benedict would never give it to you.” Juliana’s voice had gone high and thready. It was the voice of someone who was desperate to be understood, and was afraid she wouldn’t be. “Don’t you see, Logan? You could have bested him in wager after wager and won thousands of pounds, and he still would have found a way to keep you from getting that land. It never would have ended.”

  “Why were you so desperate for it to end, Juliana? Was it because you knew I wouldn’t leave England until I got the Perth land? Are you that anxious to be rid of me, that you’d give up so much?”

  His words landed with a deafening crash between them. Juliana’s throat worked, but she said nothing, and a heavy silence fell between them. For the first time since he’d come into the room, she didn’t look distraught. Her shoulders went rigid, and the paleness in her cheeks gave way to bright spots of color.

  She wasn’t sad or distressed or confused anymore. She was angry. “Is that what you think, Logan? That I gave up my home to a man I despise because I want to be rid of you? You truly can’t think of any other reason why I might have done such a thing?”

  Juliana wasn’t just angry, she was furious. Her eyes were on fire, and her entire body was trembling. Logan ran a weary hand through his hair, then let his arm fall limply back to his side. Christ, he didn’t know anymore what he thought. His chest was bleeding again, his arm hurt like the devil, and he couldn’t make sense of any of this. “I don’t pretend to understand why you did it, Juliana, but if it was a ploy to get rid of me, you’ve made a grave miscalculation.”

  “A miscalculation?” A bitter laugh fell from her lips. “What does that mean? That my nefarious plan to be rid of you has failed, and you’re not going back to Scotland?”

  There was a strange, hard quality in her voice that worried him, but Logan was too exhausted to work out what it meant. “Oh, I’m going. We all are. You, me, and Grace.”

  She stared at him, too stunned at first to say a word. “Logan,” she began, but he cut her off.

  “If you think I’m going to leave you and Grace here where Cowden can get at you, you
’re mistaken, Ana. You’re mine now, and I take care of what’s mine.”

  Juliana said nothing, but her beautiful green eyes were so shadowed with hurt he had to look away from her.

  “As soon as Grace and I are healed enough to travel, we leave for Scotland.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Three days later

  They traveled from Guildford to London, then continued north past Leeds and York. Then further north still, to Edinburgh and Perth, and from there to Dalwhinnie, Etteridge, Newtownmore, Aviemore, and, at last…

  From Aviemore to the Sassy Lassie in Inverness.

  Juliana had taken the same journey twice before. Once when she’d been on her quest to find Fitzwilliam, then again with Logan, except in reverse. They’d traveled this same route, on these same roads, and spent the night at the same inns along the way. It was astounding really, the sameness of it, when everything else in her life had changed so drastically.

  The return to Scotland should have been a joyous occasion. If she’d been returning for any other reason than the one she was, she would have been ecstatic. In the short time she’d been at Castle Kinross she’d grown to love everything about it. Ruthven Burn, the Laburnum Arch, the wild blue poppies. Emilia and Fitzwilliam, the Robertson brothers, Mrs. Craig with her gooseberries, and Fiona, with her soft, woolly white head.

  A return to Scotland should have filled her heart with delight, but as it was…

  As it was, Logan had ruined everything.

  Juliana glanced at him, seated across from her in the carriage. His mouth was tight, his blue eyes bleak. They hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words to each other during the entire journey. They stopped each evening at twilight, dined together, then bid each other a polite good night and retired to separate bedchambers. Juliana slept with Grace, and Logan slept alone.

  “Grace.” Juliana tore her gaze from Logan’s face and turned to her niece. “Please stop kicking the seat. Be still, won’t you?”

  Grace’s mouth pulled into a sulky line, but otherwise there was no reaction. Since they’d left Dalwhinnie early this morning, Grace hadn’t spoken a word to either Juliana or Logan, and now she made it clear she didn’t intend to listen to a word, either. The small foot continued to swing, the tip of Grace’s boot rhythmically striking the opposite cushion.

  “Grace. Your aunt asked you to be still. You will do as she says.” Logan’s voice was stern.

  Grace did as she was bid, but her little face crumpled. Juliana took Grace’s hand in hers, but for the first time in Grace’s young life, Juliana didn’t know what to say to comfort her.

  She had no reassuring words for Grace, or for herself. She’d find the words again—tomorrow, perhaps—but at the moment she was simply too exhausted to come up with more than a half-hearted squeeze of Grace’s hand.

  Grace had been thrilled when she’d found out they were going to Scotland. She’d spent the first few days of the journey bouncing excitedly on the seat, asking questions and chattering happily about every sight that passed by her window.

  But like most children, Grace was sensitive to the moods of those around her. It hadn’t taken long before she became aware of the tension between Juliana and Logan. As the days dragged on, Grace’s spirits sank lower and lower. She grew quieter with every mile, until they’d reached Dalwhinnie. That was when her morose silence had disintegrated into open rebellion.

  Grace had spent every minute since fretting over one thing or another. She kicked, squirmed, argued, and complained, and when that failed to relieve her hurt feelings, she wailed. In short, Grace was furious with both of them, and she threw her whole heart into making Juliana and Logan aware of her displeasure.

  By the time the coach pulled into the inn yard at the Sassy Lassie, Juliana was so miserable she nearly leapt from the carriage before it stopped moving. Dusk had set in by then, but it wasn’t yet the dinner hour. The crowd was thin, but a handful of people were about, most of them locals who’d come for a pint of Fergus’s special dark ale and a game of chess or darts.

  The first person Juliana saw when she entered the inn was Fergus McLaren, holding court behind the bar. The second was his daughter Alison, who was serving pints of ale and flirting with the customers.

  Juliana’s mood darkened even further, especially when the beautiful raven-haired girl rushed over to greet Logan, her red lips curled in an inviting smile. “Logan! Ye’re back from England already? We didn’t expect to see ye this age.”

  Juliana stiffened when Logan stopped to greet Alison, but she didn’t have the energy to fall into a temper over it. So, she simply turned her back on them, took Grace’s hand, and led her over to a small table in the corner.

  Fergus came out from behind the bar, but to Juliana’s surprise he paused only for a moment to slap Logan’s back before he made his way over to her and Grace. “Well, Lady Juliana Bernard. Here ye are again. Who’s this pretty wee lassie with ye?”

  Juliana managed a wan smile. “This is my niece, Miss Grace Bernard. Grace, this is Mr. McLaren. He’s a friend of Mr. Logan’s.”

  “How do you do?” Grace gave Fergus a shy smile.

  Fergus grinned down at her. “Ye don’t look much like yer auntie, little lass. With that dark hair, I’d say ye’ve a bit of the Scottish in ye.”

  “I look like my mama,” Grace offered uncertainly. “Was my mama Scottish, Aunt Juliana?”

  “No. Both your mama and papa were English, but Mr. McLaren is right. Many Scots have lovely dark hair, just like yours.”

  Logan, for one. Alison McLaren, for another. If Juliana and Grace hadn’t been sitting right here, perhaps they’d be running their fingers through each other’s lovely Scottish hair even now.

  Juliana blew out a breath. She was being ridiculous, of course, but the anger that had been simmering inside her for days was suddenly threatening to boil over. Perhaps she’d only been waiting for an excuse to indulge it.

  Alison McLaren had just given her one.

  It was much easier to be angry at Logan for flirting with Alison than for the real reason. Not fair, perhaps, especially since Logan wasn’t flirting with the girl at all, but after days of holding her tongue, Juliana no longer cared about being fair. If Logan could pretend to be angry about one thing when he was really angry about another, then so could she.

  Ever since their argument about her bargain with Lord Cowden, Juliana had been furious with him. Not because he’d shouted at her, or because he’d presumed to order her about as if she were a child. She hadn’t cared for either of those things, but she could forgive them.

  What she couldn’t forgive was Logan saying she’d given up Rosemount to get him to leave England. He’d hurled that ugly accusation not twenty-four hours after she’d told him she loved him. That she didn’t want anyone but him.

  He hadn’t said such a hurtful thing to her because he believed it was true. No, that was just an excuse. He’d said it because he’d been angry at her for giving up something she loved for him. Whether he realized it or not was anyone’s guess, but from the moment the accusation had left his lips, Juliana had recognized it for what it was.

  A plea, and a warning.

  Don’t ever risk yourself for me again.

  Because apparently Logan was the only one in this marriage who was permitted to make sacrifices. He could take care of her, and he could take care of Grace, but if anyone tried to take care of him…

  Oh goodness, no! That wasn’t allowed.

  Juliana’s hands clenched into fists under the table. Every time she thought about it, her entire body went rigid with anger. She’d known before she married him Logan had trouble accepting help from others. He’d been raised to be the rescuer, the savior, the one everyone depended on. He hadn’t the vaguest idea how to let someone help him.

  Which might have been acceptable, if she hadn’t been his wife.

&n
bsp; His wife, damn him. What kind of marriage could they have if he refused to see her as his equal? She wasn’t some fragile piece of porcelain, too delicate to stand beside the husband she loved. If that was what he thought, then what made him any different from her father?

  She could forgive her father for it. That sort of overprotectiveness was natural in a parent.

  In a husband, it was patronizing. Dismissive. Especially from Logan, who knew better than anyone what she was capable of.

  “What brings ye back to Scotland so soon?” Fergus asked.

  “My husband.” Juliana jerked her chin at Logan. “He ordered us back to Scotland. He’s every inch the laird now, you see. Whether he truly wants us here, well, that’s anyone’s guess, Mr. McLaren.”

  Well. Perhaps she wasn’t too exhausted to fall into a temper, after all. There’d been a decidedly waspish note in her voice.

  Fergus heard it too, and one of his bushy eyebrows shot up. “If he didna want to bring ye, why would he bring ye, lass?”

  “Oh, that.” Juliana waved a causal hand in the air, but she’d been holding her tongue for days. The more she talked, the more the words she’d been struggling to keep inside fought to get out. “Well, we can’t be expected to remain in England alone, can we? It’s far too dangerous for two helpless creatures like ourselves.”

  Juliana didn’t realize her voice had risen until several heads jerked in her direction.

  Including Logan’s.

  Ah. So, it was possible to drag his attention away from Alison McLaren. All she had to do was start shouting in the middle of the Sassy Lassie.

  Suddenly, there was nothing Juliana wanted to do more. The one thing that could have stopped her was Grace, but when she glanced at her, she found Grace regarding her with a smile far too knowing for a child her age.

  Despite Juliana’s untoward behavior, Fergus’s eyes were twinkling. “Oh now, lass. I wouldn’t say as ye’re helpless. Not but what some English lasses are, ye see, but ye’re more the wily, stubborn sort of Sassenach, wee as you are.”

  “You have no idea how stubborn I can be, Mr. McLaren. But how refreshing to hear you say so. My husband seems to regard me as decorative rather than useful, despite what I must insist is ample evidence to the contrary.”