To Wed A Wild Scot

by Bradley, Anna

  “Juliana.” Logan was staring at her from across the room as if she’d lost her mind. “What the devil are you shouting about?”

  Juliana shot him a look that made his mouth fall open. “Don’t you dare curse at me, Logan Blair! If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be shouting at all!”

  Logan strode across the room toward her, and Juliana leapt to her feet to meet him. She didn’t care if she only came as high as his shoulder. She’d climbed him once, and she’d do it again, even without the rats.

  He closed his hand around her upper arm. “What’s this about, Juliana? I’m sorry if you didn’t want to come to Scotland with me, but there was no way I would ever leave you—”

  “Not come to Scotland with you! Logan, how can you be such a…such a…eejit?” Juliana had no idea where that word came from. It was out of her mouth before she realized she’d even thought it.

  A murmur went up around them. Juliana heard one man ask in hushed tones, “Did that lass just call the laird an eejit?”

  Fergus was delighted. “Aye, she did! That’s it, lass! We’ll turn you into a Scot yet!”

  “Did you just call me an eejit?” Logan asked her. He looked stunned.

  “I did, because you are! Of course, I wanted to come to Scotland with you! Grace and I both did, didn’t we, Grace?”

  Grace nodded, eyes wide.

  “Even now we might be having a delightful time if you hadn’t made such a mess of things, but you had to ruin it over that business with Lord Cowden!” Juliana snatched her arm free of his grip. “You didn’t even want us to come!”

  She sucked in a hard, painful breath. Those words felt as if they’d been dragged from the deepest part of her, torn loose from the very depths of her soul. As soon as she said them she recognized them at once as the deepest of the wounds inside her.

  Did Logan even want them here? If she hadn’t given Rosemount to Lord Cowden, would they be with him now? Logan had said only she was his, and he took care of what was his. He hadn’t said a single word about her and Grace coming to Scotland with him until after Juliana gave up Rosemount.

  He hadn’t said a single word about love.

  “Lord Cowden?” Alison McLaren was watching the scene unfold with an open mouth. “Who’s Lord Cowden?”

  Neither Juliana nor Logan answered her. They were too focused on each other to pay any attention to anything else.

  Logan took her arm again, his fingers tighter this time. “You should never have gone to Cowden in the first place! You had no business risking yourself like. Mo Dhia, every time I think of you alone in a room with him…why did you do it, Ana?”

  “I told you why. I wanted it over! He was never going to let it end!”

  “So, you ended it for us. But why Rosemount, Juliana? Of all the properties you could have offered him, why did you give him that one?”

  He already knew why. Juliana could see the knowledge in his face, but for the first time she realized she needed to say it aloud, that too many doubts hid in their silences. “Because he knew it would hurt me to give it to him. He was never going to be satisfied until he hurt someone, and so I—I let him hurt me.”

  He stared down at her, his blue eyes wild. “Why? Why should it have to be you?”

  Juliana was horrified to feel tears pricking at her eyes. Not because she’d lost Rosemount. That hurt, yes, but not nearly as much as Logan was hurting her right now. How could he not see she’d done it for him? After all they’d been through, how could he not understand she wanted to protect him as much as he wanted to protect her?

  The words gathered in her throat, but they were slow, so slow, to come to her lips. When they made it at last her voice was so soft she wasn’t sure if Logan could even hear her. “So it wouldn’t be you. It had to be me, Logan, so it wouldn’t be you.”

  Silence. The longest silence Juliana had ever lived through. She couldn’t bear to look into Logan’s eyes, so she lowered her gaze to the floor. The tears that had gathered in her eyes spilled onto her cheeks.

  No crying. Not here, not now…

  Gentle fingers touched her chin. Logan raised her face to his, and the tenderness in his blue eyes stopped her breath.

  * * * *

  It had to be me, so it wouldn’t be you.

  Logan gazed down into the green eyes he loved so well, his heart thundering in his chest. His wee wife was stronger than anyone he’d ever known. So strong she could take care of him when he wasn’t strong enough to take care of himself.

  All he had to do was let her.

  How could he not have understood that until now? How could he ever have thought his love for her made him weak? It wasn’t weakness to turn yourself over, body and soul, to the person you loved. It wasn’t weakness to trust them to take care of you.

  His love for her didn’t make him weaker. It made him stronger.

  His strength came from her, just as surely as hers came from him. He’d never been stronger in his life than he was since he’d fallen in love with her. He was astounded by her—in awe of her. It struck him then, what Fitz had told him weeks ago, when Juliana had first come to Castle Kinross.

  She’s everything a man could want in a wife…

  She was everything he could ever want, and more—so much more—than he deserved.

  But he’d keep her for himself, no matter whether he deserved her or not. He’d keep her locked tightly in his arms, and thank God every day for her.

  “Ana. Mo ghaol, mo cridhe. Chan eil caoineadh. Don’t cry, neach-gaoil.” Logan wiped her tears away with his thumbs, then cupped her neck in his hands and dropped his forehead against hers. “Shhh, alainn bhean. Mo bhog bòcan. Tha mi duilich. I’m sorry.”

  Juliana sucked in a shaky breath as he continued to whisper to her, a mix of words in Gaelic and English. He knew she didn’t understand all of what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. She could hear the tenderness, the love in his voice.

  “I want you here, Ana.” He brushed his lips against her forehead. “You’re my wife, and I never want to be apart from you. You and Grace, you’re my family now.”

  Juliana choked down a sob and nodded, her forehead still against his.

  “Fergus?” Without taking his eyes off Juliana, Logan reached out, caught Grace’s hand, and eased her against his side. “Is our carriage ready? My family’s tired. I want to take them home.”

  “Aye, it’s ready.” Fergus hurried to the entryway, leading them out into the stable yard. The carriage was waiting there for them, fresh horses in the traces. Fergus opened the door for them, and waved them inside with a flourish. “Ye’ll come back and see me soon, won’t ye, Miss Grace?” he asked, as Logan lifted Grace into the carriage.

  “Yes, I will,” Grace promised, scrambling across the seat.

  Fergus stuck his head inside the carriage and met Logan’s gaze. There was a good deal of humor twinkling in Fergus’s blue eyes, but there was seriousness there, too. “I told ye ye’d have yer hands full with this one.” He nodded at Juliana. “These sassy, wily sorts make the best wives, ye ken?”

  Logan nodded, his gaze drifting back to Juliana’s face. “Aye, Fergus. I ken.”

  “Well then, lad, I s’pose I’ll let ye take her home.” Fergus was still chuckling to himself as he closed the door.

  They were halfway to Castle Kinross when the sun set. Grace went quiet, and when Logan glanced over, he saw she’d fallen asleep. He wrapped his arm tighter around Juliana’s shoulders, and she nestled into his side.

  Logan pressed his lips into her hair. “I have something for you, bhean.” He reached into his coat pocket and drew out the oathing stone. “I made it weeks ago. I wanted to give it to you on our wedding day, but now I’m glad I waited.”

  He held out his hand to her, the oathing stone resting on his palm. Juliana took it up with trembling fingers, and ran her fingertip ov
er their carved names, her breath catching on a sob.

  “It’s not much of a wedding present, but I thought you’d—”

  Juliana pressed her fingers to his lips to hush him. “It’s perfect.”

  He kissed her fingertips. “Tha gaol agam ort, breagha bhean. I love you, Ana.”

  She raised her hand to his cheek. The carriage was dark, but he could feel her green eyes caressing his face. “I love you too, Logan. So much.”

  He leaned over her, and his lips met hers. When he pulled away, they were both breathless.

  “Logan,” she whispered, after they’d been quiet for a moment. “Are you ever going to teach me Gaelic?”

  He laughed. “I will someday, but not tonight.”

  He took her warm lips again. She melted against him, and every thought fled his mind as he gathered her close to his heart, safe and warm in his arms. “Bhean ghràdhach,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hair. “Agaibh mo chridhe. You have my heart.”

  Epilogue

  Six weeks later

  “Logan Blair, you owe me an explanation!”

  Juliana burst into their bedchamber, ready to take Logan to task for his most serious transgression yet, but as soon as she caught sight of him, she stopped short. “Oh. What are you doing in the bath?”

  She hadn’t seen him since they’d woken this morning. He and Fitzwilliam had been fishing with Grace and Duncan Munro all afternoon. Duncan and Grace had met not long after they’d arrived at Castle Kinross. The two children had taken one look at each other, decided they were long-lost souls, and become the best of friends.

  “Fitz dumped an entire bucket of herring on me. He claims he tripped and it was an accident, but I know he was lying. Grace and Duncan nearly laughed themselves sick.”

  Juliana grinned. No doubt Fitzwilliam had been lying. He and Logan had grown closer over the past six weeks—so close they now treated each other like the brothers they were. In other words, they tormented each other relentlessly. They were so merciless Juliana and Emilia had decided they were making up for their lost youth together, starting at about age nine.

  Of course, there was nothing else remotely juvenile about Logan, and at no time was that more evident than when he was in the bath. Juliana’s eager gaze moved over the smooth, slick flesh stretched tight over his hard muscles, and her cheeks heated.

  Logan was leaning against the back of the copper tub, his dark hair slicked back from his face. He noticed her blush, and a wicked grin crossed his lips. “What’s the matter, neach-gaoil? Haven’t you ever seen a man in the bath before?”

  She had indeed seen a man in the bath before—she’d seen this man in the bath—but it was a sight that never failed to render her speechless. His spread arms rested on the rim of the tub, leaving the hard, muscular plane of his bare chest completely exposed to her hungry gaze.

  When she didn’t answer, he gave her a lazy grin. “Come closer, bhean, and I’ll explain anything you like.”

  Juliana’s gaze snapped from his chest to his face. Oh, yes, that’s right. She’d come to demand an explanation from him, hadn’t she?

  She crossed her arms over her chest and did her best to look outraged. “I had a most enlightening conversation with Emilia just now. She overheard me call Grace bhig galla, and do you know what she did, Logan?”

  The playful grin she loved so much hovered at the corners of Logan’s lips, but he didn’t answer. Instead he crooked his finger at her, beckoning her forward.

  Juliana swallowed. His wet skim gleamed, and the sprinkling of dark hair on his chest made her think of that alluring trail of hair low on his belly. It was just as well that half of him was submerged in the water, or else she’d never get this scolding over with.

  “Her eyes went as round as tea saucers, and she asked me where I’d heard that phrase. I told her you called me that, and then do you know what she did, Logan?”

  The grin widened, but Logan only crooked his finger at her again.

  Juliana hesitated. Well, perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to take a tiny step closer. “She laughed, Logan. She laughed so hard I began to fear she’d give birth right there in the drawing room.” Juliana inched another step closer to him, but took care to remain out of his reach. “It seems bhig galla isn’t the sweet, loving endearment I thought it was.”

  “Closer, dùr bhean.”

  Juliana edged a bit closer, but she was enjoying teasing him too much to give in just yet. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself? Bhig galla, indeed.”

  “Closer, Ana, or I’ll have to come get you myself.”

  Juliana took two tiny steps forward, until she was mere inches away from the edge of the tub. “She also told me what beag deomhan means, so don’t think you’ve gotten away with that one. Really, Logan, what sort of husband calls his wife a little demon?”

  “The sort of husband who has a little demon for a wife. Take your hair down, leannan.”

  “Ah, now leannan is much better. Sweetheart is a proper endearment for a wife.” To reward him, Juliana began to draw the pins from her hair. She gave him a teasing smile as she dropped them to the floor, one by one. When she’d discarded every pin she shook her hair loose, letting it fall over her shoulders and down her back in thick waves.

  Logan’s blue eyes darkened as he watched her. When he spoke, his voice was low and husky. “Now your dress. Take it off, àlainn bana-bhuidseach.”

  Juliana was about to obey, but her fingers paused on the button at the back of her neck. “Alainn bana-bhuidseach? You’ve never called me that before. What does it mean?”

  Logan’s gaze swept over her and an impatient growl rose from his chest. “Take off your dress, Ana.”

  “No.”

  Logan raised an eyebrow at her. “No?”

  “That’s right, no. Not until you tell me what àlainn bana-bhuidseach means.”

  Logan’s blue eyes glittered at the note of challenge in her voice. “It means beautiful witch. Now take your dress off.”

  Beautiful witch? She hadn’t expected that. It wasn’t really a proper endearment, but his rough voice and heated gaze made a shiver of desire dart down her spine. Juliana quickly loosened the few remaining buttons and slid the dress off her shoulders.

  Logan stared as she slowly worked the dress down, his gaze devouring every creamy inch of skin as it was revealed. “Your chemise, too.”

  Juliana drew her chemise over her head.

  Logan’s lips parted in a groan when she stood bare before him. “Yes. Now come here, Ana.” He shifted in the tub, drawing his legs open, and nodded at the space between them. “Right here.”

  “I can’t. There’s no room,” Juliana teased, biting her lip.

  Logan patted the water in front of him, sending it sloshing against the sides of the tub. “There’s more than enough room for you, wee wife.”

  “Hmmm. I don’t know. Isn’t the water cold?”

  “No, but even if it was, I’d soon warm you.” Logan crooked his finger at her again, and his lips curved in a seductive smile.

  Juliana gazed at him—the damp, dark waves of his hair, one lock now lying across his forehead, his taut, muscular body, the smile in his hot blue eyes—and she gave up the fight. There was simply no resisting her husband.

  Logan took her hand as she stepped daintily into the tub. They both sighed when she was nestled against him, with her back pressed against his broad chest and his long legs wrapped around her.

  He ran his hands through her hair. “So, Emilia told you what bhig galla means?”

  “Yes. It means little vixen.” Juliana tried to sound affronted, but there was a smile on her lips.

  He chuckled against her ear. “Aye, it does. What else did she tell you?”

  Juliana shivered at the warm drift of his breath. “Beag deomhan. Little demon. Really, Logan, you’re incorrigibl
e. To begin with, I’m not little—”

  “Shh.” He nipped gently at her earlobe to quiet her. “Did she tell you anything else?”

  Juliana tilted her head to the side to give him access to her neck. “No. She tried to, but I couldn’t pronounce any of the others well enough for her to understand me.”

  Logan ran his palms down her arms, then lower to stroke her stomach. “Mo bhean uasal means ‘my lady.’”

  Juliana arched into his touch. “Well, that’s not so awful, I suppose.”

  “Bhean means wife. Dùr bhean means stubborn wife,” he went on, a smile in his voice.

  “Humph.” It was hardly flattering, but Juliana couldn’t really argue the point. She was stubborn. Almost as stubborn as her husband.

  Logan was quiet as he traced rhythmic circles on her stomach with his fingertips. When he spoke again, the teasing note had left his voice, and it was hoarse with emotion. “Àlainn and breagha both mean beautiful. Breagha bhean. Àlainn bhean. What does it mean, Ana?”

  “Beautiful wife.” Such a simple phrase, but it made Juliana’s heart swell in her chest.

  “Bòcan means sprite. Uaine air leth-shùil means ‘green-eyed.’ Uaine air leth-shùil bòcan.”

  “Green-eyed sprite,” Juliana whispered.

  She tried to turn in his arms them, but he slid his hands up to her shoulders and held her gently against him, stilling her. “Neach-gaoil means beloved. Bhean ghràdhach. Beloved wife,” he murmured, his lips against her neck. “That’s what you are to me, Ana. Tha gaol agam ort, bhean. Tha thu mo chridhe.”

  I love you, wife. You are my heart.

  This time when Juliana turned to face him, he let her. She cradled his face in her palms. “How do you say ‘my husband’ in Gaelic?”

  He smiled. “An duine agam.”

  Juliana traced his lips to feel the words. “Tha gaol agam ort, bhean. Tha thu mo chridhe, an duine agam.”