She stared at him intently for a moment. Then something in her eyes turned cold. She set down her cup and sat back in her chair. “There I go again. Trusting a helpful stranger.”
He realized at once what she was referring to. “Do not do that to yourself, Mairi. You’ve done nothing wrong. You can trust me. I have no wish to harm you. Besides, I have only one good arm. All it would take from you is a quick strike to the bad one, and I’d be flat on my back, weeping like a wee bairn. Then you could dump that hot pot of porridge in my face and I’d be utterly defeated and demoralized.”
Almost immediately, her mouth curled into a grin and her eyes warmed with laughter. She sat forward slightly and chuckled into her fist. “That is quite an image, Logan. More than I asked for. Although I do not wish to see you demoralized.” She lowered her fist and relaxed her hand on the table. “But you are right. I must learn not to be so suspicious of everyone. It has been a challenge for me over the past five years, as you can well imagine. I’ve not made many new friends.”
“It’s understandable,” he softly said, feeling lost in the depths of her eyes, as if he could forget everything from his own life and simply drift into the misty domain of her soul.
Good God. He was not normally susceptible to such open talk of feelings. He’d always been a vigorous, formidable sort. He enjoyed a physical challenge. That’s what occupied him most of the time—the use of his body, his muscles, his hands, and thinking about past wrongs. This was new territory. He didn’t know what to make of it.
And he’d never felt so completely infatuated.
The door opened just then and Hamish ran straight through the kitchen to the back bedroom, where he disappeared behind the curtain.
Isla entered behind him. “He’s embarrassed,” she whispered.
Mairi sighed. “I knew it. Poor thing.”
Logan slid his chair back and stood. “May I speak with him? Man to man?”
Mairi exchanged an uncertain look with her mother.
“That would be kind of you, Logan,” Isla answered for her. “I believe that’s why he’s so upset. Because it happened in front of you.”
Logan nodded with understanding and ventured into the back bedchamber.
Chapter Four
“Hello, Hamish,” Logan said, regarding the boy who lay on the bed curled up in a ball, facing the wall. “I have a story I’d like to tell you. Would you like to hear it?”
Hamish sat up and hugged his knees to his chest. His face was beet red, his lips tight with anger. “What kind of story? A real one or a false one? Because sometimes my ma tells me stories about fairies on the moor and I don’t like them very much.”
“So you want a true story, then.” Logan approached the bed and sat down at the foot of it.
“Aye. Something with a battle. A really big battle.”
Logan glanced up at the ceiling and tapped his finger on his chin. “Hmm, let me see… Aye…I know a good story like that. It’s about two young boys. Brothers, actually. This happened a long time ago, before you were born, when many of the clans of Scotland banded together to fight for their freedom on the Battlefield of Sheriffmuir.”
“What happened?” Hamish asked.
“Well… The older brother was permitted to go, but his younger brother was only eleven and was forced to stay behind with the women. But he wasn’t happy about that, because he wanted more than anything to be a great warrior.”
Hamish’s eyes grew wide as he hugged his knees closer to his chest. “I want that, too.”
“What do you think the boy did?” Logan asked.
“He snuck away and followed.”
Logan nodded. “Aye, that’s right. He hid inside a barrel and stayed hidden until just before the battle began. Then he found his brother and joined him on the field.”
“Was the brother happy to see him?”
“Not at all,” Logan replied. “He was always very protective of his younger brother. He told him what terrible things were about to happen, and how many men would die. That’s when the boy grew frightened and wished he’d never followed. When the English drums began to beat with a constant rat-a-tat-tat on the other side of the field, and the cannons started firing, loud as thunder, the boy was so afraid, he started to cry.”
“What did his brother do?”
“His brother didn’t see him cry because the boy worked very hard to hide it. He pretended that he wanted to fight.”
“What happened?” Hamish asked. “Did the brothers go into battle? Did they live?”
Logan said nothing for a long moment. Then he did what he was so very good at doing. He lied.
“Aye, they were very brave that day and grew up to be great warriors, always fighting at each other’s sides.”
Hamish smiled and leaned back against the pillow. “That’s a good story.”
Logan wagged a finger at him. “Aye, but there’s a lesson in it.”
“What’s the lesson?”
“That courage is not the absence of fear, Hamish. Even the bravest of men are afraid sometimes.”
Hamish tilted his head to the side. “Are you ever afraid?”
“Of course. Last night I had to fix my broken arm, and I knew it was going to hurt. My heart pounded like a hammer and I fainted.”
“You did?”
“Aye. It was your mother who came to my rescue,” Logan continued. “She’s a very brave woman.”
Hamish frowned again. “But she treats me like a baby.”
Logan playfully messed the boy’s hair. “Give her time, lad. Every day you’ll grow bigger. Eventually she’ll give you more freedom, and with that comes responsibility. But it’s her job to take care of you while you’re young. She loves you very much. So mind what she says. Always.”
“All right,” the boy grudgingly replied.
Logan stood. “Now I have a question for you. Do you know how to swing a sword?”
“Aye!” Hamish scrambled off the bed. “I practice with sticks all the time!”
“How would you like a lesson about how to do it like a real warrior?” Logan asked.
Hamish’s expression lit up with excitement and he ran out of the room shouting, “Ma! Logan’s going to teach me how to fight!”
Logan followed him out to the kitchen where Mairi was standing at the table, wiping the dishes clean. At first he wasn’t sure how she would respond, for he did not wish to overstep his bounds, but then a smile spread across her lips and she mouthed the words at him: “Thank you.”
He mouthed a private reply: “You’re welcome,” and being careful with his arm, he left the house to find a couple of suitable sticks for Hamish’s first lesson.
* * *
While Mairi completed her morning chores, she watched Logan and Hamish out the window, where they seemed oblivious to the wind gusting around them and the clouds that were rolling in.
First, Logan instructed Hamish about the proper way to hold a sword and how to position his feet. As the hour went on, he showed him some basic maneuvers and practiced them repeatedly.
Soon, it became obvious that Logan was not in optimal condition for such exercises, for he was favoring his broken arm while he held his stick-sword awkwardly with his left, and took frequent breaks.
Hamish, on the other hand, was at his best, listening closely and politely to all of Logan’s instructions, and working with great focus to apply what he was learning. They were basic skills, appropriate for a five-year-old, and Mairi found herself distracted from what she was doing. She would stop often to peer out the window, listen, and watch.
Those moments were almost trancelike. Then a surge of excitement would rise up within her at the sight of her son enjoying himself with such fervor. She had to shake herself out of her reverie and force herself to get back to work—only to find herself back at the window a few seconds later.
Perhaps what was so striking was the fact that she never imagined she would ever look at a man again with anything close to desire, but s
he could not deny the spark of attraction she’d felt at breakfast when Logan listened to her tale of woe, or as she watched him in the back field, swinging a stick-sword. For what could be more appealing than a courageous Scotsman who treated her son with kindness, taught him manly things, and filled him with delight?
Of course, it didn’t hurt that Logan was ruggedly handsome and virile. His broad shoulders and thick chest were powerfully sculpted, his movements strong and agile. Normally, she was uneasy around such obvious brawn—for she did not wish to be overpowered ever again—but something about Logan MacDonald eased her concerns and made her feel safe.
A shiver ran up her spine at such a thought, for that had been her undoing five years ago when Joseph Kearney asked for a kiss.
Just one innocent kiss, Mairi. No one has to know…
A sickening knot of anxiety entered her belly as she recalled the sound of his voice. He, too, had made her feel safe and protected, but it had all been a ruse. All he wanted was to trick her and use her for his own selfish, carnal pleasures.
Mairi looked down at the iron pot on the table and scrubbed harder and faster, working vigorously to purge the memories from her head. She hadn’t thought of the details of that day in a very long time, but describing parts of it to Logan over breakfast had brought it all back. Given her a reason to think of it.
Her stomach muscles clenched tight, and she scrubbed faster, still.
“Be careful. You’re going to kill it,” her mother said as she walked into the house carrying a bucket of water.
Mairi looked up and blew a puff of air from her mouth to drive the fallen lock of hair away from her eyes. She stopped scrubbing and leaned back. “And what did this poor innocent pot ever do to me?”
Her mother gave her a knowing look. “Get your head out of the past. Logan MacDonald is a decent man. I can tell.”
“You only think that because he agrees with you about politics at Leathan Castle,” she replied, returning to her task, more gently this time.
“It’s not just that,” Isla replied. “He’s a fetching young Scot. As strapping as they come. You cannot deny it.”
“And you should not be saying such things about a man half your age.”
Isla grinned as she set the heavy bucket on the table. “You’re right. I have my sights set on another man of a more suitable age. But you…”
Mairi carried the iron stew pot to the hearth and set it down. “I don’t need to set my sights on anyone, Mother. I am perfectly fine on my own.”
“Aye, you’re fine,” Isla replied. “But life’s too short to settle for just fine.” She moved to the back window and looked out. “Ah, look at Hamish. I’ve never seen him so eager to learn.”
“Of course he’s eager. He’s a wee lad without a father, and an impressive warrior from Kinloch Castle is teaching him how to fight.”
“Impressive is an understatement,” Isla replied as she rose up on her tiptoes to watch Logan from the window. “Just look at those legs.”
Mairi slapped her mother on the arm and told her to get back to work.
* * *
Later, when Hamish came inside asking for something to eat, Mairi noticed that Logan did not return with him. She looked out the window and saw him enter the stable and close the door behind him.
He is either leaving us now, or he is in terrible pain.
“Mind your grandmother,” she said to her son. “I must go and see to our guest.” Reaching for the basket, she discreetly placed the whisky bottle and goblet inside it and left the house.
As she crossed the yard, she felt a rush of disappointment at the notion Logan might be preparing to leave. She quickened her pace, for she didn’t want him to set off just yet. First of all, he was in no condition to ride, and secondly, she wanted to thank him for what he’d done for Hamish.
Of course, if she were honest with herself, she would admit there was a third, more significant reason: She wanted to spend a little more time with him—which was a shocking realization, for she did not warm to many men.
But how surprisingly refreshing it was to have a man around, despite her usual reservations about strangers, which perhaps said something about Logan’s character.
Or perhaps she was simply smitten by his good looks.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that he had a broken arm—which made him no physical threat to her, or any of them.
Either way, she wanted to learn more about him and perhaps help him heal.
Lifting the latch on the stable door, she pulled it open on creaking hinges and entered the dim interior. Logan’s horse was still in the stall. It was quiet inside. “Logan?”
“Aye.”
His response came from the cot in the corner stall, so she ventured closer and found him lying on his back with a knee raised, his eyes closed, his good arm slung across his forehead.
“Are you in pain?” she asked.
“Aye.”
She set the basket down and reached into it. “I brought what was left of the whisky.”
That got his attention. He uncovered his eyes and slowly sat up. “Thank you, Mairi.” While she poured, he said, “I’m cursing my brother right now.”
Mairi passed him the glass, then went to fetch the milking stool, set it down on the floor in front of him, and sat down upon it. “I understand that you wish to leave and catch up with him,” she said, “but he won’t get far today because it’s most certainly going to rain. And you’re in no condition to ride. You should stay another day.”
Logan’s eyes lifted. “I can’t.”
She let out a breath. “It would be a fool’s errand anyway, to go after your brother. If you caught up with him today, let me guess…you’d want to thrash him senseless, but there’s no question you’ll end up the loser in that fight. He’d probably break your other arm.”
Logan considered that. “I suspect you’re right.”
Not quite realizing what she was doing, she laid a hand on his knee. “Logan, you cannot ride. You know it as well as I do.”
He glanced at her hand on his knee. She quickly withdrew it.
“I don’t want to impose,” he said.
“You wouldn’t be. Hamish would love it if you stayed.” She studied his face unhurriedly—his eyes, his cheeks, his lips. “I would like it, too.”
One of Logan’s eyebrow lifted skeptically. “Really.”
“Yes, and I truly mean it,” she replied, feeling both foolish and excited at the same time. “So there we have it. You must wait until you are well enough to travel and do some real damage.”
He inclined his head at her, looking somewhat intrigued, perhaps a little amused.
“I am joking of course,” Mairi said. “When you meet up with your brother again, you must talk about what happened and let bygones be bygones.”
Logan sipped his whisky. “Easy for you to say.”
She tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and felt a pleasant tingling in the pit of her belly at the notion of having Logan stay another night.
“Well, then,” she said, rising to her feet and setting the milking stool back against the wall. “Get some rest this morning, and later I’ll bring you some lunch.”
Picking up the whisky bottle, Logan refilled his cup, which he had placed on the ground at his feet. “With any luck I’ll be stewed to the gills by then.”
She chuckled softly. “Just don’t come into the kitchen singing and dancing. I’ll have a hard time explaining that to Hamish.”
He met her gaze, reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Mairi. You’re a good woman.”
The warmth of his touch sent an explosion of fire into her blood, which nearly caused her to lose her breath. But it was not fear or panic she felt—which was usually the case whenever a man touched her for any reason.
This morning, there was an unmistakable pooling of desire in her belly. A dangerous heat in her core. For a moment she hungered for more.
Logan held on to her fingers f
or a few seconds. Gently, he stroked her knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
“You’re not in the habit of welcoming a man’s touch,” he said plainly.
“Nay, I am not.”
“It’s understandable, but there’s nothing to fear from me, Mairi. I only want to say thank you. That’s all.”
She should have said something like “You’re welcome” or “It’s been no trouble at all.” Instead, she slid her hand from his, backed away and hurried out of the stable, leaving the door wide open behind her.
As she hastened across the windy yard to the cottage, she felt a few raindrops strike her cheeks and forehead. She shivered from the unseasonable chill from the north. The shock of it woke her to her embarrassment for simply walking out without saying another word to him.
“You foolish woman,” she said to herself. “He’s going to think you are daft.”
Meanwhile, as Logan stood in the open doorway of the stable, watching Mairi dash into the cottage, his thoughts were heading in another direction entirely, for his body was alive with yearnings to touch her again, to hold her in his arms, to breathe in her delectable womanly scent and press his mouth urgently to hers.
Easy now, Logan said to himself as he turned and walked back to his cot. She’s not the sort of woman you can trifle with.
And he really needed to be on his way.
Chapter Five
“We can’t just leave him out there,” Isla said as she spooned hot broth into a cup. “The rain has been coming down in buckets all day and the chill has gone straight to my bones. The poor man must be shivering under his tartan. Imagine the discomfort, with that broken arm…”
Mairi moved to the front window and looked out. “You’re right. It’s a beast of a day. We should bring him inside by the fire.”
“Finally, you’re making sense. And later, when it gets dark, he can sleep in your bed.”
Mairi whirled around to face Isla. “I beg your pardon?”
Isla rolled her eyes and laughed. “Not together with you. It’s going to be a cold, wet night, lass. You’ll give him your bed and sleep with us.”
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