Logan’s Legends: A Revelry's Tempest Regency Romance Box Set

by K. J. Jackson

  Bridget didn’t dare move.

  A rush of cool night air enveloped her as the window flung open behind them.

  Hell. What was Randolph doing? The first thing she had done in the room was look to escape out the window, but the dormer sat just above a severely sloped slate roof that would send her plummeting three levels to the hard ground of the alleyway. If she thought she could have survived it, she would have already jumped.

  Fear sent her muscles into a frenzy, her feet digging into the floorboards. “Randolph.”

  “Silence.” His free arm flew around her, the clamp against her chest as painful as ever.

  “Randolph, please.” She lifted her bound hands, trying to pull his arm from her, trying to pull him back from the madness.

  He yanked at her body, pulling her from her feet.

  Logan lifted his arm, the barrel of a pistol aimed at them. Without a word, the message to Randolph was clear.

  Hurt her and he was a dead man.

  She hadn’t seen the pistol earlier, she had been so focused on Hunter. Logan leveled his aim at Randolph. Or what she hoped was Randolph. There could only be a sliver of Randolph’s head showing behind her.

  Hunter was a master marksman. She knew that. But she knew nothing of Logan’s skill. Nothing. Much less if the pistol he held was crafted for aim. A bullet could just as easily veer from Randolph to her skull.

  Hunter wouldn’t dare let him pull the trigger.

  Her look flew back to Hunter, her head shaking.

  His eyes locked with hers and with one barely perceivable nod of his head, a shot exploded into the room.

  The shot blast into her ears and sent her cringing, her eyes shut tight.

  Before she could open her eyes, before she realized she wasn’t dead with a bullet through her head, a force hit them from the front, and she was flying through the air.

  Flying through the window.

  She opened her eyes just as her body rushed into the night air.

  Hunter in front of her.

  Hunter had shoved her and Randolph out the window.

  Thunk. She landed hard onto her belly, hitting the V juncture of the dormer and the roof, and slate tiles cracked under her. Randolph had lost his grip on her, his body flying farther.

  He hit the roof, landing on her leg.

  Fire dug into her left calf. The blade. The blade sinking into her skin.

  Her hands hit the roof above her head and she twisted, kicking. Kicking as wildly as she could at Randolph’s flailing arms, at the fingers gripping onto her ankles, tearing into bones. The dagger tore from her calf and sent searing pain shooting up her leg.

  She slipped downward.

  Randolph was taking her with him.

  Instinct sent her foot swinging and her toe connected with his temple, kicking him free of her. His fingers slipped from her ankle. Hands grasping desperately at the tiles, he slid. Slid down the roof tiles. Dropped.

  Thud.

  A gasp exploded from her lips, and the tiles under her slipped. Her feet moved into open air. Nothing but the ground far, far below.

  But she didn’t slide down. Didn’t follow Randolph over the deadly drop.

  She twisted, craning her neck to look upward through her extended arms.

  Hunter lay fully out of the window, stretched to his long length, his fingers clamped around the rope binding her wrists. Logan was behind him, his foot wedged against the side of the window as he strained, pulling Hunter’s leg—inch by inch, wrenching them both back up through the window.

  She found Hunter’s face, concentrating on the deep lines about his eyes as he grimaced. “Don’t drop me, Hunter.”

  He grunted and his dark eyes found hers. Dark eyes that instantly calmed her. “It’ll never happen, Bridget.”

  A rumble came from deep in his chest as he dragged her against the roof tiles, pulling her closer to him. She could feel him shift, feel his legs brace against the inside wall below the window. Solid, he heaved her in with one long yank.

  Her feet never touched the floor, for Hunter snatched her up and into him, crushing her to his chest with such ferocity, she could feel her ribs bowing, near to cracking.

  She didn’t care.

  She was safe. Safe in his arms. The one place she should have always been.

  Her breath came back to her slowly, filling her lungs, and she wedged her face upward. “I could have done without being pushed out a window again, Hunter.”

  His hand went to the back of her head, tucking her against his chest again. His words were broken, harsh into her hair. “And I could have done without having to push you out the window, Bridget.”

  { Chapter 13 • To Capture a Warrior }

  “Come, we should leave before a constable arrives.” Logan’s deep voice cut into the pounding in Hunter’s ears. “This neighborhood is quiet and I doubt a dead body in the alleyway will go unnoticed for long.”

  Hunter wasn’t ready to release Bridget from his grip just yet. He had almost just lost her out the blasted window—he had planned to yank her back in right away, never imagining Randolph would manage to latch onto her ankles. But Logan was right—they had to move.

  Hunter set Bridget to her feet, the muscles in his arms tightening, resisting, even as he released her. He didn’t want to let her go. And by the way she curled into him, she didn’t want him to either. She wobbled on her feet as he took a slight step backward, but then righted herself. He pulled a dagger from a sheath under his coat and quickly cut through the rope still binding her wrists.

  Grabbing her hand, Hunter led the way quickly through the house. At the base of the stairs, Logan cleared his throat, stopping and looking to Hunter over Bridget’s head. “It would normally be wise to slip out the rear door.”

  Hunter glanced at Bridget, then shook his head, looking to Logan. “We go out the front.”

  Hunter wasn’t about to make Bridget witness the crumpled mess of Randolph in the muck of the alleyway. Whatever abhorrent decisions the man had made in the past two days, Hunter knew he had been steadfast in his loyalty to Bridget and the hospital in the past. The countless lives he had saved during the years had to be remembered. Not what he had become.

  Logan moved to the front door, ushering them out into the street. Hunter wrapped one arm about Bridget’s shoulders, holding her as close to him as possible as they started walking along the footpath. She was limping, leaning into him, though she hadn’t let even a whimper slide from her lips on the matter, so whatever had caused it could wait until they were clear of the area. Flanking the other side of her, Logan secured his pistol under his tailcoat.

  In silence, they walked past several cross streets before they were far enough away to slow their gaits to a relaxed pace.

  Bridget pointed to the spot where Logan’s pistol had disappeared behind dark fabric. “Did you hit him?”

  “No. Nowhere near it, Miss Morton,” Logan said. “Did you not see the bullet hole in the wall three feet away from the window? That was as close as I dared.” A smileless chuckle escaped his lips. “I was just distracting him so Hunter could pounce. I am an excellent shot, but the only person I would trust to take a shot like that is your man.”

  Bridget nodded, her jaw slightly askew as she craned her neck to look up at Hunter. “How did you find me?”

  Hunter tipped his head to Logan. “Lipinstein managed to convince Bournestein to tell us.”

  Her gaze whipped to Logan. “It appears I owe you a great debt of gratitude.”

  Hunter’s footsteps halted and he turned both him and Bridget to face Logan fully. “As do I, Logan.” His arm tightened around her shoulders. “You do not know what you have given me, but it is worth everything.”

  Logan’s look dipped to Bridget. “I can see that it is.”

  “Logan, the package—whatever it is—I will deliver it,” Hunter said. “I will not have you sacrifice your integrity at the altar of Bournestein.”

  Logan shrugged. “Thank you, but I’m afr
aid it is something only I can deliver. I knew what he would be asking of me before stepping foot into his lair.”

  “You are positive I cannot help?”

  “Positive. And do not look at me so, Hunter. There is honor in bringing those that should be together, together.” His look shifted to Bridget and then back to Hunter. “I will take care of Bournestein and his request of me.” He pointed to the intersection of roads that was five steps to their left. “And I leave you here.”

  “Thank you, my friend.”

  The smallest smile angled the corners of Logan’s lips. He started down the side street, only to stop a few paces away and turn back to them. “Actually, I do have one thing to ask of you, Hunter.”

  “Anything.” Hunter didn’t hesitate.

  Logan stepped back to them. “You know you are one of my most trusted guards?”

  Hunter offered a nod.

  “Then I have something to ask of you and Miss Morton that requires the utmost discretion.”

  “What is it?” Hunter asked.

  “What do you think of the northern moorlands? I will be gaining control of some land in Northumberland, and I understand that the last healer in the area died last year. There has been no one to replace her, sans a traveling apothecary that does more harm than good every time he makes it through. Miss Morton’s skills would be most appreciated in that area, and equally important, your assistance in managing the land would be even more appreciated by me, Hunter. I would trust no one more than you to be steward of the land.”

  Hunter sighed, his exhale sending a low whistle into the night. “You’re telling me to get us out of London, aren’t you?”

  Logan offered one nod, his mouth grim.

  Hunter’s hand along Bridget’s shoulder curled, collapsing into a fist. “I will not allow us to live our lives in fear of reprisal, Lipinstein.”

  “Which is why Northumberland is a useful solution. You yourself have talked about the beauty of the rolling hills and desolate landscape. You hate London. Does your future wife care for life here?”

  Hunter looked down to Bridget.

  She shook her head.

  Hunter’s heart skipped a beat at the honesty she managed to manifest. Of course she didn’t care for London. It had done nothing but scrape away at her spirit, day after day after day.

  Logan cleared his throat. “So go where you are needed, Hunter—wanted—and leave this place where the only thing that demands you to stay is pride.”

  Pride.

  Damn, Logan.

  Damn him for being too observant.

  Misplaced arrogance was the only thing that would keep them in London, and Hunter had to admit to it.

  He would be a fool to stay.

  And he would have the world if he left.

  He looked down at Bridget. She stared up at him, her green eyes wide, light from a lantern hung on the building next to them reflecting sparks in her eyes. Without words, he knew exactly what was in her mind.

  The world.

  The world with him. With a family. With purpose.

  The world where they could be as free from the past as they chose to be.

  As much as he abhorred having to look away from those sparks in her eyes, he pulled his gaze from Bridget and looked to Logan. “Yes.”

  A smile—the truest one that Hunter had ever seen on Logan’s face—crossed his friend’s lips for the merest of seconds. “I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that my land is merely a long day’s ride to the Scottish border and the nearest blacksmith.” Logan tilted his head to Bridget. “I imagine that making her your wife sooner, rather than later, will be your top priority. No need for banns. And as you won’t be needed on my lands for a few weeks, the time is yours to do with what you will.”

  Hunter’s chest swelled. “Again, thank you, Logan. I am humbled by your trust.”

  “You saved my life, Hunter. So it is I that is humbled.” Logan lifted his hand, squeezing Hunter’s upper arm. “Do well, build your family, my friend.”

  “I intend to.”

  Logan turned and walked away, his dark form blending into the night.

  They watched him, their feet frozen to the walkway. Hunter kept his gaze on Logan’s back. “Tell me why you’re limping, Bridget.”

  “You noticed?”

  “I did.”

  “Randolph’s blade sank into my calf.”

  He glanced down at her. “Hell, Bridget—that has to hurt. How have you not whimpered on it?”

  Her gaze stayed on Logan’s retreating form, though a wry smile touched her lips. “I haven’t seen the blood yet. Just wait until we get back to your house and you have to tend to it.”

  Hunter looked into the darkness only to see Logan finally disappear into the distance.

  Bridget twisted, looking up at Hunter. “You saved Logan’s life?”

  “I did.” A slight grin settled on his lips. “In that little village in Spain where I first laid eyes on you. You realize you saved his life as well?”

  “I did?” Her eyes went wide. “With my father? He was one of those soldiers in that infirmary? I didn’t recognize him, though all of those men were ridiculously beaten and bruised.”

  Hunter nodded. “Lipinstein was the one with bandages wrapped about the top of his head and over his eyes.”

  Her looked dropped from him, her eyes searching the darkness where Logan had vanished. “Fate is a funny, funny conspirator.”

  “That is without a doubt.” Hunter wrapped his free arm around her, pulling the length of her back tight to his torso. He set his chin on the crown of her head, staring down the dark street. “Why do you think the fates took pity on us and entwined our paths once again?”

  “I think the fates realized their mistake in parting us.” She craned her neck to look back at him. “I think we were both quite terrible at life without each other.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “But together we can conjure up the slightest bit of normalcy? I will fight for that, any day.”

  She spun in his arms, her hands lifting up to capture his face between her palms. “As will I. I love you, Hunter, come what may.” She lifted herself onto her toes and kissed him, then pulled slightly away. “And I think this—us together—is fate’s reward.”

  He didn’t let her escape him so easily and he bent down, his lips brushing against hers even as he spoke. “It had better be, Bridget. It had better be.”

  { Epilogue • To Capture a Warrior }

  Northumberland

  September 1816

  Bridget lifted her chin from the heat of Hunter’s bare shoulder, peeling their skin apart. For the chill in the air, they had both worked their bodies into a sticky frenzy during the past hour.

  So much for the final cleaning of the gamekeeper’s cottage.

  They had only managed to work at it for two hours before Hunter had demanded she take a break. On his lap. On his naked lap.

  Her lips still full and bruised from his onslaught, the wide smile on her face stretched her lips tight as she pulled away from him. She kept her arms draped close to his neck, with her hands remaining clutched to the top rung of the chair he sat on. Her legs still straddling him, she found the silver blue flecks in his dark eyes sparking as she wiggled her hips against him. “That was a nice break.”

  He swatted her backside. “Don’t start that again or we’ll never get this place cleaned and ready for patients and I am done letting you traipse all over the countryside.”

  With an exaggerated sigh, she extracted herself from his lap and then stood, bending over and sorting through the mound of clothes for her shift. “We wouldn’t need to get this done so quickly if you would let me continue to see patients in their homes.” She glanced up at him, a wicked gleam in her eye. “If I can ride you, I can ride a horse, Hunter.”

  He stretched out a hand to find his buckskin breeches in the pile. “Don’t even try that, Bridget. You agreed. I am just holding you to our compromise.” He shoved his foot into the
leg of his breeches. “Your womb is hard now, showing, and that was the agreement. You’ll see patients here until you’ve fully recovered from the birth.” He stood, tugging his breeches into place. “I’m not about to chance my babe in your belly to the overly busy schedule you like to keep with the residents.”

  Hiding a smile, she set her short stays in place over her shift and turned her back to him. “But I still feel like I don’t need to be a delicate china doll just yet, Hunter. That is all.”

  He snugged the ribbons on her stays and tied them, then leaned down to set his lips next to her ear. “You may not feel like it, but that is all I see and all I want to protect. You don’t know how hard it has been for me to watch you ride out into the countryside every day these past months.”

  Stays in place, she spun back to him, wrapping her arms along his bare waist. “Which is precisely why I agreed to this. I hate looking back and seeing your face set with such grimness.”

  “Remember, this is still a ten-minute walk from the castle.” He settled his arms around her. “That alone should keep your legs moving enough to ward off the idleness you are so afraid of.”

  She poked at his chest. “I am not afraid of slothfulness. I have relaxed plenty since we arrived in Northumberland.”

  His eyebrow cocked. “You relax only when I entice you into bed.”

  “But I do. That is the point.” Her hand splayed wide on his chest and she smiled up at him. “And is relaxing in bed such a bad thing?”

  He chuckled. “Not from my perspective, no.”

  “Exactly. And once the surgeon that worked with Marjorie at the new hospital in London arrives here, I will be far less busy.”

  “Is he to arrive soon—a letter arrived from Marjorie this morning, didn’t it?”

  “It did. She said the man will be arriving within a month. So we’ll need to get one of the empty cottages ready for him. She wrote that he was the second best physician she’d hired—and he studied under my father years ago, just before the war, so I have high hopes for him.”

  “Is the new hospital as busy as it was when it opened?”