He, in turn, pleasured her in ways he never thought he was capable of—for he never pushed to make love to her. He managed somehow to remain in control of his compulsions, and used his hands and mouth instead. Only once did he come close to penetration. He rolled on top of her and she wrapped her legs around his hips while she kissed him passionately.
Distracted and lost in sensation, Logan pushed forward, but felt the muscles of her womanhood contract. She squirmed beneath him, inching upward toward the pillow.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered, sitting back on his haunches. “I thought you might be ready.”
She swallowed uneasily. “I thought I might be, too. Could we try it again?”
He considered her offer—which sounded more like a plea—but recognized the emotion in her eyes. It was not passion he saw, but distress. She regretted disappointing him and he knew that if they tried again, it would be for his pleasure, not hers.
“No,” he firmly said, shaking his head. “I don’t want you to pretend you’re enjoying it if you’re not.”
“But I am enjoying this,” she assured him.
“I believe you, lass, but you might not feel the same way when I’m thrusting into you.”
Was he insane? He’d never been so sensitive to a lassie’s feelings before. He enjoyed sex and he’d always pursued eager, easy lassies. He’d never in his life taken anyone’s virginity. That would have been too much of a commitment. Though Mairi was not a virgin, she may as well have been, for this was a new beginning for her—and completely unfamiliar territory for him. And he had never been a patient man before—not about anything.
Mairi lay her head down on the pillow and rested her cheek on her hands. “Every night when I walk out of here, I’m afraid you’ll be gone when I wake and I’ll wish I had let you make love to me.”
“I won’t leave without saying good-bye to you and Hamish,” he told her, as he ran a finger across her soft cheek.
“But you will leave eventually,” she said. “And probably very soon. I can feel it in my bones. I know you’re thinking about it.”
Logan could do nothing but nod his head. “I must go after my brother. For one thing, I owe him a wicked thrashing for what he did to my sword arm. But in truth, my anger has waned. He had every right to do what he did. I cannot desert him. I owe him my life.”
At least he hadn’t lied to Mairi about his continuing desire to leave. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.
They fell asleep in each other’s arms, and as usual, when he woke the following morning, she was gone, back to her own bed.
But something was different that day, for he was awakened not by the glare of the sun through the window, but by the sound of a horse galloping into the yard and a man’s deep resounding voice as he dismounted. Boots hit the ground with a heavy thud.
“Good morning, Mairi. You’re up early.”
It was a Scottish accent, not English. But who was it?
Logan leapt to his feet and dressed quickly.
Chapter Ten
“Who is this?” the Highlander asked incredulously, reaching for his sword as Logan walked out of the stable.
“His name is Logan,” Mairi quickly explained. She was fully dressed with the empty milk bucket in her hand.
“Logan MacDonald,” he offered, striding forward and holding out his good hand.
Tomas glanced at Logan’s clan tartan and brooch and stiffened with displeasure, for there was age-old bad blood between the Campbells and MacDonalds.
“He’s a guest, Tomas,” Mairi added. “As you can see, he’s injured. We’ve been giving him care.”
The man she called Tomas was a tall, strapping beast of a Scot with shoulder-length red hair, a beard, and more weapons tucked into his belt than any crofter had a right to claim.
This one was a seasoned warrior, no doubt about it.
“Logan, this is Tomas Campbell,” Mairi said, gesturing toward him. “He’s a friend.”
Logan regarded the man suspiciously. Though he looked to be about twenty years older than Mairi, he was good looking—muscular and fit with friendly blue eyes. Clearly she was at ease in his presence.
In Logan’s experience, whenever a woman made a point to say that a man was a “friend,” there was something not right about it. Logan felt a sudden, unwelcome stab of jealousy.
“Good to meet you,” he said nonetheless as he shook Tomas’s hand. They regarded each other with a masculine intensity, neither wanting to be the first to look away.
“You’re a MacDonald…” Tomas said with a hint of menace. “What are you doing in Campbell territory?”
“It’s a long story,” Mairi replied, touching Logan’s arm. For some reason, the tension grew thick as mud.
Just then, the front door of the house swung open and Isla walked out. “Tomas! How wonderful to see you! Can you stay for breakfast? I’ve got eggs in the pan and a fresh loaf of bread on the table. It’s still warm.”
The mistrust in Tomas’s eyes vanished as he turned to greet Mairi’s mother. “You certainly know the way to a man’s heart, Isla. I could smell the bread from clear across the glen.”
He kissed Isla on the cheek.
Mairi met Logan’s gaze. The sun reflected in her pupils like a flash of starlight. She raised an eyebrow.
Any jealousy he’d been feeling disappeared like a drop of water on a hot stove, for Tomas was obviously there to visit Isla.
“You come with news,” she said with a sudden look of concern. “Something’s happened. I see it in your eyes.”
“Aye,” Tomas replied gruffly. “There have been some developments at Leathan Castle. We’d best go inside.”
Logan’s gut turned over with regret for having been convalescing here for so long, while Darach had been out there alone with Fitzroy Campbell’s daughter, fulfilling their mission faithfully.
An inexplicable feeling of dread came over Logan as he followed everyone into the cottage to hear the news Tomas had come to deliver.
* * *
Isla poured coffee for Tomas and Logan while Mairi served up the eggs.
“Hamish, put your toy away,” she whispered, urging her son to get up off the floor and join the men at the table.
A moment later they were all seated, and Tomas wasted no time before getting straight to the point of why he had come. “Chief Fitzroy Campbell is dead.”
Isla dropped her fork, and Logan sat back in his chair, dumbfounded.
For the past two years he had lived for vengeance, dreaming of the day he would kill Fitzroy with his own bare hands, but now he was dead.
“How?” Logan asked.
Had Darach not arrived at the castle in time to deliver the pardon to save Fitzroy’s life? Had something happened to Darach along the way?
“Believe it or not,” Tomas said, “Fitzroy escaped from the prison a few nights ago and was shot by a company of English Redcoats in the forest, half a day’s ride from the castle.”
“Good heavens,” Mairi said with a frown of disbelief. “How in the world did he escape?”
“That’s the interesting part.” Tomas scooped up a fried egg and stuffed the entire thing into his mouth. “It was his daughter, Larena, who broke him out of the prison with the help of a Highlander from Kinloch Castle, who had escorted her into the garrison to deliver her father’s pardon from the King. Some say the Highlander kidnapped her and her father, but that makes no sense.”
Mairi and Isla both turned to Logan and stared at him with shock and bewilderment, for they both knew he had been on a mission with his brother to deliver a “package” from Kinloch to Leathan Castle. Now they must be guessing what that package was, and surely they must be wondering why Logan was allegedly involved in a plot to help a Jacobite traitor escape.
Not just any Jacobite traitor, but the Campbell chief they both abhorred.
But that had not been his plan. Not at all. It was quite the opposite in fact.
“How do you know this?” Logan aske
d Tomas.
“I have friends inside the castle walls. Word spreads quickly.”
Logan waited for Isla or Mairi to say something to Tomas—to expose the fact that he had been on the same mission from Kinloch Castle when he ended up in their field with a broken arm, on account of his brother.
Thankfully, neither of them spoke a word about it. They were likely still in shock.
“What about Larena and the Highlander?” Logan asked incredulously. “What happened to them?”
“The Highlander was shot dead on the spot,” Tomas replied, “and they dragged the chief’s daughter back to the garrison. They say she will be forced to marry Colonel Gregory Chatham, as she was pledged to him in exchange for the pardon on her father’s life—although a lot of good that did her. I don’t know why she tried to break her father out of prison when he was already spared from the gallows, but who knows what she was thinking? Now she has no choice in the matter. She’ll be trading her virtue on her wedding night for the crime she just committed against the Crown.”
Tomas smeared cheese on his bread and continued his tirade. “I hate to say it—because she’s the daughter of that blackguard Fitzroy Campbell and I should hate her by association—but I pity her. From what I’ve heard, Colonel Chatham is a cowardly whoremonger. He’s rather twisted, they say.”
Meanwhile, Logan was hearing none of what Tomas was saying about Larena Campbell or Colonel Chatham, for he was still reeling from the news that Darach had been shot and killed.
The room began to spin, and his vision turned red before his eyes. He stood up and knocked his chair over.
Darach. Dead?
The next thing Logan knew, he was pushing out the front door of the cottage, stripping the sling off his shoulder, tossing it to the ground and running toward the stable. He was vaguely aware of Mairi calling after him.
He wrenched open the stable door and entered the stall where his horse was waiting dutifully, as if he knew Logan would come eventually and expect him to gallop.
Blood pounded thunderously in Logan’s ears as he mounted Tracker, bareback, and urged him out of the stall.
Mairi appeared in the open doorway. “Wait Logan! Please wait!”
Unable to get by her, Tracker backed up a few steps and whinnied anxiously.
“Out of the way, Mairi. I have to go.”
She held her hands up to try and stop him. “What will you do? If you ride through the gates of Leathan Castle, you’ll be shot dead on the spot, just like your brother. You must think this through.”
But he didn’t want to think. He just wanted to ride out of there and find the soldier who killed Darach.
“Please, Logan, don’t go. Stay!”
“I cannot!” His body was on fire with rage and a crushing need to retaliate. What man had pulled the trigger? What was his name? What did he look like? It was all Logan cared about. “Move out of the way, Mairi!”
She stepped aside and he kicked in his heels.
Ten minutes later, he was riding fast and hard to the edge of the grassy glen, leaning forward over Tracker’s mane and shouting at him to gallop faster. Faster!
Then it hit Logan like a cold, crashing wave.
Darach was dead.
Grief, like nothing Logan had ever known, washed over him.
His brother, who had been his only family since he was a lad…the brother who had protected him and saved him from certain death on the battlefield of Sheriffmuir… Darach, who had kept Logan’s shameful secret all these years…was dead.
Logan sat back and tugged on Tracker’s mane. “Whoa!”
Tracker slowed to a halt at the river, where the water rushed noisily over the rocks. The morning sun, just rising from beyond the mountaintops, blinded Logan momentarily. He squinted and raised a hand to shield his eyes from the glare.
Only then did he realize that his wounded arm was throbbing like a son of a bitch.
Darach was dead.
Feeling nauseous, Logan dismounted and retched into the grass next to a large, granite boulder. When he recovered, he lay down on his back, closed his eyes and covered them with his splinted arm.
Where was he going? What would he do?
God, Mairi was right. He would be shot instantly if he rode into the British garrison in a blaze of fury and vengeance. And how would that make things better? It wouldn’t bring Darach back to life. Nor would it bring back their father.
Dear God, what had they done with Darach’s body? Had he at least been given a proper burial?
Larena…it was all her fault. How had she convinced Darach to break her father out of prison? Darach loathed her father. Was the pardon on his life not enough? Larena wanted his freedom as well? Had she wanted it enough to put Darach’s life at risk in the process?
Poor Darach…no doubt seduced into doing her bidding. He’d probably fancied himself in love with her and had lost sight of everything, for he had tried to rescue a man who had murdered their own father in cold blood.
Still lying on the grass, Logan gazed up at the clear blue morning sky. At least Larena—damn her treacherous soul—would spend her life wed to the twisted English officer who was responsible for her father’s death. Was that not a suitable punishment? It was a rather perfect end to her story, for there was some justice in that.
What was Logan to do, then? he wondered miserably as he lay there, feeling numb and lost. For so long, he had lived for his dark vengeance. Now he was alone in this world with nothing—and no one—to live for.
But no…that wasn’t right. There was Mairi…beautiful Mairi…who had tried to keep him from leaving. She had wanted him to stay—to save his soul—but he had ridden off in a rage and left her, just like he’d ridden out of the camp after his fight with Darach.
What was Mairi doing now? Logan wondered in a hazy, despairing stupor. Was she worrying for him? Or was she explaining to Tomas that he had been a part of the mission to deliver the King’s pardon to Leathan Castle? Was she telling him that Logan was the brother of the Highlander who had been killed, and that he had galloped off in a fury and could not be trusted?
Chapter Eleven
Mairi paced across the floor of the stable, not knowing what to do. If only she had a horse of her own, she would ride after Logan and convince him to turn around and think more carefully about what he should do.
Now she understood why he’d ended up on his back in her field with a broken arm a week ago. He was rash and impulsive, and had galloped away from his brother’s camp without a saddle for his horse, or any of his weapons. That’s why he was unable to complete his mission—which she now understood was to deliver the pardon to save Fitzroy Campbell, and escort his daughter Larena back to the castle.
Clearly, Larena Campbell was the woman Darach and Logan had argued about.
Tomas and Isla ran into the stable.
“Did he leave?” Tomas asked.
“Aye,” Mairi replied. “He was fit to be tied. The man you told us about—the Highlander who was shot by the Redcoats—he was Logan’s brother. Logan also comes from Kinloch. He was on a mission for Angus the Lion to deliver Fitzroy Campbell’s pardon from the king.”
“I know,” Tomas said. “Isla told me everything. Which way did he go?”
Mairi pointed. “That way. I suspect he’s riding straight for Leathan Castle as we speak, but he won’t amount to much with a broken arm and no weapons.”
“The lad needs to be stopped or he’ll get himself killed,” Tomas said as he strode out of the stable and mounted his horse.
Mairi followed him out. “He’s a good man, Tomas. He’s just…passionate. Please bring him back.”
“I’ll knock his lights out and drag him back by the ear if I have to,” Tomas replied as he galloped out of the yard.
* * *
Logan was on his feet and ready to mount Tracker when he heard the predictable sound of hooves thundering across the glen. He was not surprised to discover Tomas approaching.
“Mairi must h
ave sent you,” Logan said as Tomas reached him and reined his horse to a halt. Logan swung himself up onto Tracker’s back.
“Aye,” Tomas replied. “She was worried about you.”
Logan regarded the red-bearded Highlander with careful scrutiny. “I cannot blame her. She knows I’m reckless.”
Yet he had surprised himself by demonstrating an astonishing degree of self-control over the past week—at least where Mairi was concerned.
“The word she used was passionate,” Tomas informed him. His horse stomped around skittishly, while Logan hugged his broken arm to his ribs.
“And Isla told me that you’re a scout for Angus the Lion, and that you were on an errand, traveling to Leathan to deliver some sort of ‘package’ when you got into a brawl with your brother.”
“Aye,” Logan replied, feeling weary of lies. “And if you know that much, I suspect you’ve already figured out that it was my brother the Redcoats killed.”
Tomas nodded and spoke in a low, gentle voice. “My condolences, son. It’s never easy to lose a brother.”
Logan lowered his gaze to the ground. “Nay, it is not.”
“What will you do now?” Tomas asked, after a time. “Mairi is hoping I’ll bring you back. And seeing as you have no weapons and no saddle for your horse, it’s probably best for you to come with me now. Then you can take some time to put some thought into where you should go from here.”
Logan exhaled heavily and looked toward the horizon. “I have no idea where that is. My world is not the same as it was.”
I don’t even know who I am anymore. MacDonald? Campbell?
“I know the feeling,” Tomas said. “It’s been a rough few years for us Campbells, since the death of our true chief.”
Logan’s gut churned with burning acid, for it was his own beloved father Tomas was referring to. But no one knew that—not even Mairi. Darach had been the only person in the world who knew the truth. And now he was gone.
Logan had never felt more alone.
And so, with nowhere to go and all his goals shattered, he soberly followed Tomas back to Mairi’s cottage, and surrendered completely to his grief.
Taken by the Highlander Page 8
