Chapter 7
The path to the trees ran as pale as bone under the moon. Emma kept to the shadow of the wall until it ended, then crossed the open ground with her shawl pulled tight and her breath set to a steady count.
The wind lay low, and the stones held a silvered edge that made every turn familiar and strange all at once. She fixed her eyes on the figure ahead and did not let doubt do its work.
The forest swallowed sound as soon as she stepped under its first limbs. Needles underfoot gave softly, while the light around her thinned to a sifted grey. Her heartbeat sounded too loud in her ears. She was close enough to see the shift of his shoulders when the path curved.
Then he was gone.
She blinked.
What? Where did he go?
She took two more steps, thinking he had dropped lower or turned, and felt the air shift. She was about to scream his name when a muscular arm wound around her from behind. Cold steel touched the base of her throat, and her heart lurched in fear.
“Why are ye following me?” he demanded, voice low and lethal at her ear.
She gasped, hands flying up to his arm. “Wait. Wait. It is just me.”
His dagger stilled, but his arm did not. It held long enough for recognition to dawn. The pressure eased, and he released her and stepped back hard enough to rustle the brush.
“Emma!” he said, still breathing like a man who expected trouble. “What in God’s name are ye doing outside at this hour?”
“I could ask you the same,” she scoffed, fixing the shawl where his arm had dislodged it. “Do all lairds take moonlit strolls with steel in hand, or is that a personal quirk?”
“It is called keeping watch,” he emphasized. “Some of us work at night so the rest can sleep. I am sure English nobles daenae have to do any of that.”
She ignored his jab. “Well, some of us would sleep better if the watch announced itself before putting a blade to a lady’s throat.”
“Ye werenae a lady two breaths ago,” he said. “Ye were an intruder that I was ready to kill.”
“Of course. A convenient excuse for poor manners.”
“Manners,” he repeated, almost laughing. “Ye were literally stalking me through the trees.”
“You vanished like a magician on stage. What was I supposed to do?”
“I am nae a magician. I am a warrior.”
“Then ye need to learn the difference between enemies and women in shawls.”
He looked her over from boots to brow. “A woman in a shawl can be the sharpest enemy in the woods.”
She folded her arms, ignoring the heat that crept up her cheeks. “Only if the warrior is careless.”
He shook his head, a rueful sound rumbling in his chest. “Ye daenae sneak up on armed men.”
“Then armed men should not sneak out the night before their wedding.”
“I didnae sneak out,” he protested. “I stepped out.”
“Poor verb,” she drawled. “It makes you sound harmless.”
“I am many things, but harmless isnae one of them.”
“Believe me, Laird MacLellan, I noticed.”
The cold night air slithered through the trees and rustled the branches. Logan slid the dagger back into its sheath with a small, precise motion, then pointed at the path that led back to the castle with two fingers.
“Ye should be inside.”
“You should be, too.”
“I was thinking.”
“So was I.”
“About what?” he asked.
“About whether you meant to run,” she said, and heard how sharp it sounded. “About whether I would let you.”
He put his hands on his hips. “And how would ye have stopped me if ye didnae want me to run? With yer shawl?”
“If necessary.”
His mouth twitched. “Ye would really try, would ye nae?”
“The man I punched back in London suffered a nasty bruise for two weeks.” Emma took a step forward, unsure as to where the urge to do that came from. “I would not only try. I would succeed.”
“Really? In that dress?”
“In any dress.”
He huffed, near a laugh, then caught himself. “Ye are reckless.”
“And you are infuriating.”
“I keep saying I am a man with a knife in the dark,” he said. “Ye keep treating me like a boy caught stealing jam.”
“Perhaps because you behave like one,” she retorted. “Do you often sneak out to brood with your toys?”
“Toys,” he echoed, hand on the dagger’s hilt. “This toy keeps the castle walls standing.”
“And nearly cut my neck.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, it is nice to see that there is a word in play here. Nearly. Plus, ye shook me.”
“Oh, then I am sorry I startled you,” she drawled, refusing to let it go. “I did not know the punishment for that was a dagger at my throat.”
“I wasnae startled,” he said, straightening as if to show that he was more manly than he looked. A position Emma didn’t think was possible. “I was just nae ready.”
“Then be ready for this. Next time, tell someone where you are going.”
“All right, then. Would ye like me to give me enemies a schedule of me movements in the process?”
“Well, tell Isobel,” she suggested. “Tell David. Tell the dog, for all I care. Tell anyone who will keep you from scaring your bride.”
“Bride,” he repeated, as if tasting the word to test its shape. “Ye are certain about everything now, are ye nae?”
“It will be accurate,” she said. “Two days from now.”
“Unless ye keep leaping from bushes. Then we will have to marry ye to the hedge.”
“I would love to see you try,” she scoffed.
Despite her instincts telling her not to, she stepped forward. He should not have noticed, except that he also chose that moment to move closer as well.
“Daenae tempt me,” he murmured, smiling now.
They were two feet apart, close enough that she could see the lighter ring in his eyes.
The wind moved through the pines and stilled again. He took a half step, not closer but not away, a shift that felt like patience.
“I daenae ken how ye do things where ye come from, but if ye do intend to chase a man through the woods, perhaps it would be best nae to come alone,” he said. “That was foolish.”
“It was necessary.”
“Necessary. Ye seem to like that word a lot, do ye nae?”
“Well, if you have gone through the things I have, you will find that the word comes in handy a lot.”
He sighed, then let the last of his annoyance go. “Ye are ice and fire, Emma Huntington.”
“I prefer capable.”
“Well, that too.”
She looked down, then back up. Her bravado slipped a fraction, and he saw it. His hand rose, gentle and steady, and he tilted her chin up till her eyes met his.
“So, ye really came out here because ye thought I was escaping?”
Emma sighed, but did not remove his hand. She didn’t know why, she just let it cup her chin and basked in the warmth of his touch. “I just wanted to make sure you would not… would not miss the wedding again.”
The words cost her. Pride chafed on the way out. She took the rest in two breaths and let it live or die between them.
Logan exhaled and stared at her. “Ye have truly been through a lot, have ye nae?”
“I stood in a dress while people watched a door that remained empty,” she uttered.
“I heard the whispers travel like a disease. I watched my name go around rooms and come back smaller. I know you had serious reasons the first time. I know there was a fight and a wound. But my reputation cannot bear another door that does not open.”
Something shifted in his expression. It was not exactly pity. No, it was attention. He saw the picture as she meant him to.
“Still, ye shouldnae sneak up on armed men,” he insisted, the words softened by the shape of his mouth.
“Well then, armed men still should not vanish into forests on the eve of their weddings,” she said, the edge easing by a hair.
His eyes held hers, and for a minute, the silence between them felt heavier than any log. The wind rustled the branches once again and then stilled.
“I willnae miss it,” he promised. “Nae this time.”
The words hung in the air between them.
The knot in Emma’s chest loosened. She stepped closer before she could think better of it. He didn’t move away.
His hand was still on her chin. She looked up at him and saw his decision before he moved.
Her eyes were already closed before he kissed her.
His mouth claimed hers without asking first, and one hand slid to the back of her neck. The other locked around her waist and hauled her against him. Hard.
She opened her mouth, and he took it, kissing her like he had been thinking about it for weeks. For years.
Her hands grabbed his shirt because, for some reason, standing still suddenly required more effort. The shawl around her shoulders fell as he walked her backward two steps until the nearest bark pressed into her spine and his whole body was pressed against hers.
His stubble tickled her jaw. His teeth found her bottom lip. She made a garbled noise, and he answered it by kissing her deeper. There was nothing careful in it.
Her fingers slid into his hair, and when she pulled, he made a sound in the back of his throat that sent heat straight through her. She kissed him back harder.
Eventually, he loosened his grip on her waist, and the kiss turned softer, almost reverent. He pulled back enough to rest his forehead against hers, both of them gulping in air.
His thumb brushed her cheekbone once, while his other hand stayed on her waist.
“I promise ye, Emma,” he said, his voice rough. “I willnae miss our wedding again.”
He let the promise sit between them, then turned toward the path ahead. The trees still held their silver, and the wind stayed low. He strode deeper into the woods, and her footsteps followed.
He stopped and looked back. “Excuse me.”
She had gathered her shawl, the pin set firm, her chin jutted in a way that said she was not finished. “You cannot make a promise and then walk into the night as if that is the end of it. It is not.”
Frustration flared within him. “What else do ye want?”
“You have yet to explain why you were out here to begin with.”
Logan could have sent her back with a word, but he did not. He spoke the truth he had decided on long before she reached Scotland.