Chapter 8
Logan woke up slowly the next morning, his eyes settling on the ceiling. The room still held the heat from the previous night, and the fire had burned down to embers.
He closed his eyes again. Thoughts of the previous night followed, then broke and went straight to her.
Emma’s lips under his in the dark.
The way she had answered without pulling back.
The soft give of her lips.
The quiet sound she had made before catching herself.
He could almost smell the scent of her hair, clean and warm. Arousal followed quicker than he could imagine, and before he knew it, heat gathered between his legs, low and insistent.
He shifted under the covers and found no comfort. Instead, the ache only sharpened. He had kissed women before. He had put his hands on bodies and taken what was offered and left them both content enough.
This was different.
This had a pull that felt like it wouldn’t be argued with, a clear line that led straight back to a woman who would not bow to his commands without reason. He threw his forearm over his eyes and tried counting his breaths, but it did nothing.
Christ.
His thoughts circled back to where her fingers had curled in his coat, the slight tremor that had run through her when he had pulled her closer. His mind took that kiss and built more around it. Emma beneath him and against the tree.
He imagined her thighs parting for him and the sound she might make if he touched her the way he would as her husband. His body answered like the fantasy was real, like she was standing beside the bed now instead of sleeping in her chamber.
He swore under his breath, already hard, already bothered just by the image.
He pictured her beneath him, moaning into his ear and taking him into her.
At that moment, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
He froze, feeling every muscle lock.
He didn’t have time to respond. The lock turned three beats later, and the door creaked open. He dragged the blanket higher and sat up like he was just waking up.
“Morning, me Laird,” David greeted, cheerful and careful at once, a smile on his face. “A good day for a wedding.”
“It is an arrangement, David,” Logan reminded him. “Ye should ken better.”
David’s smile flattened. “Aye. I beg yer pardon.”
He did not flee. He stood at ease near the door with the tidy calm of a man who had seen worse mornings and kept his feet.
“I saw ye and Lady Emma come in from the woods last night,” he said after a beat. “I thought to ask if all is well.”
“If there was a problem, I would have said so,” Logan answered.
He reached for the shirt on the nearby chair and pulled it over his head, the motions precise and controlled, the way he bound a cut in a storm.
“Aye,” David said. “I only meant to check. It is the morning of yer wedding, after all.”
Logan tied the laces and nodded once. “Thank ye. Yer checking in is well noted.”
David cocked his head. “Shall I fill the bath now? The lads have kept the copper hot.”
“Do it,” Logan ordered. “I want it to be a long one.”
“Done,” David said. He lingered for a moment, seeming to weigh something. “Training or maps later? Ye want the arm ready or the head settled?”
“Nay,” Logan answered at once. “Neither.”
“Understood. I will have the hall decorated as Lady Isobel asked.” David tapped the frame with two fingers, a gesture that conveyed both respect and farewell. “Congratulations all the same.”
He left without turning back, then pulled the door closed with a clean click.
Silence returned, and the room breathed again.
Logan lay back and stared at the ceiling. The light had grown a shade brighter, enough to cast a pale line on the stone floors. He tried not to think of anything else, but there was nothing else to think about on the morning of his wedding but his bride.
He closed his eyes and saw her anyway, the shape of her mouth, the tilt of her chin when she had told him freedom was participation and not absence, the way she had stepped close without care because courage was muscle memory for her.
He had told himself for years that a man like him stayed in shape by keeping free of ties that dragged.
He could tie himself to a ship and cut the knot when the wind turned.
He could tie himself to a fight and step away when the wall held.
He had not expected to tie himself to a woman and then wake up with the tie tugging from inside his chest.
He rolled and set his feet on the floor.
The stone floor took his weight, and he gave a faint sigh.
He sat for a moment, elbows on his knees, and scrubbed a hand over his face.
The smell of the banked fire reached him, smoke and old oak.
He could hear early movement in the hallway.
Life at the castle went on as it always did.
It had gone on during battle, and yet it had not affected him the way it did today.
He rose, stripped, checked the stitches along his ribs with two fingers, then reached for the fresh bandages on the chest. The skin around the cut looked clean, but the ache sat under it like a lesson he deserved. At least he had something to keep his mind grounded.
He wrapped and tied the bandages, then pulled on a clean shirt. The linen caught against the knot, but he quickly adjusted it.
On the windowsill, condensation had pooled from the cold night. He dipped two fingernails in it and drew a line. Then he looked at the door and thought about the day. He would submit to the ceremony because he had called for it.
He went to the jug and poured water into the basin. The cold hit his hands and sharpened his focus. He splashed his face, wiped it with a linen that smelled of lye and sun, and tried to set the morning in order.
The knock had dispelled his desire before he could finish, but he knew very well that the ache had not vanished so much as gone to ground. It would be back the next time his thoughts had the space to wander. To her.
He released a short, sharp breath and looked up at the morning sky through his window.
“Great,” he said to the empty room, voice low. “Just great.” He put both hands on the sill and kept his eyes on the light brightening by inches. “What are ye doing to me, Emma?”
Emma watched as Jenny set the kettle on the table and checked the copper with the back of her hand. A while later, steam lifted in steady curls. She sat on the edge of the bed and watched the water without seeing it.
“Is everything well, me Lady?” Jenny asked, her voice careful.
“I am fine,” Emma replied.
Jenny nodded, though her gaze remained assessing. She folded a towel, then another.
Emma looked up. “Tell me, Jenny, what do you do when you are not rescuing me from my own nerves?”
Jenny blinked, surprised into a small smile. “I mend and clean like the rest of the maids. And I am training as a healer when there is time. Lady Isobel lets me study with the woman who heads the apothecary.”
Emma stood up at once. “Then let us go. Show me. The bath can wait.”
“The bath…” Jenny said, startled and pleased. “Aye. If ye like.”
They wrapped shawls around themselves and left the chamber.
The morning put a pale color on the stones in the hallway, and outside, the air smelled clean, and the ground still held the cold of the previous night.
Jenny led her toward the lower path where the sun reached first, then touched plants as she spoke, naming each one as she pointed. Emma listened as attentively as she could, without letting her thoughts drift to what had happened the previous night just yards away from where they stood.
“That is willow,” Jenny explained. “Its bark is good for pain. Ye shave it thin and dry it, then steep it. This is yarrow. Good for stopping bleeding if ye can get there fast enough. Plantain leaves for stings. Nettle for soup if ye ken how to handle it without burning yer hands.”
Emma listened, finding the rhythm of knowing things with one’s hands soothing. “A maid who is a healer is very convenient.”
Jenny laughed. “Convenient is one word to describe it. Lady Isobel thinks I am bossy when I treat the wounded.”
Emma laughed as they walked further. The trees opened onto a small clearing, and she recognized the line of trunks and the angle of the path as surely as if she had drawn them.
The memory rose to the surface, unbidden.
The kiss.
Logan’s hands steady on her waist.
The heat that had coiled in her belly.
Her pulse quickened. Heated thoughts flooded her mind, and the longer she stood here, the less control she had over them.
“We should go back,” she said, too quickly. “I need the bath, after all.”
“Aye,” Jenny said.
She did not ask why. She steered her toward the castle at once, choosing the path that climbed more gently.
Emma kept pace and looked ahead. She couldn’t bear to glance back and dredge up the memories again. Logan had made it clear that this was nothing but an arrangement. She refused to be seen as the weak party for letting her feelings cloud her judgment.
Back in the chamber, Jenny worked without a fuss.
The bath steadied Emma, and soon, she dressed in a clean gown, hair pinned in a way that would invite a veil later.
“Is it nae exciting that ye will be getting married later this afternoon?” Jenny asked, voice high-pitched with enthusiasm.
“Yes,” Emma responded, failing to match her tone. “Exciting.”
Later that morning, when she stepped into the breakfast room, the world tilted for a heartbeat and then righted. A face so familiar she thought she was dreaming sat behind the table, right across from Isobel.
“Melody?” she called, her voice shaky.
Melody rose to her feet, and only then did Emma see that she had come with her husband, Callum.
“Mel.” The word came out like a breath held too long.
Relief broke in a wave that left her feeling lighter.
Melody hurried to her and wrapped her up in both arms. “You clever creature,” she said against Emma’s cheek. “You should know I never doubted you for one second.”
Emma laughed and stepped back. “What are you doing here?”
Melody blinked. “You did not really think I would miss your wedding, did you?”
Emma laughed, still in disbelief. The last thing she had expected was for Melody to come when she wrote that letter. “How did you even find the castle?”
Melody inclined her head toward Isobel, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Everyone knows the fearless Laird MacLellan. We only had to say we were looking for the castle with the new wall.”
Isobel’s mouth curved. “Aye. The new wall gives us away, I am afraid.” She nodded to Melody and then to Calum. “Ye are welcome here.”
Introductions properly done, they all sat. The trenchers came out, and soon, the table was laden with bread, eggs, and a pot of tea. Conversation flowed for the rest of breakfast, and laughter eased the tightness in Emma’s chest.
For a short hour, the room felt like something she knew well.
After breakfast, Isobel rose with a clap of her hands, cheerful and firm. “This has been fun and all, but it is time to prepare the bride. Come. The light is good in the music room.”
Emma laughed again and rose to her feet. They moved as a small flock down the hallway.
The music room had a taller window and a mirror polished so well that it caught more than faces. Melody worked on Emma’s face carefully while Isobel opened a chest, took out the wedding dress with care, and then laid it on a nearby bench as if setting down a promise.
“Are ye excited?” Isobel asked, voice warm.
Emma smoothed a hand along her bodice and paused. “I miss my brother.” She looked at the mirror, not her own face.
“I am sorry he could not make it, Emma,” Melody said, pity plain on her face as she stared at her in the mirror.
Emma fell silent for the briefest of minutes, before exhaling and letting out a low laugh to lighten the mood. “It is probably a good thing he is not here anyway. I would not want him to watch me get humiliated again if Logan forgot to attend.”
Isobel looked down at once. “It isnae like he wanted to miss it the first time,” she said softly.
Immediately, Emma felt a pang of guilt in her chest. Isobel had taken it seriously.
“It was a bad joke,” she offered, her voice unwavering. “I am sorry.” She drew a breath and decided not to hide the rest. “You see, my father told my brother not to see me again until I am properly married. You can understand why I miss him now.”
Isobel’s head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. “I am sorry,” she said, sincere to the root. “That must be hard.”
“It is all right,” Emma assured, because anything else would shatter her heart even more. “This is why we are doing this anyway.”
Her mind traveled from her brother to Logan, and as usual, the first thing that came to her was the woods. She tried not to think about the kiss or the way it had driven thought out of her head like a door opening to salt air.
Melody’s bright voice brought her back to the present. “You are beautiful,” she said, like it was the truest thing anyone had ever said.
Emma blinked hard and smiled at the mirror. “Thank you.”
They continued to dress her up. Isobel fastened the back with deft fingers, while Melody lifted Emma’s hair and laid it forward, then drew it back in sections until it sat in order. Jenny slipped in once with a tray of pins and slipped out again.
The room settled into the silence that usually came when women knew what they were doing and were doing it together.
Emma looked from Melody to Isobel. “I would like to ask you both something.”
Melody went still. “Anything.”
“I would like both of you to walk me down the aisle,” Emma requested. “If that is not too much to ask.”
Isobel’s eyes shone. “Aye,” she answered. “I would be honored.”
“So would I,” Melody said, her hand already on Emma’s elbow as if the walk had begun.
Emma let out a breath she had been holding since she woke. The weight in her chest shifted into something she could carry, and the room suddenly felt anchored by their presence.
She had chosen this life. Now, it was time for this life to choose her.
Isobel smoothed the fall of her dress and stepped back to see it whole. “There. That is a bride.”
Emma nodded and kept her voice steady. “Good. Then we will do this.”
Surrounded by women who would do anything for her, Emma felt more ready to walk down the aisle with each passing second. In an hour, she would become Lady MacLellan.
Something about the title made her breath hitch.