Chapter 10
The hall still rang with pipes and laughter when the set ended. Emma was smiling at a joke one of Isobel’s friends was telling when she felt the air shift.
Logan was already crossing the floor toward her, expression unreadable, mouth set in a line that did not match the jovial mood. He did not pause before the circle of women or stop to greet anyone. He got close enough to reach for her hand, then took it.
Emma frowned. “Logan, what are you doing?”
His grip was firm. “What I should have done earlier.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“Come,” he said.
Murmurs all around them came in small threads that clung to the thrumming music. Emma felt heat rise to her face, then pressed it down.
“Logan,” she said quietly. “I was speaking to people.”
He did not answer. He led her through the gap between tables toward the corridor. The hand that held hers did not tighten or tug. It simply did not let go.
She matched his pace to keep her dignity, and the movement carried them past a knot of older women who lowered their heads together and whispered. A young man grinned and bit it back when his companion nudged him. The pipes shifted into a gentler tune as they reached the arch.
They cleared the threshold, and the sound softened to a pulse behind them. The stone walls took the heat out of the air as she pulled her hand free and turned to face him.
“What in God’s name was that?” she asked.
“I daenae like other men touching ye,” he said, the words clipped.
She gaped at him, as if he had just said the strangest thing. “What?”
“Ye’re me wife, ye should act like it.”
Emma pressed her palm against her forehead. “Logan, do you hear yourself right now?”
“Clearly.”
“You dragged me out of the party because you did not want to share your wife.”
He fixed her with a look that seemed to say, Get to the point.
“You could not wait to say so when we are alone?” she huffed. “Instead, you chose to turn me into a spectacle?”
His jaw tightened. “Ye were in the middle of the hall with his hands on ye.”
“He was teaching me the steps,” she emphasized. “As you approved.”
“I nodded because I thought it was…” he trailed off. “I didnae nod to watch him spin ye until yer hair fell loose.”
“Then learn the steps and dance with me,” she said. “If you do not, someone else will.”
His voice rose. “Nay one needs to touch ye to be decent.”
“And no one needs to parade me through a hall like a prize,” she shot back, before she could stop herself. “But I suppose we cannot both get what we want now, can we?”
The scuff of boots sounded behind them. A maid rounded the corner with an empty tray and dipped into a neat curtsey. “Me Lady. Me Laird.”
Emma felt the sharp wrongness of the words. The corridor had carried their voices, despite the music. The hall was ten steps away. People would hear what they wanted, and the last thing she needed was another rumor.
Logan looked past her toward the arch, as if debating how much had been heard. He blew out a breath. “I am going to retire.”
“No,” Emma said.
His eyebrows flew up. “What?”
“You are not escaping this. Not tonight.”
“I am nae escaping,” he protested. “I am stepping away before we make a scene.”
“We already did,” she pointed out. “You dragged me out of the hall while holding my hand like a leash. You may think that is nothing. I do not.”
His mouth flattened. He glanced again toward the hall. “Emma…”
She reached out and caught his wrist. “Come with me.”
“Where?” he asked, though he knew.
“Your chamber.”
He resisted for a heartbeat. It felt less like strength than habit.
She tightened her hold and turned, pulling him with her into a longer corridor. The torches around this part of the castle burned lower and steadier, and their shadows on the wall swayed when they walked past.
“What will people say when they see us go into my chambers together?” he murmured.
“That we just got married,” she said, voice as dry as a blade. “I am certain everyone will understand.”
He had no answer. He let her lead.
They passed a guard at the stairs who kept his gaze ahead and only bowed when they were past him. The music behind them faded into a pleasant hum, while the murmurs thinned and stopped.
Emma set a pace that was neither fast nor slow. Her hand stayed on Logan’s wrist until his pulse matched her own.
“You do not get to pull me out of a room and then tell me good night,” she said, without looking up at him. “If you have a thing to say, then it is better to say it now.”
“I already said all I needed,” he muttered. “I daenae like other men touching ye. ‘Tis very simple.”
“Very simple, huh?” she scoffed. “Ye’re the one who cannae dance, and somehow I’m the one being punished.”
“Nay one is punishing anyone.”
“Good. Because I daenae deserve to be treated like some property because I refused to act like a ghost.”
His laugh was short and devoid of humor. “Ye arenae a ghost. The hall kens that now.”
They reached his door. The wood was dark from years of handling.
Logan stopped with his back to the frame, looking down at her in the steady light. The set of his shoulders had not softened, but the grip under her palm had. She felt the change and did not release him.
“Open it,” she demanded.
He held her gaze for a long beat, then turned the knob. The door swung inward on its old hinges, and the warmth of the room hit her face almost immediately.
The space before her showed the glow of a banked fire and the bench where he kept his boots lined.
He looked once down the corridor, as if to confirm that no one stood at the turn, then back to her. “Ye are sure ye want to walk into a room with me while ye are still angry about this?”
“I know for a fact that I will not sleep if we do not finish this, and I intend to make a few things clear to you, my Laird,” she said, emphasizing the last word.
He nodded once, a small concession. “Then come.”
She stepped past him and into the chamber. He followed and shut the door with a final click that held the room in place. The hall and its whispers stayed on the other side of the wood.
Emma turned to face him with the heat still in her chest and the taste of laughter still on the tip of her tongue. She felt the space shrink to fit only them.
“This was an arrangement,” she began. “You agreed to that.”
“Aye, I agreed. It doesnae mean anyone can put their hands on ye.” His voice was low and even.
The evenness did not make it soft. It set the edge where she could see it.
“I can dance with other men if I want to,” she said, holding his gaze.
“Aye,” he uttered, just as calm. “If ye want their blood on yer hands.”
“What?”
He folded his hand behind his back and took a step closer. “I said, ye can dance with other men if ye want their blood on yer hands.”
She laughed because disbelief was easier than fear. “You do not mean that.”
“Do I nae?”
“Yes, Logan. You are not going to kill men I dance with just because you see me as some ornament that no other person is allowed to touch.”
The silence between them was only coated by the tiniest thrum from the world outside his chambers.
He stepped closer, one pace that put his height over her in a way that made shadows dance along his jaw. “Do ye want to test me?”
Silence settled as the fire popped.
Logan lifted his hand and tucked a loose curl behind her ear.
“Don’t.”
“‘Tis a stray curl. Am I nae allowed to touch that as well?”
“You tell me. Do you plan to kill yourself and blame me for your murder as well?”
Logan laughed, a low sound that seemed to echo off the walls surrounding them. “Ye still believe that I am jesting, do ye not?”
“I do not believe. I know that you are jesting.”
“Well, shall we put that to the test? Do ye want to go back to the hall and pick another man to dance with?”
Emma swallowed, words dying in her throat. Perhaps it was his voice or even the words themselves, but he had cut through her anger.
“Answer the question, wife.”
She could not look away from his mouth. The word had settled into her since the vows, and hearing it now made something steady and warm rise in her chest. “I…”
He leaned closer. “Ye what?”
“I do not,” she said, and heard the truth of it.
She did not want to test him. Not like this.
She stepped back to recover ground. “I am tired. I want to go to my room.”
“It is our wedding night.”
“I would not be tired if you were not leaving tomorrow.” The line landed before she could weigh it.
“This again,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I thought we settled it already.”
“If by settled you mean you spoke and I heard what came out of your mouth, then yes, we settled it.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are ye trying to control me? Is that what this is?”
The accusation stung because it touched a place she guarded. Her fight wavered as she held her breath, then let it go when he did not press the point.
“I am not trying to—”
“So you are saying you are going to miss me?” he asked, closing the distance between them.
She swallowed, a flush creeping up her cheeks.
He touched her again, and this time his fingers traced her arm through the fabric as if learning the cut of it. He waited to see if she would pull away. She did not.
Instead, the anger loosened its hold and left something raw in its wake.
He brushed his knuckles along her cheek, and the steadiness of the gesture undid her more than any sharp word could have. Heat that had nothing to do with the fire moved under her skin.
“Logan,” she said, a warning and an invitation at once.
“Aye,” he murmured.
His hand settled on her waist, his warmth seeping through the gown. The other slid to the small of her back and pulled her tight against him.
Emma stepped into him and felt every hard line of his body. His mouth crashed onto hers, and she opened to him without hesitation.
The kiss turned hungry fast, and soon, the space in her mouth wasn’t big enough for the invasion of his tongue.
He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against hers. Both of them were breathing hard, as if they had run miles. His eyes held nothing but raw desire.
“Logan, this is not part of the—” she tried to say, but couldn’t get the words out.
He kissed down her throat, teeth grazing skin, then moved back to her mouth because he could not seem to stay away.
Her hands roamed over his body in return. His shoulders, then the muscled length of his back. When she dug her nails in, he made a sound low in his throat and pulled her even tighter against him.
Emma threw her head back, feeling every judgment and sense in her head disappear.
Lord help me.