Chapter 18
The sound of loud screams dragged Logan from sleep.
He was upright before his eyes were fully open, hand already finding the knife beside the bunk, the other reaching for his shirt. Boots pounded overhead as voices cut through the boards, sharp with alarm.
“Boat off the port side!”
“Watch the hooks! Daenae let him escape!”
He inhaled sharply, his body coming straight to alert. They were under attack again.
He pulled his shirt over his head, shoved his feet into his boots, and slammed the cabin door open. The cold morning air hit him on the first step up.
It was way too early for the chaos unfolding before him. The sky was still a dark grey, with the sun nowhere to be found. Men were running toward the end of the ship, some half-dressed, some already with blades in hand.
“What is it?” Logan snapped.
Pete turned at the sound of his voice, jaw tight. “Caught a small boat trying to creep up on us. Thought ye might want to see the fool before we toss him back.”
Logan pushed through the knot of bodies to the rail. Below, a small boat bobbed hard against their ship, its rope snagged along the side. A lone figure clung to the rail, fingers white on the wood, clothes soaked through. He looked more like a drowned rat than a threat.
Wait.
Logan narrowed his eyes. Something about that figure looked familiar. Recognition hit him when the figure looked up and bright lantern light settled on his face.
“Jack?” he said.
The man’s eyes widened, and relief flashed across his face. “Me Laird.”
Pete moved a fraction closer to Logan’s shoulder, wary. “Ye ken him?”
Jack answered first, breath coming in ragged bursts. “Aye. I am one of the guards back at the castle.”
Logan swept his gaze over the deck. The men still surrounded him, their weapons drawn, waiting for a word.
“Lower yer weapons,” he called. “This one is ours.”
There was a murmur of confusion, but soon, steel went down. Men stepped back a half pace, while Logan planted a boot on the lower rail, leaned over, and grabbed Jack’s forearm. The man’s skin felt like ice, but Logan pulled anyway, using his weight.
Jack scraped against the side of the ship, then came over the rail and hit the deck on his knees. He was shaking from what Logan could only imagine to be fear and exhaustion. His lips had gone pale. He tried to stand, failed, and caught himself on one hand.
“How long have ye been on that boat?” Pete asked.
“Long enough,” Jack managed.
“Get him up,” Logan said. “Ye, find him dry clothes. Ye, get him blankets. Someone bring hot broth, nae rum. He needs heat, nae cold.”
The men moved the way they always did when he used that tone. No softness, but no hesitation either. Two of them hauled Jack up and half-carried him toward the cabin, and another took off at a run toward the galley.
Logan watched till they disappeared below. The crew went back to their morning work on instinct, some still glancing toward the hatch as if expecting enemies to spill out instead of one half-dead guard.
Pete scratched at his beard. “Castle sending boats after ye now? That is new.”
“I will speak to him,” Logan said.
“When ye are done, ask him why he couldnae have sent a letter like a normal soul,” Pete muttered. “Would have saved us all from waking up thinking we were under attack.”
Logan left him to grumble and went below.
In the faint light of the lower deck, Jack sat wrapped in a blanket that looked too big for him, a steaming cup between his hands. His hair hung in wet clumps. Color had started to edge back into his cheeks, but his shoulders were still tense, like a man braced for a blow.
“I apologize,” Logan sighed. “We were attacked recently, so the caution is a bit intense.”
Jack nodded. “I see.”
Logan stood over him. “What are ye doing here anyway? I told David to write to me if anything happens, nae send a guard.”
“He didnae think the letter would get to ye on time, me Laird,” Jack said and tried to get to his feet. The motion almost upset the cup.
Logan jerked his chin. “Stay. Or else ye will fall on yer face.”
Jack swallowed. “He thought this way was faster.”
“Still,” Logan said. “He could have sent word through traders. Why ye?”
Jack’s fingers tightened on the cup as Logan eventually found a seat. “He said it couldnae wait on slow tongues. He said ye needed to hear it from someone who had seen it with his own eyes.”
Logan’s irritation spiked. “Hear what?”
Jack looked as if he would rather be back in the freezing boat than say the next words. “Ye need to return home, me Laird.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“I apologize, but ye do. Before she—”
Logan’s heart sank. “What has happened to Emma?”
“Nothing,” Jack responded quickly, almost in fear of his reaction.
His heartbeat steadied, but not enough to ease his concern. “So what happened?”
Jack hesitated. His gaze flicked up, then down again. “Her Ladyship, me Laird… she has turned the castle into a breeding pen.”
For a moment, there was only the creak of the hull and the distant thud of boots above.
“She has what?”
Jack flushed. “She started bringing animals in. Strays from the village and from the stables. She named them. She keeps them in the yard and the halls. Folks call it the farm now.”
Logan stared at him. “She turned me castle into a farm?!”
Jack took a quick swallow of broth, as if it might fortify him. “The first day, it was a calf and a cat. Then a goat. A chicken that never shuts up. She keeps them in pens near the stables. They wander near the hall. There are… gatherings.”
“Gatherings,” Logan repeated flatly.
“She plans to call them farm parties,” Jack blurted. “They eat and laugh, and sometimes the music finds its way in. It gets noisy, and a lot of people are…”
“Are what?”
Jack cleared his throat. “Unsettled, me Laird.”
Logan felt something in his chest go hot and sharp. “They eat, dance, and play in me dining hall with beasts at the door?”
Jack nodded, then realized how that might sound. “Nae on the tables, me Laird. But near enough. She set rules. Names. It is like a… like a court of cows and goats.”
Logan’s jaw locked. “She did all of this in the days I have been gone?”
“Aye. David thought ye should ken. He didnae say it, but I… think he worries the castle is changing too fast while ye are at sea.”
Logan rose so suddenly that the bench scraped across the floorboards. Jack flinched despite himself.
On one hand, the anger was simple. Logan had left a fortress, and she was turning it into a barn.
Beneath that, something else twisted. The image his mind conjured was too clear.
Emma standing in the middle of his hall with her chin lifted, surrounded by noise and life and people who looked to her for orders about feed and rope and where the goat was allowed to roam.
A small, treacherous part of him wanted to laugh. Of course, she would not sit quietly. Of course, she would build something that made it impossible to ignore her presence.
He crushed that spark at once.
“Get ready,” he ordered.
Jack blinked. “Ready?”
“Aye. We are going back to the castle. Today.” Logan did not have to raise his voice. The words carried in the narrow space.
Pete, who had appeared in the doorway and was leaning against the frame with his arms folded, straightened a little.
“That’s it?” he asked lightly when Logan stepped past him. “A few goats and ye abandon the sea?”
“Mind yer tongue,” Logan snapped.
Pete’s mouth twitched, but he said nothing more.
Back on deck, the wind hit harder. The horizon lay ahead, open and grey, the path they had meant to take clear in front of the bow. Logan stared at it for a breath, then turned his head toward the faint strip of land behind them.
He had always thought nothing could pull him off the water once he set a course. Storms, enemies, hunger. Those he met and cut through. Now, a soaked guard and talk of a woman filling his hall with animals had him ordering the ship around without a second thought.
It terrified him how much of an effect Emma had on him. Especially since nothing else had ever affected him this much before.
The calf did not seem to understand the point of the game.
Emma stood in the middle of the Great Hall with her sleeves rolled, hair pinned off her neck, and skin damp at her throat.
The candlelight threw soft patches across the stone, catching on scattered straw and the sheen on the calf’s nose.
The little creature blinked at her, head tipped, as if weighing her choices.
She held up the ball of yarn. “Margaret, we have spoken about this,” she said. “You fetch, I throw. You bring it back. That way, we both feel rather clever about ourselves, do we not?”
The calf gave a doubtful sound that was almost a sigh.
Emma threw the yarn anyway. It bounced on the floor, rolled away, and stopped near one of the benches.
“Go fetch,” she urged.
Margaret turned around and walked straight past the yarn, stuck its nose almost against her face, and bleated loud enough to make her ears ring. Then it dropped its head and tugged at a bit of hay on the floor.
“That is not fetching,” Emma chided. “That is breakfast.”
The yarn kept rolling. It bumped a small carved cup on a low table. The cup tipped and hit the floor with a loud clack. She winced, then straightened as if nothing had happened.
Jenny appeared in the doorway with her skirt clutched in one hand, eyes wide and amused at once.
“Me Lady,” she said. “Maybe ye should take a break. You have been at this for a while.”
Emma bent to scoop up the yarn. “No. If I can teach a calf to fetch, then I can survive anything. But for some reason, she just wouldn’t listen.”
Jenny came nearer, lowering her voice. “Ye have already survived a fair bit without dragging in livestock, do ye nae think?”
Emma tossed the yarn in her palm. “All the more reason. I will not sit in an empty castle and stare at an empty chair. At least this one answers back.”