Chapter 18 #2
She started toward the far side of the room to try a different angle, laughing under her breath at her own stubbornness.
Then the great doors slammed open.
The sound cracked off the walls, causing even the calf to jump. Suddenly, every servant in the hall stopped moving.
Emma turned to the source of the noise and felt a chill slither down her back.
It was Logan. Standing in the doorway.
The candlelight caught the rough waves of his hair and the hard line of his shoulders. Fresh stubble darkened his jaw.
“What in God’s name…” Emma trailed off.
The journey had left his clothes wrinkled and his eyes tired, but he looked like he fit there, solid in the stone frame. He also looked far better than any man who had abandoned his wife.
Far, far better, it made her knees almost weaken.
Her stomach dipped, and her hand closed around the yarn. Heat rose up her cheeks, and with it a sharp, unwelcome rush of relief. The annoyance came right after.
I cannot imagine what he is thinking at this moment.
She watched as his eyes swept the hall.
Calf.
Yarn.
Hay on the floor.
Open doors toward the stables.
Yes, she would be shocked as well if she were in his shoes.
“And what in God’s name do ye think ye are doing, wife?” he asked, his voice carrying to the last bench.
The word wife sent a small jolt through her. She smoothed her expression before it could show.
“Husband,” she returned, a bid to assert her ground. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be gone for months.”
Low murmurs rippled along the edges of the hall while Logan crossed the space in long strides. He did not stop when he reached her. Instead, his hand closed around her arm, fingers hard on her sleeve.
Her face heated further, and she hated herself for it.
“I suppose we have God to thank for bringing you back so soon.”
“Stop playing daft and come with me,” he bit out.
She thought about pulling free just to prove that she could, but her curiosity won over. She lifted her chin and let him lead her out of the hall, the yarn still in her hand.
In the corridor, the noise of the hall faded away. Their steps echoed ahead of them, mixing with the distant pop of fires in other rooms.
A maid turned the corner, nearly ran into them, and jerked back. “Me Laird. Me Lady,” she greeted quickly, dipping her head.
“Nae now,” Logan said, not breaking stride.
The maid flattened herself against the wall, watching them with wide eyes.
Emma caught the look. She could only imagine the rumors that would spread through the castle.
The Laird is back and angry. So angry that he dragged his English wife through the castle like a misbehaving stable boy.
She kept quiet until they reached his study and watched as he opened the door, pulled her inside, and shut it.
The lock clicked.
Her pulse thudded at the base of her throat, and anger sat there. So did something else she refused to name.
Logan faced her. “Well,” he grunted. “Ye were seeking me attention. Now ye have it.”
She stared at him as if he had spoken a foreign language. “Your attention? You really think too highly of yourself, do you not?”
“Nay. I was told me wife had lost her mind,” he said. “This isnae about me.”
She let out a short laugh. “Your wife was alone. There was only so much company I could ask of Isobel, do you not think?”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping. “So that is what all of this is to ye? Some kind of trick?”
Emma held her ground. “No, my Laird. I did not trick you. If anyone miscounted, it was me.”
Logan frowned. “Miscounted?”
“Yes,” Emma responded, her voice thickening with each word. “You see, I thought I was meant to be a wife. Imagine my surprise when I woke up one morning to find myself alone in such a large castle. So yes, the fault here is truly mine.”
Logan swallowed, and some part of her felt elated that she had him cornered. With one quick breath, she decided to drive home the guilt even further.
“You abandoned me,” she accused.
His mouth tightened. “It was duty, and I had to go. Ye kent what I was.”
“Oh, did I?”
Logan folded his hands across his chest. “I also told ye we would live separate lives.”
“Separate does not mean disappearing before dawn,” she scoffed. “I have been there before, and believe me, it is not something any woman particularly enjoys.”
His jaw clenched, and color climbed his cheekbones. “I sent word.”
“Right, because that should suffice,” she drawled. “A husband gone and no one to keep company. Yes, your word would solve all of that.”
Her voice shook once, but she steadied it and did not look away from him.
He waved a hand toward the door. “So to get back at me, this is what ye do? Turn me castle into a story for bored old men?”
“I turned your castle into a place that feels used,” she countered. “I thought we could all use some kind of entertainment.”
“So ye make yerself the joke,” he said flatly. “Very grand.”
She stepped closer to him. “I wanted something I could make with my own hands. If that looks like calves and goats and noise, I accept it.”
His anger shifted. The edge stayed, but his eyes had darkened.
“Ye think this is some sort of game, do ye nae?” he said quietly.
“You set the rules. Separate lives. No expectations. You walked out as if the morning after our wedding was no different from any other day. I simply played by what you told me.”
He caught her arm again. This time, he did not drag her anywhere. His fingers just closed below her elbow and held.
“I told ye why I had to go. The clan needs money and influence. I need to find that.”
“That is not the only reason, and you know it. You left because you do not know how to stay in a room where someone expects you back. That part frightens you.”
His eyes flashed. “Watch what ye say next… wife.”
“Or what?” she taunted in a low voice. “You are going to leave again? The people here like you, but they are afraid. I wanted something different for myself.”
“What?” he asked. “A goat for a best friend?”
Her throat thickened. “Something that is mine,” she said. “You left me with an empty chair and rules.”
His hand slid from her arm to her waist, almost without thought, settling on the small of her back. Her body leaned in before she could stop it, and heat spread out from his palm.
“If ye keep speaking like that,” he murmured, “I might have to find a way to shut ye up.”
He was close enough that she could smell the sea on his clothes. It made her want to press her nose to his shoulder and breathe him in and shove him away at the same time.
“You left,” she said. “You came back because you could not stand the idea that I could manage well enough without you.”
His jaw worked. His gaze dropped to her mouth and then came back up.
“Is that what ye think?”
“It is what it is.”
He moved first.
His lips caught hers hard, clashing more than kissing.
A sound tore from her, half protest, half relief.
She rose on her tiptoes, fingers still tight around the ball of yarn, and kissed him back, taking in the salt, the travel, and the temper.
With his lips still locked in hers, he moved her slowly to the edge of the desk.