Chapter 28
She opened her mouth, and he took it, his tongue sweeping in. His hands gripped her waist, and she grabbed at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer.
He caught her wrists instead and broke the kiss. “Nay.”
He pushed her down onto the mattress and followed right after. Then he pinned both her wrists above her head with one hand and began to kiss her again, this time slower and deeper. She tried to free her hands, but he held them fast.
“Logan—”
He sealed his lips over hers again, cutting her off. Then he slowly kissed down her jaw and her throat and found the spot where her pulse fluttered and bit down gently.
She gasped, and he did it again.
“Ye did yer part,” he murmured against her skin. “Now it’s me turn.”
His free hand trailed down her body, over her breast, and down her waist. He gathered her gown and lifted it past her thighs. She tried to close her legs, but he wedged his knee between them.
“What? Ye daenae think ye can handle what I am about to do to ye?”
“You cannot just—”
“Watch me, lass.” He released her wrists before he moved down her body and settled between her legs.
He pushed her thighs apart with his hands. She tried to close them again, but he held them open. Then he lowered his head, his breath warm against her inner thigh. She felt his beard, shorter now that she had trimmed it, tickle her skin. Then his mouth was on her.
She made a sound, almost like she couldn’t help it. Because she truly couldn’t.
He licked once, finding her entrance and circling it with his tongue. She jerked as his hands tightened on her thighs and held her in place.
“Daenae move.”
“I cannot.”
“That wasnae a request.”
He went back to work, finding her bud and sucking on it. She grabbed at his hair, and this time, he let her. His hands remained on her thighs, keeping her spread open for him. The pleasure built fast.
“Logan—”
He hummed against her, and the vibrations went straight through her core.
She grabbed another fistful of his hair and pulled.
He didn’t stop. One hand left her thigh, and she felt his fingers at her entrance, pushing inside.
The pleasure spiked even sharper. His fingers drove deeper, and his tongue licked faster.
She could not breathe or think past the building pressure.
“I am… I…”
“I ken.” His voice was rough. Muffled. “Ye can let go, lass.”
Then the pressure broke, and she cried out, pulsing against his mouth. He pulled back a minute later and pulled his fingers out of her.
“Better?” he asked, staring at her as the quivers eased.
She could not answer.
He stood, understanding flashing in his eyes, and adjusted his kilt.
“Sleep.” He pulled her gown back down over her legs. “Ye need rest.”
Logan woke up with his hand on his face.
The morning light filtered through the windows as he dragged his palm down his jaw, more out of habit than thought, and his fingers snagged just a little.
He went still and did it again.
Right.
His beard had reduced.
He rubbed at the edge, frowning, as if the missing length might reappear by sheer will. A soft sound came from beside him, stirring him awake even further.
Emma lay on her side, elbow planted, watching him. Her hair was loose across the pillow, and the sheet sat high on her shoulder, like she had set it there on purpose.
“Good morning,” she murmured.
He grunted. “Is it?”
Her mouth curved. “I like it.”
“The beard?” he said, turning toward her.
She nodded once, satisfied. “Thank you for letting me trim it.”
He breathed out through his nose. “Is that the only thing ye are thanking me for, lass?”
Color rose in her cheeks. She looked away for a beat, then looked back with a stubborn set to her mouth. “Yes, only that.”
“Fine,” he said.
She shot him a look that should have been cold and was not. She was still flushed.
He sat up, and the sheet slid down to his waist. “I want to take a bath before we leave. I still feel dust on me.”
Emma shifted under the sheet, then lifted her chin as if she was done hiding. “I want one, too.”
His mouth tipped up. “Do ye now?”
“Yes,” she said, holding his gaze.
It took a few commands, but soon, the tiny washroom was ready. Logan poured in hot water, and steam rose. Emma stepped in first. The heat caught her, and she hissed softly, then lowered herself, knees drawing close.
Logan followed, sliding in behind her. His body filled the space at her back, and she settled against him without a word. His hands ran up and down her arms, slow at first, then more carefully. He felt her shoulders relax when he dipped his head and kissed the damp line of her neck.
“Logan,” she murmured, meaning to make him stop.
“Aye,” he said against her skin.
A while later, Emma pulled away and rose from the tub in one swift motion. Water streamed off her as she snatched the towel, wrapped it tightly, and crossed back into the room without looking at him. The small curve at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
Logan stayed in the water a moment longer, eyes shut, breathing slowly. He was still there when a hard knock sounded at the outer door.
“Of course,” he muttered.
He climbed out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and crossed through the steam. Emma was already dressing, back turned, fingers quick on the laces of her gown.
Logan opened the door a crack.
Pete stood there, hat in hand, eyes bright with trouble. “Ye are late,” he said. “They are gathering already.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “Who is?”
“Villagers. Some lads from the ship.” Pete glanced past him, caught Emma, and sketched a low bow. “Me Lady.”
Emma turned, smoothing her bodice. “Gathering for what?”
Logan stepped into the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. “I called a meeting. Pirates and villagers. They want blood for the last few troubles.”
Emma’s eyebrows drew together. “That will go badly.”
“Aye,” Logan said. “It will.”
She lifted her chin. “Then I am coming.”
“Nay.” The word came out sharp. “After what happened last night, I daenae ken if ye can see more. Ye ride back to the castle. Let me handle it.”
Emma laughed, open and disbelieving. “You think I will sit in a quiet room while you face a mob. No. I am coming.”
Logan looked her over and saw the answer on her face. Arguing would only waste time.
He gave a short shrug. “Suits ye. Stay close.”
A few minutes later, they were on their way to the village. For some reason, the road felt shorter than it should have. Logan rode with Emma beside him, dust rising softly under them. The closer they came, the clearer the noise grew.
He had heard that sound in ports from here to the other part of the sea. He recognized it at once. It was noise from people clamoring for justice, when what they really wanted was blood.
Soon, they crested a rise that gave them a view of the commotion, and Logan immediately noticed that the people had split themselves into two groups.
On one side, the villagers stood tight together, jaws hard. On the other side, his men were scattered in a loose line. Pirates never bunched unless they meant to charge.
Great.
Logan swung down from his horse and handed the reins off without looking. Emma dismounted on her side. He checked that she landed firmly before he stepped forward. The air between the two groups was as tight as anything.
In the space at the center stood the heart of the problem.
There was a girl with her chin up and skin pale as milk, and a young sailor, barely grown, standing close enough that his sleeve brushed hers.
Logan knew the look on both their faces. Fear sitting on stubborn fondness. The kind that made fools out of men and saints out of cowards.
Love.
An older villager pushed to the front, face red, hands shaking with fury. Logan didn’t need to look twice to know he was the girl’s father.
“That bastard did something horrible,” the man spat, jabbing a finger toward the boy. “He took me daughter out to the next village. There must be blood for it. Mine or his. I willnae have me name dragged through the mud.”
The sailors on Logan’s side bristled at his tone, and one of them laughed outright.
“She went with him,” another called, nodding toward the girl. “The only thing he is guilty of is having better luck than ye did, old man.”
A series of snorts and sharp chuckles rippled through the pirates as the girl flushed. She didn’t deny it, though, and Logan noticed the way her fingers twitched toward the boy’s hand and then curled back.
The boy spoke up next, his voice cracking once but steady enough. “I didnae force her, me Laird. She came of her own will. I never laid a hand on her without her permission.”
“Lies,” the father snarled. “Ye are pirates. Ye take what ye want. Ye think ye can touch a Highland lass and walk away whole? He dies, or there will be nay peace.”
A roar of agreement came from the villagers behind him.
On the far side, Pete shifted, folding his arms across his chest. “Ye lay a finger on the lad,” he called back, “and we show ye what real peace looks like. Ye cannae gut one of ours and expect us to clap for it.”
Suddenly, weapons were unsheathed, and a few blades caught the sun.
Logan felt the balance slip. It would not take much. A shove, a spit, one man stepping too far, and the whole thing would go downhill. He moved forward, putting himself in the middle.
“Enough,” he barked, voice carrying over both sides.
For a heartbeat, they listened, then the noise rose again, louder.
“Justice.”
“Blood.”
“Pirate scum.”
“Highland hypocrites.”
The girl’s eyes darted to him, wide now, while the boy kept his shoulders straight. His knuckles were white on the hilt of his dagger.
Logan quickly considered his options. If he gave the villagers the boy, he would lose his men. If he shielded the boy and gave nothing, the villagers would rebel. The clan already doubted a pirate laird. A spark here would burn straight to the castle walls.
His hand had just settled on his dagger when another sound cut through the screams like a blade.
“No!”