Chapter 31
Logan had just finished talking with a neigboring Laird and had turned to find Emma in the crowd.
He couldn’t see her with the women she had been talking to earlier.
She wasn’t with the Isobel either, who was talking to the maids.
Something about that, despite the loud music, made his blood run cold.
He turned around slowly, telling himself that she had stepped behind him or toward Isobel. She was not there. His gaze swept over the dancers, the tables, the line of stalls.
Nothing.
Dread coiled in his gut as he walked towards his sister.
“Isobel.” His voice cut through the music.
His sister turned away from a group of women. “Aye. What is it?”
“Where is she?”
Isobel’s eyes flicked to the edge of the courtyard and then back to Logan and her lips parted.
“She was with me. We walked toward the edge, and then Pete came to speak with her. I thought the conversation wouldnae take long so I left her with him…” Color drained from her face.
“She only meant to speak with him for a—Logan!”
Logan did not remember crossing the distance. He only knew his hand was on a guard’s shoulder, fingers digging hard. “Did any of ye see Lady MacLellan leave? With anyone?”
They all shook their heads.
Panic rose in his chest, but he forced it down. “Spread out. Check the grounds. David, get two men and come with me.”
He moved toward the far edge of the grounds, eyes on the trampled grass where the light didn’t reach. This was the captain thinking, not the husband. Because if the husband took over, he would react impulsively, and that was the last thing anyone wanted.
He looked around the space ahead of him, searching for footsteps or any sign that Emma had even been here at all. Suddenly, he spotted something near his boot. A sharp ribbon with its pin still intact. He crouched, picked it up, and swore under his breath.
“Emma,” he said softly, like it was both an answer and a plea. “Where in God’s name are ye?”
“There.” David pointed to a bent branch further ahead, then another.
Footsteps.
Logan stuffed the ribbon into his pocket and darted ahead.
He took the lead, his feet finding each scuff and mark, every place grass lay in the wrong direction. David and two trusted men kept pace, but Logan hardly heard them. The night closed in, thick with the cold air, and the music faded completely.
He hadn’t gone far when voices reached him first. The first was male and low. He would recognize that voice even in his sleep.
“Pete,” he whispered.
He moved further and saw the flicker of firelight between the trees. At that point, he slowed down and lifted a hand. The men behind him halted. He moved forward alone.
Emma was tied to a tree, her hands tied over her head. Her hair was mussed, and her face was white as a sheet. A thin line marked the skin at her neck, dark even in the dim light.
Pete stood close to her, dagger in hand, talking as if he were reciting a sermon. Logan couldn’t hear him fully, but he was too angry to listen. Instead, he exhaled and stepped into the clearing.
“Step away from me wife.”
Pete turned, looking almost pleased. “There he is. The Laird. Or should I say, the traitor?”
David and the others fanned out to the edge of the trees, waiting on Logan’s word.
Pete lifted his dagger slightly, not quite touching Emma’s throat. “Ye left us, Captain. Took yer fine title, trimmed yer beard, danced with villagers. Hell, ye killed one of yer own men for the sake of an English lass. That is nae how a crew lives.”
Emma’s eyes landed on Logan, and the fear in them tugged at his heart.
“I didnae leave ye,” he said. “I brought ye into safe harbor. Gave ye a roof over yer head, gave ye work.” He nodded to the dagger, the rope, the mark at her neck. “And this is how ye repay me?”
Pete spat in the dirt. “Ye chose them over us. There is only one law for that.”
“Daenae speak to me of law,” Logan growled.
Pete smiled, thin and wild. “The sea owns ye, whether ye like it or nae. She is only the hook. And tonight, I will destroy it.”
Logan didn’t wait to hear anything more. He just closed the space between them in a breath.
Pete swung, or at least tried to swing, his blade flashing in the firelight, but Logan had already knocked his arm aside. They grappled once, boots sliding on the fallen leaves, breaths hot.
“Like it or nae, we are family, Logan. She is the stranger.”
“Family doesnae go near me wife!” Logan snarled.
With those words, his dagger found its mark. He drove it straight into Pete’s ribs, tearing through skin and organs.
For a minute, Pete froze, blood spilling from his lips.
“Nae even if family is ye,” Logan whispered.
Pete coughed, the blood now spurting out of his mouth, and collapsed on the ground, the sound swallowed by the leaves.
Silence followed.
Logan did not look at Pete again. He went to Emma.
The rope around her wrists held for a moment, then gave. She immediately sagged against his chest, burying her face in his neck.
His hands shook once, and he clenched them until they stilled.
“Ye are fine,” he murmured into her hair. “Ye are safe now.”
Her fingers curled weakly into his shirt.
David stepped forward. “Me Laird, shall we carry her, or…”
“I will.” Logan slid one arm beneath her knees, lifted her as if she weighed nothing, then turned so they faced away from Pete’s corpse. “Clean this up. Nay one finds out until after the festival.”
The men nodded.
He carried her through the trees and back toward the faint glow of the castle. In his chamber, he laid her on his bed and sent everyone away. A healer came, checked the shallow cut and the bruises forming on her wrists, then left them with salve and some instructions.
It took a couple of hours, but eventually, Emma stirred. Her eyes opened slowly and went straight to his face.
“Are ye hurt?” she whispered.
Of all the questions, that was the first one she asked.
“Nay,” he replied. “It isnae me ye should worry about.”
She touched her neck, flinched, then dropped her hand. “Pete.”
“Willnae be a problem anymore.”
She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, something steeled behind the fear. “Ye found the ribbon.”
“I did.” His voice roughened. “Good thinking, lass.”
Silence stretched, and he stared at the wall rather than her mouth, rather than the mark he could not stop seeing.
“Nay one can be trusted,” he said quietly. “Especially pirates. I should have ken better than to think any of it changed.”
Emma pushed herself up on her elbows. “You are doing it again. Judging everyone because of one person.”
“I have to.” He met her eyes. “It keeps people alive.”
She held his gaze. “You are not cruel, Logan. I see that clearly now. You killed him for touching me. But I want more than protection. I want you to be present. I want you looking at me even when you do not need to kill for me.”
The words landed like blows he could not block. Something in him leaned toward them, toward her, toward the hand she had braced on his blanket, inches from his own.
But he stepped back.
“I am afraid ye want the wrong man,” he rasped. “Whatever ye think ye see, I am worse than ye ken. The closer I get, the more damage I do. To ye. To any bairns we might have.”
Her breath hitched. “So what, then. Ye will kill men for me, then keep yer distance?”
“Aye,” he uttered. “This marriage is what we said—protection. Ye will have safety and status. Ye will also have a good name. For now, it is best if that is all.”
She stared at him, eyes bright in the firelight. “I would like to visit my friend Melody,” she said finally. The politeness in it hurt more than anything. “For a time.”
Everything in him wanted to say no. To hold the door, to hold her, to hold something.
He nodded once. “David will ride with ye.”
Emma swung her legs off the bed. She swayed, caught herself, and did not ask for his hand. She dressed slowly, each tie and button a small wall raised between them. At the doorway, she paused.
“I just want you to know that you saved my life,” she said. “And you are breaking it in the same breath.”
She did not wait for his response before leaving.
Logan stood in the empty room, the smell of the woods still in his lungs. He had done the right thing. Love was a storm he could not afford.
He tried telling himself that over and over, but he felt nothing but devastation.