Chapter 32
Spending a full week at Melody’s did not help Emma at all. While this place was quieter than MacLellan Castle, it did not feel calm.
She sat at the small table by the front window, both hands wrapped around a cup that had gone cold long ago. Melody moved through the room like she always had, as if nothing about Emma was cracked.
“Drink it, or I shall throw it out,” she urged, setting a warm cloth beside her. “I will not have you staring at my tea all afternoon.”
Emma let out a thin sound that wanted to be a laugh and was not. She took a sip because Melody would not leave it alone.
“You took me in,” she reminded her. “You knew what you were getting.”
“I took in my friend,” Melody emphasized. “Not a ghost.”
Emma tried to smile, but it tugged at sore places. “I do not feel particularly solid.”
Melody pulled out the chair opposite and sat. “You were dragged from a festival and tied to a tree. You are allowed a few days of not feeling solid.”
There was no pity in it. That was the only reason Emma could bear hearing it aloud.
“God, I still cannot believe I was not with you when this happened.”
“And what would you have done if you were?” Emma asked, her voice clear.
The front door banged open. A voice she knew better than her own called her name, bright and furious. Her brother filled the doorway, his cloak falling behind him and his hair pushed back by the wind.
Emma stood up so fast that her chair scraped across the floor. “William?”
He reached her in three strides and wrapped his arms around her.
“I heard,” he said into her hair. “Did you think I would sit in London and drink coffee while my sister was nearly killed in some Highland woods?”
The knot inside her loosened at last. She held on, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.
“I am fine,” she said. It was half for him and half for herself. “Really. I suppose my choice of husband was… once again, wrong. The ton is going to have a field day once they hear about this.”
He leaned back and took her by the arms, looking her over as if he might find proof. “You are Emma,” he said. “That is what you are. Not a scandal, or a story for drunk men. If he cannot see that, then he is the fool, not you.”
Melody snorted. “We agree on something. How strange.”
For the rest of the day, they talked until the light faded.
William spoke of everything Emma had missed back in England.
Their father, that horrible pet snake their neighbor kept in a cage, and even Aunt Agnes.
When she mentioned rope around her wrists and a knife at her throat, his jaw tightened, but he did not flinch.
Eventually, the shame sitting in her chest had started to dissipate.
It no longer felt like something that would never wash out.
She could imagine waking up and not thinking first of blood.
Yet every time silence settled between them, her mind conjured the same image: Logan’s hands cutting her free, his flat voice saying he would keep his distance, as though it were a kindness.
Her body had left the castle, but her heart had not. It still sat in his room, waiting for him to pick it up or tread on it.
Thanks to Callum, Melody’s husband, news of MacLellan Castle reached her, whether she wanted it or not.
“The Laird is drinking,” he said one evening, two weeks into Emma’s stay.
He had come from a formal meeting at MacLellan Castle, and the look on his face told Emma that he could not wait to share the news.
“They say he is cross with everyone. His man-at-arms and sister are the ones holding things together now.”
A week after the first news, Callum brought another. He sat at the table with Melody, while Emma sat on the couch, mending a torn sleeve.
“Ye need to see him, Emma. His beard is half-grown again. It looks as if he is building a wall on his own face.”
Emma kept her eyes on her work. It did not matter. She was gone. She owed him nothing.
Nothing.
Yet her stomach still turned every time his name was spoken. She tried to picture him in the Great Hall without glancing toward the spot she used to stand in, but the picture never settled. In her mind, his gaze always swept over that spot and away too quickly.
Isobel visited on the fourth day of the third week.
Melody welcomed her with food and drink, after which Emma stepped out to do the same as well. Isobel rose and pulled her into a hug, and for a minute there, everything felt right again.
“Ye look terrible,” Isobel said, then kissed her cheek. “Which is fair.”
Emma smiled. “Thank you.”
Melody, polite on the surface and shameless underneath, drifted toward the kitchen with a hum. Emma knew she would be listening. That was her friend.
Isobel sat and smoothed down her dress. “I willnae waste yer time,” she began. “There is something ye must hear, and I would rather it came from me.”
Emma’s fingers tightened on the cloth in her lap. “What has he done?”
“It isnae what he has done. It is what he could do.” Isobel drew a slow breath. “Annulment is still possible.”
The air froze. For a moment, Emma could hear nothing but the low ticking of the cooling stove.
“I do not understand,” she said.
Isobel met her gaze. “The church has its rules. One is that a marriage can be annulled if it has never been consummated. If there is nay proof of a shared bed. If both say it was never… consummated.”
Emma blinked. “We are married.”
“In name only,” Isobel said quietly. “Nae in every sense of the word. If ye want, a priest could write it all away, and it would be as if ye never married at all.”
For a heartbeat, Emma saw it. A clear road back to London. Her family taking her in with less talk in the streets. No more dealing with pirates. No more Logan.
Her chest burned.
“I thought ye might want the choice,” Isobel continued. “After what he said. After letting ye walk out.”
Emma heard her own question before she decided to ask it. “Do ye?”
Isobel’s mouth twisted. “I want me braither to stop hurting himself. If that means letting go of the only woman who has made him laugh, then so be it.”
Annulment.
A word that should have tasted like freedom felt sour on Emma’s tongue.
“I do not want to be rubbed out,” she said. “Not by some priest.”
Isobel’s shoulders dropped, as if she had been braced for a different answer. “Good,” she breathed. “Then ye should ken that he wasnae the one who thought of it. The elders did. They told him it might be kinder for ye both, but he walked out on them.”
Emma’s head snapped up. “He refused the annulment?”
“Aye. Then he shaved his face clean and has been pacing like a caged animal ever since.” Isobel’s gaze softened. “He is on his way here.”
Emma’s lips parted. “What?”
“I am sorry. I thought if I told ye earlier, ye wouldnae want to see him.”
“Isobel—”
The knock at the door cut her off.
Emma’s eyes darted to the door and then back to Isobel.
“I am sorry,” Isobel whispered.
William reached the door first, and Emma watched his whole body tense as he pulled it open.
Logan stood outside in plain clothes, cheeks bare, eyes ringed as if sleep had kept its distance. Without the beard, he looked younger and worse for it, like someone had stripped the last shield from his face.
Emma rose.
William shifted in front of her, shoulders squared. “You have a nerve,” he sneered.
Logan looked at him. “I ken,” he said. “And I will answer to ye if she wants it.”
Emma stepped past her brother. He made a frustrated sound and tried to catch her arm, but she shook him off gently. She stopped a few paces before Logan.
For a moment, they only looked at one another.
“I heard about the annulment,” she said. “And the shaving.”
“That was for me.” His voice was raw. “This is for ye.”
He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders as if the floor had begun to tilt under him.
“I am sorry. For letting ye leave. For making ye think ye were weight I couldnae carry. For every time I let the sea pull me away, when me place has always been beside ye.”
Emma kept very still. “Logan, you cannot just say these words. I know you think you believe them, but you have to—”
“I love ye.”
What?
She felt William shift slightly behind her.
“I tried nae to. I thought if I kept it locked, losing ye would hurt less. That was a lie I told meself. The truth is, I am already lost, and staying away only leaves us both bleeding.”
Her throat closed around air. “You told me trust was not needed,” she said. “That you could want me and have children with me without ever letting me in. That is not love, Logan. That is distance.”
“I ken.” He took one careful step toward her. “I have spent days at the bottom of cups trying to drown me fear. It stayed. I am still afraid. I may always be. But I am done using that as a way out. If ye will have me, I will stay.”
There was no charm on his face now. All she saw was a man with clarity in his eyes.
Something about the look in his eyes, and the very fact that she had gone weeks without seeing his face, locked her decision.
“I love you, too.”
“What?” William sputtered behind her.
Emma turned to him, her eyes bright. “I always have, William. I just needed him to come to his senses.”
“Really?” William asked, his hand raised.
“It has always been Logan, Brother. It will always be Logan.”
A moment of silence passed between the three of them. Then William cleared his throat and turned to Logan.
“If you hurt her again,” he hissed, “I will find a way to drag you back to London. You will be surprised just how little being a pirate laird means over there.”
Logan’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. He held out his hand. “Fair.”
Melody stood in the kitchen doorway, arms folded, watching the scene as if it were a play she had not paid for.
Emma’s chest felt tight and oddly light at once. She believed Logan this time, and it wasn’t because he no longer had that fear of opening up in his eyes. He still did. It was there, clear as day, but he braved it and was still standing here.
That meant something to her. It meant more than he would ever understand.
“Then let us go back,” she said.
Logan nodded, and Emma turned around to thank Melody for her hospitality. A few minutes later, she had packed her things and bid everyone goodbye.
The ride to MacLellan Castle felt familiar, like she was returning to an old life she had never planned to leave in the first place. When they eventually reached his chamber, she stepped inside and stopped.
The tapestry still hung on the wall. Lambs and a fox and a small fawn looked down in soft colors, absurd against stone.
“You kept it,” she said.
“Aye.” Logan closed the door. “I tried to take it down once, but me hand wouldnae do it. It reminded me ye had stood there, even when the room was empty.”
A wave of warmth settled into her as she turned to him.
“We will have to speak about many things.”
“We will,” he said. “Nae in one night, but we will.”
He shut the door behind them and locked it. She heard the bolt slide into place. He then reached for her and cupped her face in both hands and kissed her.
The kiss was soft at first, then she kissed him back harder and grabbed his shirt. She pulled him closer, and he made a sound in the back of his throat. His hands moved to her waist and then her hips, and pulled her tight against him. She felt how hard he was through his kilt.
He walked her backward until her knees hit the mattress. She sat down, and he stood over her, breathing hard.
“I want to touch you,” she said.
He went still. “Ye have.”
“Properly this time, Logan. No games.”
His throat worked. “Ye daenae have to—”
“I want to.”
She reached for the ties at his kilt, her fingers shaking. When he didn’t make any effort to stop her, she kept going. He stood there while she loosened the fabric and let it fall. His length sprang free, hard and flushed.
She looked up at him, almost as if asking for permission, but his expression was unreadable. Emma could only attribute it to hesitation. She wrapped her hand around him, and he made a sound she had never heard from him before.
“Christ…”
She stroked him slowly, her fingers slick against him. His hips jerked forward, and she did it again.
“Emma, ye daenae need to—”
“I want to.”
She slid her hand up and down and found a rhythm. His breathing grew ragged, and he grabbed her shoulder to hold onto something. She looked up at him. His eyes were closed, and his jaw was clenched so tight it looked like his skin would tear.
The sight pushed her to stroke him faster.
“Look at me,” she demanded.
He opened his eyes. They were dark, his pupils blown wide.
“I love you,” she whispered.
He made a choked sound and grabbed her face with both hands. Then he pulled her to her feet, kissing her hard. His hips thrust into her hand, and she felt him getting close.
“Emma—”
His whole body went taut, and his breath caught.
“It is all right.”
He tried to muffle a groan, but failed. His whole body shuddered, and he spilled into her hand. She continued to stroke him until he was gasping and grabbing at her shoulders to stay upright.
A while later, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing hard. He then found a towel on the washstand and cleaned her hand with it.
She watched him toss it aside and return to her, his eyes still dark with hunger. He pulled at the laces of her gown, and she helped him. In a minute, she was bare and sprawled on the bed.
He knelt on the bed and lowered himself over her, taking her lips in a searing kiss. He settled between her thighs, and she felt him against her entrance, already hard again. He pushed inside slowly, just the tip. She tensed, and he stopped.
“Breathe,” he murmured.
She did, and he pushed deeper.
They both gasped as she grabbed his shoulders. He pushed the rest in until he was buried to the hilt. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.
He pulled back and pushed in again, setting a slow rhythm and causing the bed to creak beneath them. The pleasure built differently from before. It was fuller, and she could feel every inch of him moving inside her.
She matched his thrusts, and minutes later, she broke apart around him. A heartbeat later, he groaned into her neck and buried himself deep, pulsing inside her. He collapsed onto her, and they lay there in the dark, both breathing hard.
After a moment, she turned her head and looked at the wall above them.
“The tapestry is quite hideous, is it not?” she asked.
“Thank God.” His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “I daenae think I could stare at it for another day.”
Emma laughed.
“It isnae funny,” Logan grumbled. “It gave me nightmares. Do ye understand? Nightmares.”
They both laughed then, bodies shaking together, until the laughter faded and left only warmth and even breathing in the dark