Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
“Iwill not be a burden,” she added, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Logan’s brow furrowed.
She straightened.
“I mean only that I will not impose longer than needed,” she said, her voice smoothing back into its usual poise, though she could still feel the faint echo of something unsettled beneath it. “I understand the… inconvenience.”
“Ye’ve just been dragged across a tavern floor by four men.” The corner of his mouth moved. “I think we can set aside talk o’ inconvenience.”
The words were gentler than she expected.
Rose wanted to laugh at the absurdity, but she forced her composure back into place.
“As you say,” she murmured.
Logan’s eyes lingered on her, settling on her in a way that made her suddenly aware of herself—of the space between them, of how closely he stood within it.
The night stretched silently around them, the sounds of the tavern muted now behind the closed door, replaced by the softer hush of wind moving through the trees and the distant shift of the horse where it stood waiting nearby.
Then he turned away.
“Come,” his voice carried the same certainty as before, leaving little room for hesitation.
Rose followed.
The ground felt uneven beneath her feet now that the sharp edge of panic had begun to fade.
Each step carried the weight of the past days—the exhaustion she had held at bay for far too long, the dull ache that had settled into her limbs and refused to leave.
She tried to keep her movements controlled, though she doubted she was succeeding.
The horse stood dark against the dim wash of moonlight, its form broad and solid, breath ghosting in the cold air.
Rose slowed without meaning to and took a deep breath.
It was a fine animal. Strong. Well-kept. Too large.
Logan stepped forward without hesitation, reaching for the reins. The horse shifted, lowering its head and Rose’s breath caught in her throat.
It was a small movement—nothing more than the animal stretching its neck, the soft shift of muscle beneath dark hide—but her body reacted before her mind could reason with it.
She stiffened where she stood, her fingers tightening instinctively around the folds of Logan’s cloak, her shoulders drawing inward, bracing.
Logan paused beside her.
He had been reaching for the reins, but now he stilled, his gaze shifting to her. He said nothing as he watched her.
“Ye’ve ridden before?” he asked at last, his tone even, though there was something softer beneath it now.
Rose forced herself to breathe.
“Yes,” she said, though the word came out thinner than she intended. She straightened her spine, gathering what remained of her restraint, her chin lifting a fraction. “But never… alone.”
His brow lifted. “Ye dinnae ken how tae handle one by yerself?”
Blood rushed to her cheeks. She hated how easily he saw through her.
“I was not expected to,” she replied, softer now, her fingers smoothing unnecessarily over the edge of the cloak at her shoulders. “There was always someone to guide the horse.”
His eyes moved slowly over her face, lingering just long enough to make her aware of it. Then he nodded once.
“Aye,” he murmured.
He stepped closer.
Rose felt a sudden awareness of his presence beside her, large and solid and entirely unavoidable. Her breath caught again, though she could not have said why.
“Come,” he said, his voice low, steady.
His hand came to her waist.
The contact was firm, certain, leaving no room for hesitation as he lifted her. The world tilted briefly beneath her feet, the ground falling away as he guided her upward, settling her onto the horse with an ease that made her acutely aware of her own lack of control.
She felt the full weight of his strength in the movement—how easily he had lifted her, how naturally his hand had held her there. The imprint of it lingered even after he released her, a steady heat at her waist that did not fade as quickly as it should have.
Her fingers found the saddle at once, gripping it tightly. Her pulse quickened as the animal shifted beneath her.
It was higher than she expected. Unsteady. And yet it was not the height that made her stomach drop.
He still stood too close beside her.
She sat rigidly, her breath shallow, her body remembering something she had tried very hard to forget.
The ground rushing up. The sharp, jarring impact. The sound of her own cry, swallowed by the wind?—
“Easy,” Logan said quietly.
His hand rested briefly at her back, steadying her.
Rose swallowed, forcing the memory away.
“I am quite well,” she said, though her voice did not fully cooperate.
A faint sound left him—something that might have been the beginning of a smile.
“Aye,” he said. “Ye look it.”
Before she could respond, he mounted behind and his warmth wrapped around her.
He was solid heat at her back, his frame settling close until the space between them vanished. When he shifted, the horse rippled beneath them, but she felt only the breadth of his chest against her shoulders and the raw, inescapable weight of his strength.
Rose stiffened, her fingers tightening further against the saddle. Then?—
His arm came around her waist.
His forearm settled firm and sure against her, anchoring her in place.
She felt the strength in it at once, the unyielding line of muscle beneath his sleeve, the steady pressure that held her without effort.
The reins gathered in his hand, his other arm brushing her side as he adjusted his hold, too close.
Rose went still. Her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat, refusing to move. Her spine straightened instinctively, her posture pulling tight, though it felt fragile now.
“Hold steady,” he murmured near her ear.
The low sound of his voice sent a sharp, unwelcome flutter through her chest. She nodded, though she was not certain he could see it.
The horse began to move.
At first, it was only a careful step forward that made Rose’s stomach drop. Her shoulders tensed as she tried to anticipate the motion, her fingers gripping the saddle because it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
Logan’s hold adjusted and his arm tightened around her waist.
“Breathe,” he said.
Rose realized she had not been. She drew in a slow breath, though it did little to ease her.
The rhythm of the horse settled into something steadier, the movement becoming more predictable beneath her, though she still felt every shift, every rise and fall with a heightened awareness that refused to fade.
“Ye said ye’ve ridden,” Logan said after a while. “Wi’ others.”
“Yes,” she replied.
His arm remained where it was, his presence a constant distraction at her back. “And yet ye hold yerself like ye expect tae fall.”
Her lips pressed together. The observation struck too close to the truth for her liking. No one had ever noticed her state so quickly.
“I fell once,” she said after a moment.
She had not meant to say it, but the words slipped out before she could stop them.
Logan did not respond immediately. She felt the slight shift in his posture behind her, the subtle way his attention sharpened.
“How old were ye?” he asked.
Rose’s eyes fixed ahead, though she did not truly see the road.
“Eight,” she said.
The memory of control slipping through her fingers, leaving her small and exposed, struck without warning.
“I was not prepared,” she added, more softly. “And I have… not trusted them since.”
Silence settled between them. Then?—
“I’ll teach ye.” The words were simple, certain.
She let out a small breath, her fingers loosening slightly against the saddle.
“That is kind of you,” she said, her voice carefully composed.
“Aye,” he murmured. “We’ll see if ye still think so after.”
There was the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. It caught her off guard and despite herself, something in her eased.
Every small movement felt magnified—the shift of her weight as the horse moved, the way her back brushed against his chest when the path dipped, the subtle tightening of his arm when she lost her balance.
Heat crept slowly into her face. She was grateful he could not see it.
She focused on the road ahead, on the distant line of trees, on anything that might keep her thoughts from turning inward.
They rode in silence for some time. And yet, there was something between them, like a thread drawn too tight to ignore.
Finally, the castle rose ahead of them from the dark, its stone walls thick and weathered, towers catching what little light remained in the sky. Smoke curled from within, and even from a distance, it felt… lived in. Guarded.
By the time it came into full view, Rose had almost convinced herself she could endure the rest of the journey without further embarrassment.
Until they passed through the gates. The courtyard was alive with movement. Men slowed. Voices dropped. Heads turned.
Her spine snapped straight, an old instinct refusing to die even as her hands betrayed her, smoothing uselessly over the ruined silk of her skirts. The fabric was stained by the road, frayed at the hem, and heavy with the dust of the borderlands.
The courtyard was alive with whispers. She couldn’t make out the words, but she didn’t need them to feel their eyes on her.
Logan dismounted first, his movement fluid yet heavy. His arm remained locked around her waist as he hauled her down, his touch a steady, grounding force that held her upright when her own legs threatened to buckle.
"Ignore them," he murmured, his breath a brief warmth against the cold air.
Rose lifted her chin, meeting the collective attention of the courtyard. "I have had practice with audiences, my Laird".
A young woman, with flaming orange hair and blue eyes, stepped out from the hum of the crowd, her face bright and observant. The surprise in her expression softened quickly, replaced by a warmth that felt entirely out of place in such a jagged world.
"Logan," she said, her voice light but sharp with an unspoken question. "And who have ye brought wi’ ye?"