Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The study was quiet when Logan entered it, the heavy door closing behind him with a dull thud that shut out the rest of the keep. The fire had burned low in his absence, leaving the room in a dim, steady glow that caught against the worn grain of the table at its center.
He crossed the room slowly, his boots striking against the floor in a measured rhythm, his gaze drifting toward the narrow window set into the far wall.
Outside, the last of the evening light had begun to fade, leaving the courtyard in shadow.
Movement still lingered below—men finishing their work, voices carrying faintly upward—but it felt distant from here.
Unlike the thoughts pressing at the back of his mind.
He rested his hands against the edge of the table, his fingers spreading slightly against the wood as he leaned into it, his head lowering for a brief moment as he let out a slow breath through his nose.
An Englishwoman. He had brought an Englishwoman into his home.
It was finally dawning on him what it meant. For him. For his clan. They did not associate with the English but, somehow, it did not feel like a mistake.
That, more than anything, unsettled him.
He could still see her as she had been in the tavern—her body pulled forward against her will, the strain in her shoulders, the way her hands had fought against theirs even when it was clear she was outmatched.
And yet, the part that stayed with him was what had come after.
The way she had looked at him when it was done—wary, steady, holding herself together with a kind of quiet discipline that did not match the state she had been in.
The way she had drawn herself upright despite the tremor he had seen in her hands.
The way her voice had steadied, word by word, until it no longer betrayed her at all.
He exhaled slowly, his fingers pressing more firmly into the wood.
She had been exhausted. That much had been clear. And still, she had held herself upright, despite it all.
His jaw tightened faintly.
It was the decent thing tae dae.
But decency alone did not explain the way his attention had followed her even after the danger had passed. It did not explain why the image of her refused to leave him. Nor why, even now, standing alone in the quiet of his study, he could still recall the exact feel of her beneath his hand.
He straightened slightly, dragging a hand down the back of his neck.
It’s naething. It will pass.
A quiet knock sounded at the door. Logan straightened slightly.
“Come,” he said.
The door opened immediately and Conn stepped inside, his presence filling the doorway before he shut it behind him.
There was nothing hurried in his movements, but Logan knew him well enough to see the tension held beneath it, the way his shoulders sat just a fraction too rigid, the set of his mouth just a little too firm.
Conn’s gaze moved over the room briefly before settling on Logan, steady and assessing.
“So,” he said after a moment, his tone even, though it carried something heavier beneath it. “Ye’ve brought an Englishwoman in.”
Logan did not look away. “Aye.”
Conn took a few steps further into the room, his boots quieter than Logan’s had been.
“She looked half-dead on her feet,” he went on. “I’ll grant ye that.”
Logan’s fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table.
“She wouldnae have made it another day,” he said.
Conn nodded once.
“I ken that.” A pause followed. “But she’s English.”
The words were not sharp or accusing but Logan felt something shift beneath them all the same.
“Men were after her,” he said again, quieter now. “English men.”
Conn’s gaze held his.
Logan pushed away from the table, straightening fully as he turned to face him more directly.
“They would’ve taken her,” he said, his voice steady, though there was something firmer beneath it now. “Dragged her out in front o’ a full room and nae a soul lifted a hand tae stop them.”
Conn’s expression did not change. “That’s nae what I’m worried about.”
Silence settled between them for a moment. Logan exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over the back of his neck before letting it fall again.
“I ken what ye’re saying,” he said at last.
Conn lifted a brow faintly. “Dae ye?”
Logan’s gaze flicked toward the fire, then back again.
“I dinnae trust the English either,” he said. The words came without hesitation, grounded in something far older than this moment. “Nae after what was done.”
“Aye,” Conn said quietly. “And neither dae I.”
The fire cracked softly behind them.
“But ye’ve brought one under yer roof all the same,” Conn went on, his voice still even, though it pressed closer now. “And whatever trouble she’s running from… it’ll follow her here.”
Logan’s jaw tightened faintly. “From what I’ve seen… she’s nay threat tae us.”
Conn’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Ye cannae ken that.”
Logan held his stare, his voice lowering. “She could barely stand when I found her.”
Conn watched him for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his expression before it settled again into something more familiar.
“She may nae mean us harm,” he said. “That disnae mean harm willnae come because o’ her.”
Logan did not answer at once. He knew Conn was right.
“I’ll nae turn her out,” he said finally.
“I didnae say ye should.” Conn’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “But we cannae pretend this is naething. Men were hunting her, ye said.”
“I’ll call the Council,” Logan nodded once. “Once I ken why.”
Conn studied him again. “And until then?”
“She stays,” Logan said. “As a guest.”
Conn let out a quiet breath through his nose.
“Fer a few days,” Logan added, a bit too quickly.
Conn’s gaze lingered on him, then he nodded once. “A few days.”
The tension in the room eased, though it did not disappear entirely. Conn turned slightly, moving toward the door.
“If she brings trouble,” he said, pausing with his hand on the handle, “we must deal wi’ it quickly.”
Logan’s gaze did not waver. “Aye.”
Conn gave a short nod, then stepped out, the door closing behind him with a quiet finality that left Logan alone once more.
Conn was his second-in-command, near enough a brother—and his judgment had saved them more than once.
But the thought of sending her back out into the dark sat wrong in Logan’s chest.
For a moment, he did not move. The silence returned, heavier now.
He stared at the door for longer than he should have, his thoughts turning over themselves in a slow, steady rhythm that refused to settle. Then?—
He pushed away from the table.
If she was to remain here, even for a short time, he needed answers.
Standing here would not give them to him.
He reached for the door without further hesitation, his face settling back into something controlled that gave nothing away of the thoughts still moving beneath it. The quiet of the study fell behind him as he stepped out, the heavier air of the corridor closing in.
The corridor outside was quieter now, the earlier activity of the keep settling into something more subdued as the night drew in. The air carried a faint warmth, the scent of smoke lingering from the hearths below as Logan made his way down the passage with a steady, unhurried pace.
He knew where Christina would have taken her.
The guest chambers at the far end, away from the main hall. Close enough to be watched. Far enough to give space.
Logan’s steps slowed as he approached the heavy timber of the door. He paused, straining to hear anything from within, but the room remained silent.
For a heartbeat, he stood frozen with his hand hovering just inches from the wood, his thoughts drifting toward a hesitation that felt entirely unnecessary. It was a simple task, a brief conversation to ensure she was settled, and nothing more.
He knocked, the sound echoing with a hollow finality against the grain of the door.
A faint, muffled movement stirred from inside. He caught the shape of a voice but not the words themselves, taking the sound as an invitation.
Logan pushed the door open.
She stood with her back to him. Her dress was only half-fastened, the heavy wool gathered loosely at her waist as she struggled with the ties, her movements quick and distracted.
The amber light from the hearth licked against her porcelain skin, tracing the smooth, elegant line of her spine where the fabric had fallen away.
Her shoulders were bare, exposed to the heat of the room.
“Oh—!”
A sharp intake of breath—then the hurried, uneven sound of fabric shifting.
Logan turned back at once, his heart hammering against his ribs as he faced the shadows of the corridor.
For a heartbeat, the only sound was the frantic crackle of the peat fire.
"I—I did not hear you knock," she said too quickly, her voice catching over itself.
Logan’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on a singular, meaningless knot on the stone wall. "I did."
There was a brief pause, followed by the quiet, frustrated shift of fabric.
“Oh, for—” she cut herself off under her breath, followed by the soft, frantic sound of something slipping loose again.
He should have stepped out of the room. Instead, his hand tightened on the doorframe, his body refusing to move.
“I was—” she tried, then stopped. “I was… occupied.” Logan shut his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
“Aye,” he said, a little too evenly. “I gathered as much.”
Behind him, there was a sharper rustle, then the dull thud of something falling.
“Do not turn,” she said at once, breathless. “I beg you—just—one moment—these ties are?—”
She broke off again with a small, frustrated sound that did not belong to a composed English lady at all.
"Fergive me." The words came quickly, sharper than he intended as he stepped back, pulling the door nearly closed. "I should have waited."
Logan’s grip tightened on the doorframe.
“Take yer time, lass.” He stood in the shadows of the corridor, his hand still white-knuckled on the doorframe, the image of her unguarded spine flashing before his eyes.
The silence was heavy with a tension that made the stone walls feel too small to hold them both.
His jaw tightened. He dragged a hand down over his face, exhaling slowly as he forced his thoughts into order.
It had been an accident. Nothing more. And yet the image lingered unbidden.
A brief, brittle silence followed, broken only by the crackle of the fire on the other side.
Then her voice drifted out, clearer now, though still touched with a breathless tremor that made his shoulders tighten with heat.
“Yes,” she replied. “A moment.”
He inclined his head, a redundant gesture in the empty hall. “Aye.”
Logan remained in the corridor, his gaze drifting toward the shadows of the stone passage before inevitably locking back onto the grain of the door. He could hear the faint, hurried friction of wool and the quiet catch of her breath as she finished dressing.
His mind refused to obey his command for distance; it returned, unbidden, to the image of her in the firelight. It unsettled him, not merely because of the intimacy, but for how greedily his eyes had devoured it.
He drew in a slow, deep breath, forcing the heat from his chest. This was not why he had come.
He was a laird, the master of these hills. There were questions that needed answers and a safety that needed to be secured.
He could not afford to be distracted by the curve of an Englishwoman’s spine.
The door groaned open, and Logan turned.
Rose stepped into the corridor, her propriety restored like nothing happened, though her eyes held a lingering, electric spark. He did not let his gaze linger, refusing to let the ghost of the firelight intrude on the necessity of the moment.
“Accompany me tae me study,” he said, his tone even and devoid of demand. “We should speak.”