Chapter 6 #2
“I’ll speak tae me men,” he said. “And tae the Council. I’ll nae decide anything final before I’ve heard them, but I cannae see turning ye out in the state ye arrived.”
She did not move at first. Then her fingers loosened slightly in her lap, and when she looked at him again, something in her expression had shifted, unguarded for only a moment.
“You would let me remain?”
“Fer now,” he said, because anything warmer would be dangerous. “Until I ken more. And until ye’ve had time tae recover.”
She lowered her gaze for a moment. When she looked back up, the faintest color had returned to her face, softer this time.
“That is more kindness than I expected to find in Scotland, my laird.”
A ghost of something dry touched him.
“We’re brutal savages half the time,” he said. “But we feed our guests before turnin’ them out intae the cold.”
To his satisfaction, the corner of her mouth moved. “Then I shall count myself fortunate I came upon your better half.”
“Dinnae spread that around the keep,” he muttered. “I’ve a reputation tae maintain.”
This time she smiled properly, only for a second, but it was enough to alter the room.
Logan pushed back his chair and stood, more because if he remained seated much longer he would forget every sensible instinct he had than because the conversation was done.
“That’s enough fer taenight,” he said. “Ye’ve given me what I needed.”
Rose stood too, smoothing her skirts in that careful way of hers, though she looked more tired now that she had spent what little strength remained on honesty.
“Thank you for hearing me,” she said.
He inclined his head. “Go and rest. When dinner is ready, Christina or one of the servants will call ye. We’ll sort the rest after.”
Rose nodded. Her cheeks were faintly pink again as she turned toward the door.
At the threshold, she paused. “My laird?”
He looked at her.
“For what it is worth,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes now, “I am glad it was you at the tavern.”
Then she opened the door and left before he could decide whether the answer in his chest was gratitude or ruin.
For a long moment, Logan stood where he was, staring at the closed door with his arms loose at his sides and his thoughts in disarray.
Then he reached for the bell-rope by the hearth and yanked it once.
A servant appeared swiftly, a lanky young man with a mop of dark hair and the slightly alarmed expression of someone who had run the moment he was summoned.
“Me laird?”
“Gather the Council,” Logan said. “Now.”
The boy straightened at once. “Aye, me laird.”
Logan watched him go, then dragged a hand down his face.
There was no more time to think as a man. He had to think as laird.
By the time he entered the council chamber, the fire there had been built up and the long table cleared.
The room smelled of peat smoke, old oak and the faint tang of the sea carried in on men’s cloaks.
Conn was already there, leaning one shoulder against the far wall. He straightened when Logan came in.
The others followed quickly enough.
Rory MacLeod came first, broad and red-bearded, with a scar that ran from temple to cheek.
Then Ewan Fraser, leaner, older, sharp-eyed and perpetually dissatisfied.
Alasdair Grant arrived with his usual solemn face and thick dark braid.
Niall Sutherland came next, restless energy under every movement.
Malcolm Kerr, greying at the temples and heavy through the chest, lowered himself into his seat with a grunt.
Last came Davie Sinclair, the youngest of them after Conn, watchful and silent in a way that suggested he listened more than he ever spoke.
When the door shut, the room settled.
Logan remained standing at the head of the table.
“I assume ye all ken about the Englishwoman.”
Rory made a sound low in his throat, halfway to a curse. Ewan’s mouth flattened. Niall threw both hands onto the table.
“We shouldnae have her here at all,” he said at once. “Nae after?—”
“Sit down,” Malcolm snapped before Logan had to.
Niall sat, though badly.
“She was found outside the tavern,” Logan’s gaze moved over them all. “Four English men had hold o’ her. They were dragging her out.”
Rory’s face darkened.
“And ye stopped them,” Davie said quietly.
“Aye.”
“As ye should,” Malcolm muttered.
“That’s nae the point,” Ewan said. His voice had the dry scrape of old irritation. “The point is what follows. English trouble never travels alone.”
“It hasnae since the day they killed yer faither,” Niall added, looking at Logan now. “And we’re meant tae forget that because one lass has a frightened face and a fine accent?”
Conn moved before Logan did, his hand flattening on the table with a crack that silenced the younger man at once.
“Mind how ye speak,” he said.
The room held for a beat.
Logan spoke into it quietly. “Nay one here’s forgotten me faither. Especially nae me.”
No one looked away, but the charge in the room shifted.
The failed peace sat behind everything, an agreement over trading routes that had led to a private meeting the English had asked for, smiling and speaking of profit while planning something else entirely. Logan’s father had ridden to it with six men, and none of them had returned.
“I ken the risk,” Logan said. “Better than any o’ ye think I need reminding o’. But I found her half-starved, exhausted, and hunted. I wasnae turning her away.”
Ewan folded his arms. “That pity could cost us.”
“Perhaps,” Logan said. “So could cowardice.”
That earned him silence. Logan let his gaze move over them once more.
“Her name is Rose Algernon. Daughter o’ a landholder near the border. Briar Hall.”
Rory frowned faintly, shifting his weight. “I ken the place. Holds ground too close tae us.”
“Aye,” Logan said. “And that’s exactly why a man named Barnaby Henshaw wants it.”
Ewan’s gaze sharpened. “Henshaw…”
“He means tae take it through her,” Logan continued, cutting in before the name could settle into speculation. “Through forced marriage.”
A low curse slipped from Niall under his breath. Malcolm’s expression darkened.
“He sent men after her,” Logan said. “Armed. The ones I found dragging her from a tavern floor.”
Conn’s hand flattened briefly against the table, his jaw tightening.
“And her family?” Davie asked quietly.
“They sent her away,” Logan replied. “Kent what was comin’ but couldnae stop it.”
Rory let out a slow breath. “So they put her on the road alone?”
“They put her where he couldnae reach her easily,” Logan said, his tone hardening.
Silence held for a moment.
Then Ewan spoke again. “And she refuses him why?”
Logan’s jaw tightened faintly.
“Because the man is kent fer cruelty. Toward women especially. She’s met him,” Logan added, more quietly now. “Once. I’ll nae be the man who sends her back tae him.”
“She’s dangerous tae keep,” Ewan said at once.
“Nay,” Conn cut in. “It makes the men chasing her dangerous.”
Ewan’s eyes narrowed. “A difference that matters little if they come armed tae our gates.”
Niall shifted in his chair. “And they will.”
“Maybe,” Logan said. “Maybe nae. But I’ll nae send a woman back tae a man like that because we find the possibility inconvenient.”
Davie, who had said almost nothing thus far, spoke then. “Daes she lie?”
It was such a plain question that the room paused around it.
Logan looked at him.
“Nay,” he said after a moment. “Or if she daes, I’ve nae yet seen.”
That drew the faintest snort from Conn.
Rory rubbed at the scar on his cheek. “How long?”
“Fer now, a few days,” Logan said. “Long enough tae regain her strength and fer us tae decide what comes next once we ken more.”
Ewan’s expression remained unconvinced. “And if English riders come asking?”
“They’ll get nay answer from these walls,” Logan said. “Patrols will be doubled beginning at dawn. The tavern keeper will keep his ears open. Any movement south o’ the ridge comes tae me first.”
Malcolm nodded slowly. “Reasonable.”
Niall looked from face to face, clearly dissatisfied that the room was turning against outright refusal. “We all ken men who died because the English smiled at them.”
“Aye,” Logan said, and this time there was iron in it. “And I ken the difference between men who bargain in bad faith and a lass who ran because nay one could keep her safe.”
Conn leaned forward slightly.
“She stays,” he said. “Under watch if it eases minds. Fed, housed, and left in peace until we see what storm follows her.”
Malcolm nodded first. Then Rory. Davie dipped his head. Even Ewan, after a long moment, gave the smallest grunt of assent.
Niall was last. He looked at Logan, then at Conn, then finally slapped a palm against the table in disgust more than agreement.
“A few days,” he muttered. “And if trouble comes, I’ll remind ye both whose idea pity was.”
“Dae that,” Logan said. Then he let out a slow breath he had not realized he was holding. “Then that’s the decision.”
Chairs scraped. Men began to rise. Cloaks shifted. The low murmur of smaller talk started to return to the edges of the room, but Logan heard very little of it.
His mind had already moved to the guest chamber where a woman in borrowed clothes was likely sitting too straight on the edge of a bed.
He remained where he was at the head of the table until the others had gone.
Only Conn lingered.
“She told ye everything?” he asked.
Logan looked at the dying fire.
“Enough.”
Conn studied him for a beat longer than necessary.
Then, because he was Conn and had never in his life let an uncomfortable truth pass unremarked, he said, “Aye. Ye look it.”
Logan shot him a look.
Conn’s mouth twitched once before he turned and left him alone.
The room finally emptied.
Logan stood in the silence a while longer, one hand resting on the back of his chair, and wondered when exactly a half-starved Englishwoman with too much pride and not enough safety had become the heaviest thing in his keep.