Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Logan found Conn near the eastern passage, speaking low with two guards whose faces.
Men moved with purpose now, a sense of urgency in every step as they prepared for whatever orders Logan might give next.
It steadied something in him, even as the pressure behind his ribs refused to ease.
Fear had not left the walls, but it was no longer sitting idle.
Conn looked up the moment Logan approached.
The guards straightened.
“Leave us,” Logan said.
Both men dipped their heads and moved off without hesitation. Conn watched them go, then turned back, one brow lifting slightly as his gaze moved over Logan’s face.
“She staying?”
Logan’s jaw tightened before he could stop it. “Fer now.”
Conn’s mouth twitched. “That sounds like a victory spoken by a man who disnae trust it tae last.”
“It will last long enough.”
“Aye?” Conn folded his arms, leaning one shoulder against the stone wall. “And how long is that?”
“Until I make the roads safe.”
Conn let out a quiet breath through his nose, not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief. “Then we’d best start.”
Logan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I want patrols doubled before dusk. Two riders on the lower road at all times, changing every four hours. Another pair by the old mill road.”
Conn nodded, the teasing vanishing from his expression as he listened. “Aye.”
“Warn the nearby villages. Tell them English riders have been seen and that doors are tae be barred before dark. If they see movement, they send word.”
“Aye,” Conn said again, sharper now.
“Any cart moving between holdings gets two armed men wi’ it. Grain stores are tae be split, nae kept in one place. And I want the east gate watched by men I trust.”
Conn’s gaze held his. “Ye think they’ll test the castle?”
“They’re already testin’ everything around it.”
Silence stretched between them, narrow and grim.
Conn pushed away from the wall. “I’ll see it done.”
He turned to leave, then stopped.
“What?” Logan asked.
Conn turned back slowly. His face was serious now, though there was something searching in his eyes. “Why?”
Logan’s expression did not change. “Why what?”
“Why her?” Conn asked quietly. “Ye’re moving men, shifting grain, warning villages, locking the whole clan tighter than a winter gate. I ken the threat. I ken Barnaby’s men are a problem. But ye—” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Ye’re taking this like the blade is already at her throat.”
Logan felt the words strike, but he gave Conn nothing. “She is under me protection.”
“She is English.”
Logan’s fingers curled once at his side, then loosened. “Aye.”
Conn watched him. “And ye trust her?”
Logan looked down the corridor toward the turn that led back to Rose’s chamber before he could stop himself.
His throat tightened.
“I dinnae fully trust anyone who falls intae me life wi’ English riders behind her,” he said at last.
Conn’s mouth flattened, but he waited.
Logan drew a slow breath. “But she has shown nay sign o’ wishing harm on us. Nae once. When she learned danger had followed her here, her first thought was tae leave. Nae tae save herself.” His voice dropped, roughening despite his effort to keep it even. “Tae save us.”
Conn studied him for a long moment. Logan looked back at him, daring him to make something soft of it.
“Aye,” he murmured. “Ye sound concerned.”
“Ye sound judgmental.”
“It sounds like ye care fer her more than ye’re willing tae say.”
“I dinnae have time fer this,” Logan’s face hardened. “I have a clan tae protect. The English cannae just come in here tae take what they want and destroy things on their way.”
“Aye,” Conn said. “And now it is a lass ye’re protecting as if she’s already part o’ it.”
Logan said nothing.
Conn let the silence hold for one heartbeat. Finally, he inclined his head, all trace of teasing gone. “I’ll carry out the orders.”
“See that ye dae.”
Conn turned, boots striking the stone as he strode away.
Logan remained where he was, staring after him with his jaw locked and his chest too tight. He did not know what Rose was becoming within these walls, nor what it would cost him to keep her here.
He only knew that if Barnaby’s men came for her, they would find the whole of Clan MacKenzie standing in their way.
“Rose.”
Rose’s hands stilled over the gown she had been folding for no reason at all. For one foolish heartbeat, her pulse leapt as if she had been caught waiting for him.
She drew in a careful breath, arranged her face into calm, and opened the door.
Logan stood on the other side, broad shoulders filling the narrow frame, his dark tunic plain. There was nothing improper in the way he looked at her, yet his steady attention seemed to find every thought she had tried to hide.
“Logan,” she nodded.
His gaze lowered briefly to her hand on the door, then returned to her face. “Come. We’ll train.”
The words were simple, practical, and still her stomach dropped.
“Now?” she asked, eyes widening.
“If yer ankle allows it.”
“It allows enough.”
The corner of his mouth moved, and the sight made the fluttering worse.
Rose turned to take her shawl from the chair, grateful for the excuse to look away. “I am ready.”
He stepped aside to let her pass. The corridor was cool, smelling faintly of smoke and stone, and Logan walked beside her at a measured pace.
At the stairs, he glanced down. “Take them slowly.”
“I had intended to fling myself down them for speed.”
His eyes flicked to her face. A low laugh left him. “Dinnae tempt fate.”
“I would not dare. It already seems to have a great deal of interest in me.”
His expression sobered slightly, but he stayed close as they descended, near enough that she knew he would catch her if she faltered.
By the time they reached the courtyard, low clouds pressed over the castle walls and the wind carried the smell of damp stone and horse. Logan led her toward a quieter stretch near the far wall, away from the main movement of the yard.
Only then did she see the dagger waiting on the stone ledge.
Rose’s pace slowed.
Logan noticed at once. “We dinnae have tae start today if ye dinnae want tae.”
Rose lifted her chin. “I said I would learn.”
“Aye,” he said, taking up the dagger and offering it hilt first. “And I made it happen wi’in the hour. But if ye’re nae ready, we can try another day.”
“I’ll do it,” Rose exhaled, already moving toward the blade. “It is better that I learn sooner.”
The blade was smaller than she expected, though not harmless. Narrow, clean, cold in the grey light. Rose stared at it.
“Take it,” Logan said quietly as his steady eyes held hers, unblinking.
Rose reached out, her fingers closing over the leather hilt. The weight of it sank into her palm, blunt and honest, nothing like the delicate silver knives of her father’s table.
Logan’s gaze dropped to her hand. “Tighter.”
Rose gripped it, her knuckles white and awkward.
“Nae like ye’re greeting it at supper,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
Her eyes snapped to his. He didn't move, but the air between them suddenly felt charged, the space too small. Her cheeks burned.
“I have never been introduced to a dagger. I was unsure of the proper courtesy.”
A glint appeared in his eyes. He stepped into her space, the heat radiating from his chest as he hovered just inches away.
“Grip it like ye mean tae keep it,” he said, his breath ghosting over her skin. “If a man tries tae take it from ye, he should have tae work fer the privilege.”
The words sent a chill down her back, because they returned her to the tavern in a blink: hands on her arms, boots dragging, her nails useless against a man’s wrist. Her fingers tightened so abruptly that the hilt bit into her palm.
Logan saw the change.
His voice lowered. “Rose.”
“I am fine,” she stated, though her voice vibrated with the effort of holding herself together. “Perfectly fine.”
“Nay,” he said, shaking his head. “But ye’re here, where there’s nay danger. That’s enough fer the moment.”
Something in her throat trembled.
“I came here to learn how to keep a man from dragging me across a floor ever again, not to be coddled.” She looked back down at the dagger, refusing the weakness of tears. “By all means, tell me what to do.”
He watched her for a heartbeat longer. She felt the care in his pause more than she would have felt a hand on her shoulder.
He nodded once, the ghost of a smirk playing in his mouth, and moved beside her.
“Stand wi’ yer feet apart. Nae wide enough tae strain the ankle. Just enough that a shove disnae send ye backward.”
Rose shifted carefully.
Logan’s eyes moved over her stance, assessing without making her feel foolish. “Bend the knee a little.”
She did.
“Nae that much.”
She straightened slightly.
“Good.”
The weight of that single word settled low in her stomach. Rose forced her gaze to the blade, telling herself not to be absurd.
“Now,” he said, “hold the blade close. Dinnae reach out unless ye mean tae use it. A dagger isnae a sword. It requires nearness.”
Logan was standing close enough that the radiating heat of his body acted as a taunt against the biting air. He reached toward her wrist, his hand hovering for a heartbeat before his eyes searched hers.
“May I?”
Rose nodded, her throat too tight to speak.
His large, warm fingers closed around her wrist. He took possession of her hand, turning her arm with a pressure that made her pulse thrum against his thumb.
“If ye hold it like this,” he murmured, his voice vibrating in the small space between them, “the first strike will knock it loose.”
“I thought I was holding it tightly,” she managed, though her focus was fracturing.
“Ye are holding it tightly, but in the wrong place.”
“How encouraging.”
“It is the first lesson. It’s nae meant tae flatter ye.”
His thumb pressed firmly into the sensitive skin at the base of her thumb, forcing her fingers to realign. He adjusted them one by one, his skin dragging over hers, sending a sharp, liquid heat straight to the pit of her stomach.