Chapter 17 #2
He did not know whether he meant from the soldiers, from the night, from Barnaby Henshaw, or from the whole cursed world that seemed determined to tear her out of his reach.
A few paces away, Conn cleared his throat quietly.
Logan opened his eyes.
He released Rose slowly, though every instinct in him revolted against it. She stepped back, in an attempt at composure that made his chest ache. Her eyes were still too bright, her face still too pale, but her spine straightened.
She was so brave.
He turned to Conn. “Report.”
Conn’s expression was hard, blood marking one side of his temple. “Seven over the wall. Six dead.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “Our men?”
“Two wounded. One badly, but alive. The fires on the ridge were set as a lure.”
Conn’s gaze moved to him. “Barnaby?”
“Aye.” Logan’s voice was flat.
Rose’s breath caught softly.
Logan looked at her. The fear was there now, naked for half a second before she managed to veil it. She had gone pale again, but she did not step back. Something in Logan’s chest twisted with such tenderness that it nearly became rage.
He looked away before it showed too plainly.
“Double the wall watch,” he ordered Conn. “Nay man alone on patrol. Seal the lower postern and set two men at every inner passage leading from the wall. I want the garden side watched until dawn, and every ladder, rope, and hook found before sunrise.”
Conn nodded. “Aye.”
“Send riders tae the ridge once the fires are out. Careful riders. I dinnae want another trap sprung because men rush at shadows.”
Conn’s mouth flattened. “It’ll be done.”
Logan turned to Rose. “We need tae go inside.”
Her gaze flicked briefly toward the bodies, then back to him. “Will your men be safe?”
The question struck him. Even now, she was thinking of his men.
He wanted to take her face in his hands again. “They will be. I’ll see tae it.”
She nodded, though the movement was small.
He offered his arm.
She placed her hand lightly over his sleeve. Her fingers trembled once before she stilled them.
He led her from the garden.
The walk back to the hall felt longer than it should have.
The courtyard was full of controlled urgency now, men moving quickly.
Someone was carrying a wounded man toward the healer’s chamber, his face grey beneath the blood.
Logan noted each detail, each place where his defenses had been tested and found wanting.
But beneath it all, he felt the light pressure of Rose’s hand on his arm.
At the hall doors, he paused. Rose looked up at him.
The music inside had stopped entirely. His clan was waiting. They would have heard the bell, the shouting, perhaps even some of the fighting.
“Stay near me,” he whispered.
Rose’s gaze searched his face. Then she nodded. “I will.”
He opened the doors and the hall turned toward him.
It was worse than he expected. Men stood near the tables, some armed with knives taken from the feast, others holding children behind them.
Women had gathered near the hearth with pale faces and fixed eyes.
Christina stood at the front of the room, her hand pressed to her throat, and the instant she saw Rose alive, her shoulders sagged with relief.
The musicians had backed themselves into a corner, instruments lowered.
Every face turned to Logan.
He stepped forward, Rose at his side.
“The disturbance outside has been handled,” Logan said, his voice carrying easily through the rafters. “They are dead.”
A ripple moved through the room. Gasps. Low curses. A woman clutched a child closer.
Logan lifted one hand, and silence returned.
“Our wounded are being seen tae. The castle is secure. The walls are being reinforced, and every gate and postern will remain guarded through the night.”
His gaze moved slowly over them all, letting each person feel seen. Rory by the side table, already half turned toward the door as if eager to help. Old Malcolm near the hearth, eyes narrowed, one hand on his belt. The servants clustered together, frightened but listening.
“Nae one is tae leave the hall unless ordered,” Logan continued. “Nae one is tae go wandering corridors, seeking news and tripping over men who have work tae dae. Ye will remain here, together, where ye can be accounted fer.”
A murmur rose again, softer this time.
He let his voice harden. “And ye will continue the feast.”
Several people stared at him as if they had misheard.
Christina’s brows lifted faintly. Conn, entering behind them, looked briefly toward the ceiling as though asking God for patience.
Logan did not relent.
“We’ll nae have our celebration turned intae a night o’ cowering because Englishmen thought tae frighten us wi’ fire on a hill,” he said. His voice deepened, roughening. “They came tae these walls and failed. Let that be what is remembered tonight.”
A few of the men straightened.
Logan stepped another pace into the hall, forcing the room to meet him.
“Eat. Drink. Keep the bairns near. Let the guards dae their work. We dinnae honor enemies by granting them the sight o’ our fear.”
The room shifted. Men released the breath they had been holding. One of the older women crossed herself, then reached for a cup. A child whispered a question and was hushed gently. The servants began to move again, uncertain at first, then faster.
Logan turned his head slightly toward Rose. “Ye should go tae yer room. Get some rest.”
Rose looked at him at once. “You are not staying?”
Logan’s chest tightened. “I need tae be on the walls.”
Her fingers, still resting on his sleeve, curled once. “Of course.”
She released him before he could decide whether to keep her there. The loss of her touch felt colder than the night outside.
He leaned closer, enough to lower his voice for her alone. “Ye’re safe here.”
“I know,” she said.
But her eyes told him she was not thinking of herself.
He wanted to say something then. Something foolish. Something about the garden, about the almost-kiss, about the way the sight of that blade at her throat had carved his insides hollow. But the hall was watching, and outside, the walls needed him.
So, he only said, “Stay wi’ Christina.”
Rose nodded. “Be careful.”
The words were quiet, but they struck harder than any command.
He held her gaze a moment longer than he should have.
Then Christina reached Rose and drew her gently toward the women near the hearth. Rose went with her, though she looked back once.
Logan saw it, and that single look nearly dragged him after her.
Christina bent close, murmuring something Logan could not hear, and Rose nodded after a moment. She was holding herself carefully, her face composed but pale beneath the warm light of the hall. Then Christina guided her toward the passage that led to the guest chambers.
Good, Logan thought, though nothing inside him settled. Let her rest. Let her be somewhere warm, away from the eyes of the hall and the blood outside.
Logan turned back to the room.
“Conn, wi’ me.”
Conn fell into step at once as Logan strode toward the doors.