Chapter 18 #2
Rose’s brows drew together. “Where?”
He glanced toward the balcony doors. “Ye need air.”
She wanted to tell him she had come because he was hurt, not because she needed tending herself. But the truth was, her chest had grown too tight, and the room had become too warm beneath the weight of everything they were not saying.
So she followed him.
The balcony overlooked the courtyard and the outer edge of the hall.
Below, men were clearing away the last traces of the feast. Benches were being carried back inside.
Greenery that had fallen during the panic was gathered into bundles.
A broken garland lay across the stones like something trampled after a celebration that had survived a battle.
The night air touched Rose’s face, cool and damp. She drew it into her lungs slowly.
Logan stood beside her, close enough that his sleeve brushed hers when he rested his bandaged hand on the stone rail.
For a while, they said nothing. The sound of the courtyard rose softly beneath them, wood scraping, low voices, the muted thud of footsteps.
The smell of smoke lingered from the ridge fires, faint now beneath the sweetness of crushed greenery.
“It looks sad,” Rose said quietly.
Logan looked down, his profile sharp against the moonlight. “Aye. Festivals often dae when they end wi’ Englishmen climbing the walls.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. It was small, startled, almost broken, but it loosened the cold knot of fear inside her. Logan glanced over, his shoulder brushing hers as he turned, and the faintest warmth touched his mouth.
“I am sorry,” she said, though she was still smiling, her fingers tracing the rough grain of the stone to keep from reaching for him. “That was not funny.”
“It was a little funny.” He didn't move away from the contact of their shoulders.
“It was terrible.”
“Yer dancing was worse.”
Rose turned to him fully, her politeness momentarily forgotten as she let out a scandalized gasp. She planted one hand on her hip, her chin tilting upward. “You are very cruel to a woman who has just tended your wounds.”
“I’m trying tae keep ye humble.” Logan’s mouth twitched, his gaze dropping to her lips in an agonizingly slow way that always made her pulse thrum.
“I was already humbled enough in front of your entire clan.”
“Nae enough, apparently.” He straightened, closing the small gap between them until his heat enveloped her again.
She narrowed her eyes at him, though the smile remained on her mouth. “I should like to see how well you would do if I asked you to perform an English dance.”
His brows lifted, his eyes darkening as he caught her wrist, his thumb resting right over her jumping pulse. “Is that a threat?”
“It is a challenge.”
“A dangerous difference.”
Rose turned from the rail and stepped back, gathering her skirts in one hand. The balcony was narrow, but there was space enough for a few careful steps. “Watch.”
Logan folded his arms, though the bandage made the gesture uneven. “I am watching.”
“Yes, I have noticed that about you.”
His gaze darkened with amusement.
Rose ignored the heat that rose beneath her skin and lifted one hand, holding the fingers of an imaginary partner. “It is simple. You step back, then to the side, then forward. But lightly. Not as though you are marching men to war.”
“That looks too restrained.”
“It is called grace.”
“I have survived this long without it.”
“Clearly.”
He huffed a low laugh, and the sound warmed her.
Rose showed him the step once, slowly, her slippers moving over the stone with practiced ease. It was a plain country step, nothing elaborate, nothing that would have impressed anyone at Briar Hall. But here, beneath the moon, with Logan watching, it felt strangely intimate.
“Now you,” she said.
His expression turned wary, his shoulders tightening. “Nay.”
“Yes.”
“Rose.”
“Logan,” she returned, tilting her head to the side with a sweetness she knew would irritate him. “Surely the laird of this castle is not afraid of a simple dance.”
His eyes narrowed, the heat returning to his gaze. Then, with a muttered sound that might have been a curse, he stepped toward her.
Rose reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as she placed his good hand firmly at her waist. She lifted her own, resting it against the corded muscle of his shoulder. “Back first.”
He stepped back too far.
Rose laughed as she was nearly pulled flush against him. “No. Not across the border. Just one step.”
His mouth twitched, his thumb tracing a slow arc against her gown. “Ye didnae specify the size o' the step.”
“I did. I said graceful.”
Logan’s gaze held hers with a steady, unreadable expression that seemed to strip away her every defense. His body was too close.
He tried the step again. This time he moved less like a warrior and more like he was giving her time to move away.
Rose smiled, her heart thrashing against her ribs. “Better.”
“Dae I earn praise so easily?”
“Do not grow accustomed to it.”
He looked down at her, the warmth in his eyes darkening into something that made her breath catch. “Too late.”
Her breath left her. In a heartbeat, they were back in the garden, back at the edge of the kiss the alarm bell had stolen.
Rose lowered her hand, intending to create distance, but Logan’s fingers tightened once around hers, anchoring her in place. “Rose.”
She looked up.