Chapter 25 #2
It was not entirely graceful. Her skirt caught, and the mare shifted a half step, making Rose’s shoulders tense. Logan’s hands twitched at his sides, palms burning to steady her, but he did not move.
Rose settled into the saddle and gathered the reins.
The smile that crossed her face was small, stunned, and more beautiful than any victory shout he had ever heard.
“I did it,” she whispered.
Logan’s chest tightened until it almost hurt.
“Aye,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “Ye did.”
She looked down at him, and everything around them all fell away. There was only Rose, sitting straight on her horse, courage trembling through her.
He mounted his own horse before the feeling could undo him and they rode out as the first pale light of morning broke along the horizon.
The journey was quiet.
Not peaceful, exactly. Logan did not think he would know peace again until Rose was back behind his walls.
But the roads remained empty, the hills wet and green beneath the low sky, the air sharp with cold and heather.
The men rode in formation around them, not so tight as to alarm her, not so loose as to leave gaps.
Conn kept to the left flank, his gaze always moving.
Alasdair’s riders returned twice with word of clear roads ahead.
Rose rode alone.
At first, she kept both hands tight on the reins, her back very straight, the grey mare close enough to Logan’s horse that their stirrups nearly brushed.
She did not speak for the first hour. He let her have the silence, though he watched her from the corner of his eye until she finally exhaled and loosened her grip.
“You are watching me,” she said.
Logan kept his gaze on the road ahead.
“Aye,” he said.
Her head turned slightly, enough for him to catch the arch of one brow. “I am not about to fall.”
“I didnae say ye were.”
“No,” she replied, smoothing her thumb once over the leather rein. Her back stiffened for half a heartbeat, then eased again when the horse remained steady. “You merely thought it very loudly.”
A surprised breath of amusement left him. “Did I?”
“Very.” She kept her eyes fixed ahead, but there was a faint curve at her mouth now, one she was plainly trying to hide. “It was most distracting.”
Logan glanced at her then, allowing himself only a brief look because anything longer would have become too obvious, even to the men riding behind them. Her face was turned toward the misty road, her cheeks touched pink from the cold, her chin lifted.
“I was thinking,” he said, letting his horse slow a fraction so he rode more evenly beside her, “that ye sit a horse better than ye did when ye first arrived.”
“That is very generous.”
“It is true.”
“It may be true,” she said, and this time she did look at him, though only for a flicker before the mare’s ears twitched and drew her attention forward again, “but it was still generous of you not to mention how bad I was when I first arrived.”
His mouth curved. “Ye werenae.”
“No,” she said, her voice quieter now, though the teasing remained beneath it. “Because you were holding me tightly.”
The words were innocent enough, but color rose in her cheeks the moment she spoke them. Her lashes lowered, and her hands shifted against the reins.
Logan felt his own body remember before he could stop it: the shape of her seated before him, the warmth of her back against his chest, the fine tremor that had gone through her when his arm had settled around her waist. The memory moved through his body, and for a moment the road ahead blurred behind the pull of it.
He kept his gaze forward.
Rose let out a soft laugh, but she did not look at him again. She only sat a little straighter, the curve of her mouth still betraying her.
“Marion will like you,” she said after a moment.
Logan glanced at her. “Will she?”
“You are very tall,” Rose said with careful seriousness. “That will be enough.”
His mouth curved. “Then she is easily pleased.”
“She is not. But she will pretend she is, if only to make me blush by teasing about us. And Giselle…” Rose’s smile softened. “She will watch you first.”
“Watch me?” Logan asked, his brow lifting as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye.
Rose nodded, her fingers smoothing once over the reins as the mare picked carefully through the wet road. “She notices everything before she speaks. The way a person stands. Whether they look away too quickly. Whether they smile because they mean it or because manners require it.”
Logan’s mouth curved faintly. “Then I may be doomed.”
“Perhaps.” Rose looked ahead, though the softness at the edge of her mouth betrayed her. “But if she approves of you, she will ask you one question.”
“One?” His gaze shifted fully to her now, his amusement deepening. “That is all?”
“One very dangerous question,” Rose said, turning her head just enough to meet his eyes. “And if you answer poorly, she will never need to ask another.”
Logan looked ahead, but his mouth still held the faintest curve. “I’ll prepare meself.”
“My mother will thank you until you are embarrassed,” Rose added, her fingers loosening slightly on the reins. “For finding me, sheltering me, feeding me, keeping me safe. She may thank Conn too.”
“Conn will hate that.”
“I thought he might.” Her smile grew. “And she may even thank him twice.”
A quiet laugh left him before he could stop it. “And yer father?”
The brightness in her face faltered, just a little.
“He will be ashamed,” she said softly. “That he could not protect me.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “He sent ye away tae save ye.”
“I know. But fathers are not always kind to themselves when their children suffer.”
For a moment, only the horses moved beneath them, steady and soft over the wet road.
Then Logan said, rougher than he intended, “I mean tae bring ye back tae them.”
Rose’s horse drifted close enough that their stirrups nearly brushed. “You will.”
He wanted to believe her, so he nodded once and kept his eyes on the road.
A little while later, Alasdair rode back through the mist, rain dark on his shoulders.
“Me laird,” he said. “The inn lies ahead. Road is clear. Nay sign o’ trouble.”
Rose straightened. “Did you see a carriage?”
Alasdair glanced at Logan, then answered carefully. “Nay carriage, me lady. But they may have stabled it behind the inn.”
Rose nodded quickly. “Yes. Of course.”
Logan saw her fingers tighten around the reins.
By late afternoon, they reached the inn.
It stood near the bend of the eastern border road, a low stone building with a thatched roof darkened by rain, smoke curling from one chimney in a thin, wavering line.
A few horses were tied outside. No carriage.
No household guards bearing Algernon colors.
No anxious mother waiting beneath the awning.
Rose saw it too.
He felt the change in her before he saw it, the way her mare slowed and her shoulders drew in by the smallest degree.
“They may be inside,” she said.
“Aye,” Logan replied.
He dismounted first and helped her down before she could protest. Her fingers lingered against his forearm for a heartbeat, cold through the glove.
Conn moved ahead with two men. Logan waited until Conn looked back and gave a brief nod.
Only then did Logan lead Rose inside.
The inn smelled of ale, damp rushes, roasted meat, and too many bodies warmed by the fire. Conversation dimmed when they entered, eyes moving over Logan’s men, then Rose, then away again with the practiced caution of folk who knew better than to stare at armed Highlanders.
Rose’s gaze swept the room.
Logan watched her search every face.
The innkeeper came forward, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Rooms, me laird?”
“Aye,” Logan said. “And food. We’re expecting others.”
The man nodded. “Nay one’s come askin’ yet, but there’s room enough.”
Rose’s fingers tightened in the folds of her cloak.
Logan looked down at her. “They may be late.”
She swallowed, then nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yes. The roads are wet. They may have been delayed.”
He wanted to believe it for her.
God help him, he tried.
He guided her to a table near the wall, where he could see the door, the stairs, and both windows. Conn took position nearby without needing to be told. The others spread through the room with the appearance of men settling for food while they were counting exits.
A serving girl brought bread, ale, and bowls of stew, but Rose only touched the spoon, her gaze lifting every time the door opened. Logan watched each disappointment settle quietly behind her eyes and kept his hand near hers beneath the table, close enough for her to take if she needed it.
Outside, rain began to fall again, soft at first, then harder, blurring the road beyond the windows until there was nothing to see but darkness, the ghostly reflection of the fire, and Rose’s face each time the door opened to someone who was not her family.