Chapter Nine
Logan didn’t suffer any guilt about being kind to Miss Woodburn. If he thought warmly of her, there was no one he betrayed, save himself. But he would not betray himself. He would let her help him regain his arm, and then he would take her somewhere else.
He didn’t have any guilt about that either. He could treat her kindly to get what he needed. He would not let her mean anything to him.
He was a fool—and he was a fool even now—to find himself lightheaded just by looking at her. The alluring curve of her brow, the cut of her small nose, and the resilient tilt of her chin against the backdrop of the grand Ben Nevis.
Lifting his arm over his head was the most difficult of all. He could barely make it to six before he had to let it fall.
“Ye were told ye would never use that arm again, aye?” she asked him. “But ye will use it, and ye will show them all that ye can do whatever ye set yer mind to.”
“Did yer brother teach ye that?” he asked. “Did ye set yer mind to stayin’ alive?”
“Aye, I set it on finding and killing ye. ’Tis what drove me.”
Was that truly all she ever thought about? He did not like that she hated him so much. It made him wish he’d never seen her in the first place. Covenanters were killed almost every day for the last eight years for their refusal to accept the king’s authority over the church.
But Logan had not killed anyone at all in over six years. He certainly had not killed her family.
“I am no’ goin’ to stand idly by while ye plot to kill me, Miss Woodburn.”
“Of course,” she agreed dryly.
“If I was guilty, things would be different, lass. I am truly sorry ye lost yer kin, but when yer father captured me, I told him who I was; a royalist Cameron and favorite of the king. He knew that killin’ me would start a battle, which he would likely lose.
Despite that—nae,” he said when she shook her head, not wanting to hear anymore.
“Ye dinna have to believe me. I wouldna want to believe someone sayin’ the same aboot my father.
But instead of heedin’ my warnin’, yer father drove his sword into me.
Here.” He pointed to the place just above his ribs on his left side.
But he didn’t have to show her, she was already looking there.
How did she know where he was stabbed unless Ewen told her—or she had come to see him in the dungeon, as he dreamed? He didn’t ask again. He would get the same answer. Besides, it was better if he didn’t know the truth—that she had been there with him, helping him.
“I told ye no’ to speak of my father again.” She shook while she told him. “Instead, ye tell me vile lies about him and blame him fer his own death. If I were reconsidering yer demise, I would fer certain end yer miserable life!”
“Och, I tire of yer empty threats, lass,” he told her with a frustrated sigh. “Quit talkin’ and get to killin’. Here. Here is my dirk. Do it.”
He held the blade out to her, hilt first.
She snatched it up before he could reconsider and held it up over her head. He watched its descent and grabbed her wrist an instant before she drove the blade into him.
“Aye, ye are his daughter,” he said, plucking his dirk from her fingers.
When her hand was free, she tried to strike him.
Without another word, he bent forward and curled his arm around her legs, then hefted her over his shoulder with a bounce that knocked the breath out of her.
“What are ye doing?” she cried out as he carried her home. “Put me down!”
“I told ye if ye struck me again, I will no’ let it go.”
“What are ye going to do?”
He was not sure yet, so he didn’t answer her.
She kicked her legs and pounded his back with her fists, but he carried her thusly to his front door. He entered and carried her to her room, dumped her on the bed and then left, locking her inside.
He left the house to go hunting for their next meal—that he would prepare. He heard her pounding on the door as he left the house, so he returned and called through her locked door that he was going hunting. He would return. She should stop all the pounding.
“What if ye dinna come back?” she called out, fear staining her voice. “What if ye are killed by a wild boar or mauled by a bear?”
“There are no boars in the Highlands. I will return,” he’d promised and left the house again.
Why had he not taken her to the nearest village? Then he could be rid of her once and for all. It was not too late. Mayhap after supper tonight…
Ye were told ye would never use that arm again. But ye will use it, and ye will show them all that ye can do whatever ye set yer mind to.
Something that had grown cold within him began to thaw. He pretended to not let it affect him, but as he entered the forest, he realized he was clutching his bow and arrow instead of his pistol. And he was clutching them with his left hand.
It made him smile, despite his best efforts to quit thinking of Miss Woodburn. She was helping him. He wouldn’t leave her, and he wouldn’t bring her anywhere else. He would strengthen his arm first and then go fight for King James and protect him from William of Orange.
The king needed him and finally…finally he might be able to fight. He raised his left arm in joyful victory then nocked his arrow and hid behind a rock to catch his supper.
Almost instantly, his arm grew tired, until holding the bow felt exhausting. He could not give up though. He didn’t have his pistol. He could go home and get it, but he would have to let Miss Woodburn out of her room or at least speak to her through her door again.
He was thinking of her and what he should do when a roe deer strolled through the trees and into Logan’s line of vision. It stopped to graze.
Did he have the strength to pull back on his bow? He had to. The deer meant no hunting for at least another sennight.
Keeping his eyes on the beast, he nocked his arrow and pulled back. He had to stop and try again. In that time, the deer heard him. It stopped eating and looked up, sniffing the air.
Logan didn’t breathe. He knew how to do this. He used to be an excellent archer, trained by Jamie’s father, Lochaber’s most skilled archer, Lachlan Cameron.
Slowly, he raised his arm again and nocked his arrow to the string, then held it up parallel to his shoulder.
Using all his strength and force of will, he drew the string back to the curve of his jawline.
With breath still held, he aimed, aligning the arrow with the target.
When he had it perfectly aligned, the deer looked straight at him.
Logan released the arrow. It sailed into the deer as the beast fell to the earth.
Exhausted, Logan sat back against the rock and took a moment to go collect his kill.
He did it. He closed his eyes and smiled, finally letting himself take a cleansing breath. He looked down at his left arm, his fingers loose on the bow.
She helped him do in one day what he could not do in six years, just by reminding him to use his arm, not just in trying to use it for fighting, but for everyday, non-vital things.
He laughed at the ridiculousness of it. All his practice wasn’t for nothing; it had made his arm strong enough to begin doing what his head told it to do.
Now, it was just a matter of time before he could rejoin the king’s army.
He had Miss Woodburn to thank. He forgave her for slapping him and would prepare a lavish supper for her.
He hoped, on his way home, pulling the deer by a rope behind him, he hoped that mayhap, he could heal her heart the way she healed his thoughts and his arm.
At least then, he could eat what she prepared and not worry about her poisoning his food.
When he reached the house, he saw his cousin’s three horses grazing with his in the wooden gated-off section in the glen.
He dragged the deer to the back of the house, to the butchering station he’d built a few years back, along with a meat drying shop against the kitchen wall.
It was a perfect place to store the meat. It locked and only he had the key.
Locking up the deer until he could butcher it, he entered the house through the Main Hall back door.
He found Jamie rummaging through a bag of apples. When he heard his cousin, he looked up and grinned. “Logan! ’Tis good to see ye alive. We worried about ye and asked the lass where ye were. She told us…Logan?”
Logan hurried to the door to her room. It was open. He went to the sitting room and found her sitting. She appeared afraid when she saw him.
“Yer cousins let me out.”
“Where are they?”
Entering the sitting room next, Jamie answered. “Ewen and Steafan went to check her story that ye went huntin’.”
“Did ye eat anythin’?” Logan was quick to ask him. If she poisoned Jamie, Logan would never let it go.
His cousin shook his head. “There is nothin’ here to eat.”
Relieved, Logan tossed him the key to the shop. “I killed a deer. Would ye butcher it fer me?”
Jamie smiled and nodded at him and then left them alone.
“Ye killed a deer?” He heard her dulcet voice behind him. “I didna hear the pistol.”
He turned to her and every fear he had about her trying to kill him and his kin vanished at the sight of her smile on him—and his bow hanging from his shoulder.
“I knew ye could do it.”
He breathed. Barely. “The effort was great. Mayhap, greater than anything I have ever felt before.”
“All the more accolades to ye then, future Lochiel of Lochaber,” she said. “If ye will allow me, tomorrow we shall practice with a sling.”
“A sling?”
“Aye, it takes much control to use one.”
He walked closer to her. Was that a feather caught in her tangles? He lifted his right hand to it and smiled at her. “A feather…”
“Remove it with yer left hand.”