Jeannie took the footwear and set it by the fire to dry. “Her feet, Logan,” she repeated, smiling at Rosamund. “Logan will have your poor little feet warm in no time at all. You must be ravenous. I will fetch you a plate myself.” She bustled off.
Her belly was even more evident now than it had been at the end of March, Rosamund thought glumly. Then she started as she felt his big hands enclosing one of her feet. “What are you doing?” she demanded, attempting to free her foot from his grasp.
“Warming your feet as my lady wife has instructed me, madame,” he said in bland tones, but the eyes looking up at her were filled with mischief.
He wanted her to argue with him, Rosamund realized. It would be useless, she knew, and so instead she said, “Very well, but be quick about it, Logan Hepburn. I am indeed frozen. Where is my family?”
“I assume they have eaten and gone to their beds, madame. It is late.” One big hand cupped her small foot while the other rubbed it gently. He couldn’t help but stare down at that foot as it nestled in his palm. It was a dainty foot, the skin soft and smooth. He had the most incredible longing to kiss it, which he forced back.
“I think you are actually beginning to succeed,” she remarked.
“Logan is the best foot warmer!” Jeannie said enthusiastically as she returned with a plate of food for her guest.
Rosamund took the plate and began to eat, but her appetite was not what it had once been. In fact, since she had arrived in Edinburgh to find Patrick so ill she had hardly eaten at all. Food had the tendency now to repel her rather than appeal to her. Still, for Jeannie’s sake she made the attempt.
Finally Jeannie reached over and took the plate from her. “I understand,” she said softly. “At least you got something down.”
Rosamund looked into the young woman’s face, seeing genuine sympathy and kindness. She felt the ever-present tears beginning to well in her eyes. She nodded at her hostess, but said nothing.
“Are her feet nicely warmed now?” Jeannie asked her husband.
“Aye,” he said, standing up again.
“Then fetch Rosamund some wine, Logan,” she commanded, and when he had gone off, she said, “I could see you wanted to cry, but would not before a man. I cannot even begin to imagine the sorrow you are suffering, Rosamund. I am truly sorry for it.”
Again Rosamund nodded, wordless. Then she turned away, gazing into the fire.
When Logan returned a few moments later with the requested goblet of wine, his wife stopped him with a hand, putting a finger to her lips.
“She has fallen asleep,” Jeannie said.
“I’ll carry her to her bed,” he replied.
“Nay,” Jeannie said. “You will wake her if you do, and then she will not sleep at all, Logan. Leave her by the fire. Her cloak is dry now. Cover her with it. She will sleep the night, I think. Let us to bed, husband.”
He nodded. “You go ahead, lass,” he told her. “I must be certain all is locked and barred.”
“Of course,” Jeannie answered him, and she left the hall.
Logan moved through his keep as he did every night before he retired. He checked the outer doors to make certain they were barred. He saw that the lamps were doused, the fires banked. Finally returning to the hall, he sat down opposite Rosamund. Her face was so familiar to him, for it was the face that haunted his dreams. He remembered the child he had first seen at that cattle fair in Drumfie those long years back. He had fallen in love with her then and there. Why was it that fate had conspired to keep them apart? He shook his head. Then, realizing his wife would wonder where he was, he arose and left her sleeping in his hall.
Rosamund was awake when he reentered the hall early the next morning. Awake and arguing with her hired captain-at-arms. “We still have another day’s ride!” he heard her say as he came upon them.
“Yer a madwoman, lady, and I’ll not go another step in yer company,” the captain said implacably. “You have almost killed my men and my horses with yer pace these past two days. Pay us what you owe us, and we will be on our way.”
“ ’Tis but another day’s travel,” Rosamund said. “You cannot expect three women and a single gentleman to travel these last miles without the company of men-at-arms. Today is the most dangerous part of our journey, for we are prey to both the Scots and the English as we go. You were hired to take us to Friarsgate!”
“Not another mile in yer company, lady,” the captain said. “Pay us now.”
“Pay him,” Logan said. “You can trust him no longer, madame. If you force the issue, he will wait until he is out of sight of Claven’s Carn, take his monies forcibly, and leave you stranded. My clansmen and I will escort you the rest of the way.”
For once Rosamund did not argue with Logan. She might have been grief-stricken, but she was no fool. His words made perfect sense to her. Reaching into her gown, she drew forth a leather bag of coins. Opening it, she emptied a third of the coins into her hand, stuffing them into a pocket. Then, drawing the bag shut, she tossed it to the captain. “You were hired to take me to Friarsgate, not Claven’s Carn. I have paid you for the distance you traveled with me. Now, take your men and get out of my sight!”
With a curt nod to the laird, the captain walked quickly from the hall.
“I do not like being indebted to you, Logan Hepburn,” Rosamund said.
“You are not,” he replied. “You are my nearest neighbor for all you are English. I would be a bad neighbor if I did not escort you to Friarsgate under the circumstances.”
