Athick, grayfog engulfed a sweat-slick Logan while hazy flashes of British canon fire and echoes of Burmese rifles echoed around him. He had been trapped in this dream a thousand times, but it felt as visceral and as terrifying as the actual day every time.
The vessel that had taken him and the other troops up the Rangoon River, a vessel called theMedusa, had run aground. While half the men had been dispatched to try and figure out how to get their ship free, the others had been dictated to watch for the enemy, as their presence was heavy in this part of the jungle.
The heat and humidity had taken its toll on a handful of troops, including Duncan Carlyle. He had been below deck, suffering from the strange fever that swept over nearly half of the soldiers. He had just come topside and called out to Logan, who turned to face him.
“Duncan, what the devil are you doing out of bed?” Logan asked in a mocking sort of way.
While he had been concerned for his friend’s well-being, the jungles during a war were hardly a place for pampering someone back to health. If Duncan was up and walking, he was likely well enough to fight. After having been down for nearly a month, it was obvious that he was finally ready to escape the sickroom.
“I can’t stand it in there anymore,” Duncan answered, coming up the railing. He placed his elbows on the wood. “I swear, every time I started to feel better, I’d just contractsomething new from one of the other men. It’s a rolling stone, down there, isn’t it? Recovery and reinfection, over and over again.” He shook his head looking into the dense jungle. “I’ve a better chance topside.”
“Well, if you’re feeling better, I won’t stop you. Although, Jeanne will have me quartered if you end up catching some sort of pox that might scar that ugly face of yours,” Logan said with a smirk.
That made Duncan smile.
“Jealous that I’ve such a pretty wife and you’re stuck cuddling sheep back home?” he teased.
“It’s not sheep I keep company with.”
“Oh no, that’s right,” Duncan said, with a jovial nod. “It’s cattle.”
Logan had nearly quipped back when the first blast happened. Everyone dunked their heads as chaos erupted all around them. He looked up to his side after a second, wondering why Duncan hadn’t dropped when he saw blood spurting from his shoulder as his body tipped. Standing up, Logan tried to grab him, but Duncan was already swinging back. He grabbed at Logan’s collar, snapping the leather strap that held the small, circular amber charm that his sister had given him before he left Scotland. An instant later, Duncan fell over the ship’s railing before Logan could stop him.
Jolted awake and drenched in sweat, Logan’s eyes opened wide in the darkness. The gentle growl of Jaco reverberated through the room as his heart raced. He tried to swallow, but he found it difficult. Pushing back the covers, he launched himself off the side of the bed. Bare feet touched the ornate carpet that covered the wood floors as he crossed the room to a table, where a pewter pitcher of water sat. He poured himself a glass and gulped it down while Jaco’s head nudged at his hip. His hand dropped absently to the dog’s ears.
“It’s all right,” he said into the dark, more to himself than the dog. “It’s all right.”
Jaco whined, seemingly worried about his master. Walking toward the bedside table, Logan reached for a small, brown glass bottle and shook it. Empty. Dr. Hall had given him laudanum to help with his sleep, and while Logan didn’t like using it, he couldn’t deny that it helped him sleep. Unfortunately, he was all out.
Groaning, he turned, noting the faint gray light that shone through his window. Whether it was the moon or the early morning sun, he did not know, but he decided to get dressed. He would go to Glencoe that day to see if Dr. Barkley had any laudanum to give him as he tried to shake the nightmare from his body.
Once dressed, he went to the kitchens to find something to eat. Mrs. MacGregor always left him a plate of cheese, bread, and biscuits at the ready. After eating, he tossed a piece of cheese to Jaco and returned to his room. Usually, he would walk the halls, admiring the art pieces that took him away from his dreams, but lately, there was only one painting that could stave off the horrible memories of Burma.
Lighting several oil lamps in his room, he removed the sheet that hidOdalisque Reclined, sat on his bed with his back against the foot post, and observed the piece. Jaco turned in two wide circles and lay down at his feet. Faith’s spirited, come-hither facial expression seemed less playful tonight, and Logan was sure she was practically frowning at him. Obviously, he was seeing things, but the longer he looked at it, the more defensive he became.
“I don’t see why you’re so upset,” he murmured, causing the dog’s head to perk up. “It’s not as though I’ve hung it on display for the whole house.”
Jaco tilted his head, apparently confused.
“And now the dog thinks I’m losing my mind for talking to a painting,” he murmured, his eyes following the yellow velvet fabric painted over the curve of her hip. His jaw tightened. “If you’re going to be mad at anyone, it should be Donovan. I’m not the one who sold it. I would never, ever, sell a portrait of you. Not to anyone.”
No, he certainly wouldn’t. Besides the fact that it was close to a masterpiece, Logan had found that he had become rather possessive over this piece, even though the stillness of the painting unnerved him. In real life, Faith possessed endless facial expressions, sharp words, piercing glares, and a rather adorable smirk that would cross her face whenever she thought she outwitted someone. It had annoyed him a great deal at first, but now he found it appealing, if not downright erotic.
He wondered, not for the first time, if Faith had had a physical relationship with Donovan.Of course she had, he thought, ignoring the bitterness that rose in his throat. Though he hadn’t ever met the man except through their correspondence, Logan disliked him. No, he detested him. What sort of man had someone like Faith in his confidence and then betrayed her as he had? It was apparent when Logan told her about buying the painting that she had been stunned by the artist’s treachery. The expression on her face was one of heartbreak. The sort of look a tossed-aside lover might have.
It burned his insides to think that someone had hurt her. He wished he could demonstrate what a proper lover should be,couldbe to a woman like Faith. Although that was highly unlikely. Faith wasn’t in any rush to see him again, and he couldn’t blame her. She was mortified and likely would avoid him forever now. It was just as well. It was becoming too easy to be in her presence, and the added desire he had begun to feel toward her was undoubtedly as unrequited as it was unwelcome.It would be best to simply follow her lead. If she ignored him, he would do the same and save her from further embarrassment.
Still, he sat and looked at the painting for a long time. When the first streaks of true morning light finally entered his room, he got up, stretched, and covered it back up.
He left his room and found his way to the dining room, where he discovered his father dozing off in his seat and Arabella, her brow pinched with worry.
“Early day, today?” Logan inquired upon entering the room.
“Yes,” Arabella said, her voice scratchy, as though she hadn’t slept much. “Papa did not sleep well last night. I’m afraid he hasn’t slept well for the past several nights.”
“He’s not the only one,” Logan mumbled as he sat, nodding to the servant who poured him coffee while Arabella gave him a tense look. “What?”
“You needn’t be so cavalier about it.”
