The rain was still pouring down, and Logan folded his arms across his chest. His clothes were already soaked, and the wind that came along with the rain chilled him. He whistled for Jaco, hoping the dog would return soon.
The wind had been fiercer that morning than usual, which was why Logan and Jaco had ended up on this side of the loch. The fishing gear had gotten tangled after only a few casts, and as the clouds rolled over, threatening his already dark mood with rain, he had gotten lost in a fit of frustration.
Only to be brought out of it by a woman who set his teeth on edge.
Just thinking about Faith made him irrationally irritated. Her personality was her greatest fault, but being English didn’t help either. Thanks to his English mother who abandoned him and his family shortly after his sister’s birth, he detested the English. And Faith was the definition of an English lady. Self-important, self-righteous, with a conceit that tried his nerves. He had disliked her from the moment he first laid eyes on her.
Or at least, heshouldhave disliked her at first glance. The truth was rather more uncomfortable to admit. The very first time he saw Faith had been at a clan banquet. She stood out from her sisters, dressed in a silver gown that had so much beadwork she practically shined like a hundred stars. Her curly hair was only a shade or two lighter than her sisters’, but her green eyes and arched brows had caused an unwelcome stirring in his stomach. She was pretty, far prettier than any woman he had ever seen before—but then she spoke, and the fact that she was English had promptly turned him sour against her. The beauty that had charmed him a moment ago only repelled him after that. He was sure she was proud of her beauty, and that that pride fed her arrogance.
Just then, Jaco’s bark echoed through the rain and in the next instant, he appeared beneath the crest of the hill let led into a pine tree grove. He stalled a moment before spotting his master, after which he ran straight to Logan. Jumping up, he searched for affection as his reward for a job well done. Logan grinned in spite of himself and tussled his head back and forth.
“Yes, yes. Good boy. And I know. She’s not the nicest person, is she?”
The dog whimpered and dropped back to his hind legs. He tilted his head as if questioning Logan.
“Do you disagree? Surely not.”
The dog whimpered again.
“Look here, I’m not having another conversation with you. I’ll be sent off to the city’s Parrish Asylum.”
Jaco barked twice and then moved around Logan down to the boat.
“Oh no. It’s too dangerous to row back in this weather. We’ll have to walk.”
Feeling confident that the long walk home would aid in his sleep that evening, Logan left his fishing supplies in the dingy and began walking along the southwestern shore. The rain had let up somewhat, coming down in a drizzle. As he walked, his mind began to wander. Had Faith seen him during his bout of anxiety? He hoped not. No doubt in her dislike for him, she would tell everyone she met what she’d seen.
The whole English lot wasn’t to be trusted.
But then he knew he wasn’t to be trusted either.
No. No, he didn’t need to let his thoughts turn down that dark path. Instead, he tried to focus on anything else. His drenched clothes, for one. That should have been distraction enough, except that he could still feel the weight of Faith’s body pressed against his. As he’d guided her out of the frigid waters, the softness of her waist and the flare of her hips beneath his hands had caused him to consider what the rest of her body might feel like under his hands.
Logan stopped and shook his head.
What the devil was wrong with him? He didn’t even like the sharp-tongued woman. He certainly wouldn’t entertain fantasies about her.
Deciding to hum a Bothy ballad to keep his mind from wandering, he continued his walk, whistling the high parts loudly as he went. Soon, he was in his familiar part of the world, where he had played as a child and where he had built his home not five years ago.
Harris House had been built in a Gothic Revival style, with Scottish red granite; it had four turrets, large oval peaked windows, and a three-story, blackwood greenhouse built on the right side of the house. A peculiar feature but one his sister had asked for when he had first been gifted the land by the Crown in return for services during the war. He had shied away from the spoils granted to him for some time, mainly because he felt like he hadn’t earned them, but his father had convinced him that it wouldn’t do anyone any good if Logan turned his back on his fortune out of spite. The war was over and there was no changing the past. It still took Logan some time to accept that—especially since he hadn’t been able to bring every soldier home.
Duncan’s bloody face flashed in his mind, causing him to stall. Logan took a deep breath and forced the memory away.Not today. Not again.
Sighing, he continued walking up the slight incline of the hill that overlooked the loch. Harris House stood nearly a field back, flanked by pines. To Logan’s surprise, a carriage stood before the front entrance of his home, and several servants seemed to be struggling with a large, square package wrapped in brown paper and twine. His sister stood off to the side dressed in a heavy cloak. Upon seeing Logan, she waved her hand. He waved back, grinning his first genuine grin all morning.
It seemed his painting had finally arrived from Paris.
Long strides carried him across the lawn as his sister came forward.
“There you are,” Arabella said, her blonde hair covered with a lace cap. “I was wondering what took you so long.”
“The rain made it unsafe to cross in the boat. I had to walk,” he said, coming forward. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Another one of your paintings?” she mused. “I suppose. It’s quite large though, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
“What’s the subject of this one? Another equine?”
