Faith wanted him, he knew it. She felt what he felt. He dared not say what it was, but it was, at the very least worth investigating.
Taking the main road instead of the path around Loch Fyne, Logan began reciting what he would say to her in his head. She would argue, he was sure, but it didn’t matter. He would simply present the situation to her in a way that would—
BANG!
Logan dropped his head instinctively as a shot rang out around him, a flock of blackbirds scattering from the trees. His horse neighed at the loud sound, breaking into a gallop when Logan reined up, turning back.
A hunter, no doubt, who had drifted too far south. But as he searched the dark woods that lined the northern edge of the road, Logan felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise.
BANG!
A bullet whizzed past his ear, and his horse started once more. This was no accidental misfire. Someone was shooting at him on purpose.
Turning quickly, Logan kicked his horse. They took off just as another loud bang sounded behind them. The horse’s hooves must have kicked up some rocks, for Logan felt a spatter of weight against his leg as another shot let loose.
Heart racing as he rode at a breakneck speed, Logan’s mind went completely blank, his entire focus trained on a single resolution: Get away. He might have gone after the culprit if he had been able to spot him, but the thicket had been impenetrable, and he had no doubt that whoever was trying to kill him had been nestled in the thick bramble.
Who would want to kill him? His mind reeled with possibilities, but he was sure he had never wronged anyone so much that it would inspire someone to commit murder.
He raced away as fast as he could, soon realizing that the shooter must not be on horseback, because no one followed in pursuit. But that didn’t stop him. He rode fast and hard to Lismore Hall, arriving just as Graham exited the house.
His friend gave him a questioning expression as he came down the steps. A footman appeared, taking Logan’s reins.
“Logan,” Graham said, concerned. “What are you doing here?”
“Someone’s shot at me.”
Graham’s gait stalled.
“Excuse me?”
Logan came off his horse swiftly, fixing his jacket as he did.
“I was shot at. Three times on my way here. On purpose.”
“Are you sure?” Graham asked. “It could have been a lost hunter, or a—”
“No. It was intentional. I swear it.”
“Come in and tell me more,” Graham said, twisting around. “I was just on my way to Glencoe, but it can wait.”
“I don’t wish to disrupt your day,” Logan said. “Besides, the magistrate needs to be informed there’s a mad man loose. I would appreciate it if you saw to it that the proper authorities be informed.”
Graham nodded.
“Of course.”
“Thank you. Now to attend to what I had planned to do today.”
“What is that?”
“I’ve come for an audience with Faith.”
Graham, who had been walking side by side with Logan, paused as he entered the house. Graham didn’t follow him in, Logan was sure he heard a “Good God, why?” come from him.
The foyer of Lismore Hall was open and ancient. The dark paneled walls and flagstone floors harkened to an older time, unlike Harris House. Faith was undoubtedly in her room, but Logan wasn’t so forward as to knock down her bedroom door, so he went directly to Lady Belle’s study. The old woman was there, of course, sat at her desk with her faithful Andrews standing guard behind her.
She looked up and blinked, evidently flabbergasted to see him.
