Faith heard the footmen’s carriage pull away as a sinking dread settled in her heart. Was Logan injured? Looking behind her, she knew she could get through the forest and to Loch Fyne in minutes. Turning back to the dog, she made a decision. It might be reckless, but then she didn’t much care at that moment. Graham wasn’t home, and she refused to endanger either of her sisters. If she alerted anyone else to her plan, such as a servant or groom, they might try to convince her to stay put, so she decided it would be best to go alone.
“Where’s Logan, boy?” she asked, and the dog’s head perked up. “Where is he? Can you lead me to him?”
Jaco barked once, then again before taking off around the garden’s stone wall toward a grove of pine trees that edged the loch’s eastern shore.
Faith gathered her skirts into her hands without looking back and took off running after him.
Chapter Nineteen
Logan stared acrossthe small, dirty cottage at a man he had long believed dead. Never in his life would he have guessed that Duncan Carlyle was alive. Even as he stared at this shadow of a man, thin and gaunt faced, a part of Logan was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him. How could he be here? And why was he so hell-bent on killing him?
Well, that at least was to be expected. Logan had abandoned him in the jungle, and now, apparently, he was back to exact his revenge. Guilt had been Logan’s constant companion these years since his return from Burma. But now Duncan was back, and everything in the world seemed to flip onto its side.
Logan stared into the bloodshot eyes of a man he had once considered a dear friend, and curiosity got the better of him.
“How are you here, Duncan?” Logan asked. “What happened to you?”
A bitter sound escaped the man’s chest. He spat on the floor but kept his unnerving, cool glare on Logan.
“I’m guessing you never thought you’d see me again.
“No. I thought you were dead.”
“Well, sorry to ruin your day,” he said, clicking the gun back. “But some fools just can’t stay dead.”
Logan shook his head, not sure what he meant.
“Duncan, I never wanted you to die. If you knew what hell I’ve been through since that day—”
“What hellyou’vebeen through?” Duncan shouted, cutting Logan off. “I should love for you to know one day ofmyhell.”
Logan nodded, aware that he had no right to compare their experiences.
“Then tell me, Duncan. What happened?”
“Well, I was shot, wasn’t I? But I think you remember that, don’t you?” he asked, his tone acrimonious.
“I do,” Logan said slowly. “You had come up from below deck. You had been sick.”
“I was still sick,” he barked. “Sick as the devil on ice. My head… throbbed,” he said, his eyes shifting as the memory came over him. “And I couldn’t see, couldn’t think. I was on death’s doorstep, I was. Then, by the grace of God, I was shot. And you know what? I was grateful. Grateful to finally have a release from the pain and the damn drumbeat in my mind.”
Duncan’s free hand reached the side of his head, and he pressed it into his temple as if still experiencing the pain. Logan’s eyes shifted around the room, searching for anything he could throw at the man to knock the gun out of Duncan’s hand, but only a few chairs and torn blankets lay scattered about—none close enough for him to reach.
“I was so sure of death, that when I awoke, I was convinced I was in hell. The heat was unbearable. It was as if someone had tossed me into a fire. I later learned that my fever had returned, due to an infection this time. Supposedly, I was bedridden for six or so months.”
“You don’t know how long it was?”
“I was a prisoner,” he snapped. “No one told me anything. They only kept me alive as collateral, but a poor Highlander doesn’t pay much ransom. When the war finally ended, they kicked me out of the town without anything. It took me weeks of walking through the jungle to find a port and then another month or so to work for passage to Australia.”
“Australia?” Logan said. “Why?”
“Because passage to Britian was too expensive and I was weak. I couldn’t work as fast as I had before the fever and I had to sleep along the wooden boxes and crates that lined the docks. By the time I reached Australia, I was flea-infested and half my former size.”
That was true. Duncan had always been a mountain of a man, but he was now rail thin, with sunken cheeks and dark circles around his eyes.
“But why didn’t you inform someone of your rank and troop? As a prisoner of war, surely the British government would have found you passage home.”
Duncan laughed.
