“Stay back,” Duncan said, his voice distraught and cracking.
“Stay back?” she repeated breathlessly. “Faodail, me?”
“Aye,” Duncan said, seething. “You.”
Logan spotted a half-burnt log sticking out of the fireplace. It might be enough to distract Duncan before he wrestled him to the ground. He looked back at Jeanne, who had tears in her eyes.
“Do you not recognize me?” she said, her hands reaching before pulling back. “It’s Jeanne.”
“I know you… And I know it wasn’t your fault,” Duncan said, glaring back at Logan. “He’s a predator, he is. No doubt he would have shot me himself eventually just to have you.”
She tilted her head, her brow creased as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ve been laying with this one,” Duncan said, pointing the gun at Logan for emphasis. “I know you have—there’s no use denying it.”
Jeanne’s eyes went wide.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve been watching it for weeks,” he snapped all his attention on Jeanne. “You can’t tell me otherwise. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”
Logan felt their precarious position become more dangerous. Jeanne’s breathing became short. Then, she scowled as her cheeks turned as red as her hair, and she took yet another step forward.
“Duncan Carlyle, what the devil is the matter with you?” she spoke hotly. “You dare accuse me of being unfaithful? Of lying? When you’ve been home for weeks without telling me? Withoutcoming to me or your family? And now you’re holding me and your best friend at gun point?”
“I…” The question seemed to stump him, as if he couldn’t quite connect the practicality of her words to the present situation. “I thought you might…” Duncan rubbed the butt of the gun against his temple, an expression of agony on his face. It was obvious that he was unwell.
“Thought I might what, Duncan?” Jeanne asked.
“That you might not like what I’ve become,” he said, looking at her. “I’ve done things… Terrible things, Jeanne.”
For a moment, the old Duncan was staring back at them. Jeanne had always been the only person ever who could scold Duncan into shame.
But that had been years ago. Duncan shook his head, unwilling to be spoken to this way. He lifted the gun a fraction, and Jeanne’s advance stalled.
“But I know what I saw!” he shouted, his pained tone echoing throughout the small cottage.
Logan knew that Duncan was unsettled, but Jeanne was visibly aggravated. She seemed unaware of how dangerous a man with a gun could be.
“I’ve not touched any man since you left, you daft fool,” she hissed, though she didn’t advance. “And may the devil take me if I’m lying.”
“It’s true, Duncan. Jeanne wasn’t the one wearing that cloak.”
“Cloak?” she repeated. “What… You mean, my cloak? I haven’t seen it in weeks. I thought I lost it.”
“That’s not true,” Duncan said, more to himself than to them. Both hands came up to the sides of his head, and he started hitting himself again. “You’re both lying.”
“My friend, you are not well,” Logan said with his hand outstretched, coming forward. “Put down the gun and let us take care of you.”
“If I put it down, you’ll just kill me,” he said, his eyes closing in obvious pain. “This blasted banging…”
“I should kill you for pointing that at me,” Jeanne said hotly.
“Jeanne,please,” Logan pleaded.
“What?” she said, frustrated. “He’d do better to turn it on himself, because when I get a hold of him, I—”
