Logan followed, sliding in behind her. His body filled the space at her back, and she settled against him without a word. His hands ran up and down her arms, slow at first, then more carefully. He felt her shoulders relax when he dipped his head and kissed the damp line of her neck.
“Logan,” she murmured, meaning to make him stop.
“Aye,” he said against her skin.
A while later, Emma pulled away and rose from the tub in one swift motion. Water streamed off her as she snatched the towel, wrapped it tightly, and crossed back into the room without looking at him. The small curve at the corner of her mouth gave her away.
Logan stayed in the water a moment longer, eyes shut, breathing slowly. He was still there when a hard knock sounded at the outer door.
“Of course,” he muttered.
He climbed out, wrapped a towel around his waist, and crossed through the steam. Emma was already dressing, back turned, fingers quick on the laces of her gown.
Logan opened the door a crack.
Pete stood there, hat in hand, eyes bright with trouble.“Ye are late,” he said. “They are gathering already.”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “Who is?”
“Villagers. Some lads from the ship.” Pete glanced past him, caught Emma, and sketched a low bow. “Me Lady.”
Emma turned, smoothing her bodice. “Gathering for what?”
Logan stepped into the doorway, one hand braced on the frame. “I called a meeting. Pirates and villagers. They want blood for the last few troubles.”
Emma’s eyebrows drew together. “That will go badly.”
“Aye,” Logan said. “It will.”
She lifted her chin. “Then I am coming.”
“Nay.” The word came out sharp. “After what happened last night, I daenae ken if ye can see more. Ye ride back to the castle. Let me handle it.”
Emma laughed, open and disbelieving. “You think I will sit in a quiet room while you face a mob. No. I am coming.”
Logan looked her over and saw the answer on her face. Arguing would only waste time.
He gave a short shrug. “Suits ye. Stay close.”
A few minutes later, they were on their way to the village. For some reason, the road felt shorter than it should have. Logan rode with Emma beside him, dust rising softly under them. The closer they came, the clearer the noise grew.
He had heard that sound in ports from here to the other part of the sea. He recognized it at once. It was noise from people clamoring for justice, when what they really wanted was blood.
Soon, they crested a rise that gave them a view of the commotion, and Logan immediately noticed that the people had split themselves into two groups.
On one side, the villagers stood tight together, jaws hard. On the other side, his men were scattered in a loose line. Pirates never bunched unless they meant to charge.
Great.
Logan swung down from his horse and handed the reins off without looking. Emma dismounted on her side. He checked that she landed firmly before he stepped forward. The air between the two groups was as tight as anything.
In the space at the center stood the heart of the problem.
There was a girl with her chin up and skin pale as milk, and a young sailor, barely grown, standing close enough that his sleeve brushed hers.
Logan knew the look on both their faces. Fear sitting on stubborn fondness. The kind that made fools out of men and saints out of cowards.
Love.
