An older villager pushed to the front, face red, hands shaking with fury. Logan didn’t need to look twice to know he was the girl’s father.
“That bastard did something horrible,” the man spat, jabbing a finger toward the boy. “He took me daughter out to the next village. There must be blood for it. Mine or his. I willnae have me name dragged through the mud.”
The sailors on Logan’s side bristled at his tone, and one of them laughed outright.
“She went with him,” another called, nodding toward the girl. “The only thing he is guilty of is having better luck than ye did, old man.”
A series of snorts and sharp chuckles rippled through the pirates as the girl flushed. She didn’t deny it, though, and Logan noticed the way her fingers twitched toward the boy’s hand and then curled back.
The boy spoke up next, his voice cracking once but steady enough. “I didnae force her, me Laird. She came of her own will. I never laid a hand on her without her permission.”
“Lies,” the father snarled. “Ye are pirates. Ye take what ye want. Ye think ye can touch a Highland lass and walk away whole? He dies, or there will be nay peace.”
A roar of agreement came from the villagers behind him.
On the far side, Pete shifted, folding his arms across his chest. “Ye lay a finger on the lad,” he called back, “and we show ye what real peace looks like. Ye cannae gut one of ours and expect us to clap for it.”
Suddenly, weapons were unsheathed, and a few blades caught the sun.
Logan felt the balance slip. It would not take much. A shove, a spit, one man stepping too far, and the whole thing would go downhill. He moved forward, putting himself in the middle.
“Enough,” he barked, voice carrying over both sides.
For a heartbeat, they listened, then the noise rose again, louder.
“Justice.”
“Blood.”
“Pirate scum.”
“Highland hypocrites.”
The girl’s eyes darted to him, wide now, while the boy kept his shoulders straight. His knuckles were white on the hilt of his dagger.
Logan quickly considered his options. If he gave the villagers the boy, he would lose his men. If he shielded the boy and gave nothing, the villagers would rebel. The clan already doubted a pirate laird. A spark here would burn straight to the castle walls.
His hand had just settled on his dagger when another sound cut through the screams like a blade.
“No!”
For a second, there was silence. Then, as the people came to their senses, every head turned.
Emma had stepped forward from where he had left her. She stood between him and the villagers, her hair catching the sun. Her chin was high, and her hands were at her sides, curling into her gown.
The villagers stared at her, and the pirates looked her up and down with open interest. Pete’s mouth quirked into a half-smile.
Emma did not flinch.
“There will be no blood,” she declared. Her voice was not loud, but it carried. “Not today.”
The father glared at her. “This isnae yer land, lass. Ye daenae ken what honor costs us.”
Emma’s gaze did not waver. “Honor does not come from killing boys for kissing girls who wish to be kissed.”
A ripple of laughter came from the pirates. The villagers bristled.
She held up a hand, as if she had done this all her life. “You want justice?” She turned her head so she spoke to both. “Fine. Then let us see who is stronger without spilling a drop.”
