Pete turned, looking almost pleased. “There he is. The Laird. Or should I say, thetraitor?”
David and the others fanned out to the edge of the trees, waiting on Logan’s word.
Pete lifted his dagger slightly, not quite touching Emma’s throat. “Ye left us, Captain. Took yer fine title, trimmed yer beard, danced with villagers. Hell, ye killed one of yer own men for the sake of an English lass. That is nae how a crew lives.”
Emma’s eyes landed on Logan, and the fear in them tugged at his heart.
“I didnae leave ye,” he said. “I brought ye into safe harbor. Gave ye a roof over yer head, gave ye work.” He nodded to the dagger, the rope, the mark at her neck. “And this is how ye repay me?”
Pete spat in the dirt. “Ye chose them over us. There is only one law for that.”
“Daenae speak to me oflaw,” Logan growled.
Pete smiled, thin and wild. “The sea owns ye, whether ye like it or nae. She is only the hook. And tonight, I will destroy it.”
Logan didn’t wait to hear anything more. He just closed the space between them in a breath.
Pete swung, or at leasttriedto swing, his blade flashing in the firelight, but Logan had already knocked his arm aside. They grappled once, boots sliding on the fallen leaves, breaths hot.
“Like it or nae, we are family, Logan. She is the stranger.”
“Family doesnae go near mewife!”Logan snarled.
With those words, his dagger found its mark. He drove it straight into Pete’s ribs, tearing through skin and organs.
For a minute, Pete froze, blood spilling from his lips.
“Nae even if family is ye,” Logan whispered.
Pete coughed, the blood now spurting out of his mouth, and collapsed on the ground, the sound swallowed by the leaves.
Silence followed.
Logan did not look at Pete again. He went to Emma.
The rope around her wrists held for a moment, then gave. She immediately sagged against his chest, burying her face in his neck.
His hands shook once, and he clenched them until they stilled.
“Ye are fine,” he murmured into her hair. “Ye are safe now.”
Her fingers curled weakly into his shirt.
David stepped forward. “Me Laird, shall we carry her, or…”
“I will.” Logan slid one arm beneath her knees, lifted her as if she weighed nothing, then turned so they faced away from Pete’s corpse. “Clean this up. Nay one finds out until after the festival.”
The men nodded.
He carried her through the trees and back toward the faint glow of the castle. In his chamber, he laid her on his bed and sent everyone away. A healer came, checked the shallow cut and the bruises forming on her wrists, then left them with salve and some instructions.
It took a couple of hours, but eventually, Emma stirred. Her eyes opened slowly and went straight to his face.
“Are ye hurt?” she whispered.
Of all the questions, that was the first one she asked.
“Nay,” he replied. “It isnae me ye should worry about.”
