He walked on, and the castle took him in with its old stones, its low fire, its bucket near the kitchen, where some task had not been finished. He recognized the patterns of the castle’s noise by now, and something about that felt immensely comforting. He liked the sound of a place that kept to its patterns.
On the floor above, out of his sight, she would be closing her door. He pictured her shawl draped over a chair, the pin laid next to a comb, the bed turned back with a sprig of rosemary he had smelled on her skin when he kissed her.
Focus, Logan.
He crossed the small hall and put his hand on the door of the room where David kept the ledgers. He would work a little more tonight so that the day after the wedding would not break under the weight of tasks. He would leave after that, when the walls were secured and the watches trained. He would return with what a laird was meant to bring.
He did not look back again. He had learned at sea that a man who glanced over his shoulder too often lost the line in front of him. He kept his eyes on the work and tried to tell himself that the shape of his life did not have to bend foranyperson.
Not even his bride.
8
Logan woke up slowly the next morning, his eyes settling on the ceiling. The room still held the heat from the previous night, and the fire had burned down to embers.
He closed his eyes again. Thoughts of the previous night followed, then broke and went straight toher.
Emma’s lips under his in the dark.
The way she had answered without pulling back.
The soft give of her lips.
The quiet sound she had made before catching herself.
He could almost smell the scent of her hair, clean and warm. Arousal followed quicker than he could imagine, and before he knew it, heat gathered between his legs, low and insistent.
He shifted under the covers and found no comfort. Instead, the ache only sharpened. He had kissed women before. He had put his hands on bodies and taken what was offered and left them both content enough.
This was different.
This had a pull that felt like it wouldn’t be argued with, a clear line that led straight back to a woman who would not bow to his commands without reason. He threw his forearm over his eyes and tried counting his breaths, but it did nothing.
Christ.
His thoughts circled back to where her fingers had curled in his coat, the slight tremor that had run through her when he had pulled her closer. His mind took that kiss and built more around it. Emma beneath him and against the tree.
He imagined her thighs parting for him and the sound she might make if he touched her the way he would as her husband. His body answered like the fantasy was real, like she was standing beside the bed now instead of sleeping in her chamber.
He swore under his breath, already hard, already bothered just by the image.
He pictured her beneath him, moaning into his ear and taking him into her.
At that moment, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
He froze, feeling every muscle lock.
He didn’t have time to respond. The lock turned three beats later, and the door creaked open. He dragged the blanket higher and sat up like he was just waking up.
“Morning, me Laird,” David greeted, cheerful and careful at once, a smile on his face. “A good day for a wedding.”
“It is an arrangement, David,” Logan reminded him. “Ye should ken better.”
David’s smile flattened. “Aye. I beg yer pardon.”
He did not flee. He stood at ease near the door with the tidy calm of a man who had seen worse mornings and kept his feet.
“I saw ye and Lady Emma come in from the woods last night,” he said after a beat. “I thought to ask if all is well.”
