“Come,” he said.
Murmurs all around them came in small threads that clung to the thrumming music. Emma felt heat rise to her face, then pressed it down.
“Logan,” she said quietly. “I was speaking to people.”
He did not answer. He led her through the gap between tables toward the corridor. The hand that held hers did not tighten or tug. It simply did not let go.
She matched his pace to keep her dignity, and the movement carried them past a knot of older women who lowered their heads together and whispered. A young man grinned and bit it back when his companion nudged him. The pipes shifted into a gentler tune as they reached the arch.
They cleared the threshold, and the sound softened to a pulse behind them. The stone walls took the heat out of the air as she pulled her hand free and turned to face him.
“What in God’s name was that?” she asked.
“I daenae like other men touching ye,” he said, the words clipped.
She gaped at him, as if he had just said the strangest thing. “What?”
“Ye’re me wife, ye should act like it.”
Emma pressed her palm against her forehead. “Logan, do you hear yourself right now?”
“Clearly.”
“You dragged me out of the party because you did not want to share your wife.”
He fixed her with a look that seemed to say,Get to the point.
“You could not wait to say so when we are alone?” she huffed. “Instead, you chose to turn me into a spectacle?”
His jaw tightened. “Ye were in the middle of the hall with his hands on ye.”
“He wasteachingme the steps,” she emphasized. “Asyouapproved.”
“I nodded because I thought it was…” he trailed off. “I didnae nod to watch him spin ye until yer hair fell loose.”
“Then learn the steps and dance with me,” she said. “If you do not, someone else will.”
His voice rose. “Nay one needs to touch ye to be decent.”
“And no one needs to parade me through a hall like a prize,” she shot back, before she could stop herself. “But I suppose we cannot both get what we want now, can we?”
The scuff of boots sounded behind them. A maid rounded the corner with an empty tray and dipped into a neat curtsey. “Me Lady. Me Laird.”
Emma felt the sharp wrongness of the words. The corridor had carried their voices, despite the music. The hall was ten steps away. People would hear what they wanted, and the last thing she needed was another rumor.
Logan looked past her toward the arch, as if debating how much had been heard. He blew out a breath. “I am going to retire.”
“No,” Emma said.
His eyebrows flew up. “What?”
“You are not escaping this. Not tonight.”
“I am nae escaping,” he protested. “I am stepping away before we make a scene.”
“We already did,” she pointed out. “You dragged me out of the hall while holding my hand like a leash. You may think that is nothing. I do not.”
His mouth flattened. He glanced again toward the hall. “Emma…”
