Waiting for Logan to come back a different man would be foolish. The sea had taught him one way to be useful, and the clan seemed to have rewarded him for it. He would not change because his wife sat in a castle and wished for it.
Emma thought of the apothecary. Of Jenny’s steady hands. Of the villagers who warmed up to her because she knelt beside them. Fear masked as respect, respect masking fear. A laird who had made himself a shield and, in the same motion, a wall.
Isobel spoke again, pulling her out of her thoughts. “He will return, Emma. You must believe that. Healwaysdoes.”
“I am sure,” Emma said, and her voice surprised her. It sounded quiet.
She lifted her chin and met David’s gaze across the hall. He looked away at once, as if being caught watching her was an offense.
She saw the dynamic clearly now. Logan out at sea, David on land, Herself somewhere in between, expected to wait, to be kept, to be safe.
No.
She set her napkin down and straightened in her chair. “This will not do,” she said, mostly to herself.
Isobel frowned. “What willnae?”
“This,” Emma emphasized. “Him there. Me here. I know we are meant to live separate lives, but I simply cannot continue living like this.”
Isobel’s eyebrows rose in surprise at her boldness. “What would ye have instead?”
Emma looked toward the window, though night had already obscured the view. In her mind, she saw the shore Logan had ridden toward. The ship that would carry him. She knew that sitting still would suffocate her.
As quietly and as firmly as she could, she let the words settle between them.“I will bring him back.”
14
The sea woke Logan first.
He stood at the rail a few minutes later while the rest of the men still turned in their hammocks. The sky hung low and grey, and the wind ran steady along the sails. The ropes tied to the ship creaked in a rhythm he knew better than anything. This was the only bed he had ever trusted.
The ship rolled and settled, its hull slapping against the water. Every sound here made more sense than ever. A loose line, a shifting crate, the slap of waves against the hull.
He let his hand rest on the worn rail and watched the cold spread of the Highland coast in the distance. Smoke rose from some unseen village, thin and harmless against the sky. He could picture the castle beyond that strip of land if he chose.
He did not.
Boots thudded behind him as the first of the crew stumbled up, yawning and stretching. They gave him quick nods, sober even before their morning ale.
“Raise that sail a touch,” he commanded, gesturing to the lagging part of the ship. “She is dragging.”
“Aye, Captain,” one of the men answered, already moving.
The words sat right in his mouth.Lairdon land,Captainout here. For some reason, one title bit harder than the other.
The lookout’s call cut across the morning. “Sail. Starboard closing.”
Logan’s body moved before his mind had caught up. He stepped away from the rail and crossed the deck in two strides, eyes hunting the horizon. A dark smear against the grey, angled wrong for a fishing boat, too hungry in the way it came.
A pirate ship. It was approaching them fast.
Logan sighed. He used to come across one of these every few days when he lived at sea. He hadn’t even been here for two full days before he had a new encounter.
“All right, we need to be prepared. The ship may have anything on board, and we cannae try to catch up. Everyone, get yer bows ready.”
The men around him snapped to it, and soon, ropes flew. The hostile ship closed fast, and he saw the gleam of weapons along its rail, figures clustered, the greedy energy of men who thought they had found an easy mark.
“Shields up along the side,” he barked. “Archers ready. Nay one dies on the deck unless I choose it.”
