Emma felt her mouth curl before she could stop it. “Did he?”
“Aye, me Lady.”
She turned back to the calf, smoothing a hand down her side to hide the satisfaction that flared in her chest. Of course, word would travel. Of course, David would send a tidy, careful report to his Laird.
Good.
Let Logan hear that his castle was full of animals. She could almost imagine him picturing guards building pens and a lady who refused to sit still in an empty hall.
If that did not bring him back home, she did not know what would.
18
The sound of loud screams dragged Logan from sleep.
He was upright before his eyes were fully open, hand already finding the knife beside the bunk, the other reaching for his shirt. Boots pounded overhead as voices cut through the boards, sharp with alarm.
“Boat off the port side!”
“Watch the hooks! Daenae let him escape!”
He inhaled sharply, his body coming straight to alert. They were under attack again.
He pulled his shirt over his head, shoved his feet into his boots, and slammed the cabin door open. The cold morning air hit him on the first step up.
It was way too early for the chaos unfolding before him. The sky was still a dark grey, with the sun nowhere to be found. Men were running toward the end of the ship, some half-dressed, some already with blades in hand.
“What is it?” Logan snapped.
Pete turned at the sound of his voice, jaw tight. “Caught a small boat trying to creep up on us. Thought ye might want to see the fool before we toss him back.”
Logan pushed through the knot of bodies to the rail. Below, a small boat bobbed hard against their ship, its rope snagged along the side. A lone figure clung to the rail, fingers white on the wood, clothes soaked through. He looked more like a drowned rat than a threat.
Wait.
Logan narrowed his eyes. Something about that figure looked familiar. Recognition hit him when the figure looked up and bright lantern light settled on his face.
“Jack?” he said.
The man’s eyes widened, and relief flashed across his face. “Me Laird.”
Pete moved a fraction closer to Logan’s shoulder, wary. “Ye ken him?”
Jack answered first, breath coming in ragged bursts. “Aye. I am one of the guards back at the castle.”
Logan swept his gaze over the deck. The men still surrounded him, their weapons drawn, waiting for a word.
“Lower yer weapons,” he called. “This one is ours.”
There was a murmur of confusion, but soon, steel went down. Men stepped back a half pace, while Logan planted a boot on the lower rail, leaned over, and grabbed Jack’s forearm. The man’s skin felt like ice, but Logan pulled anyway, using his weight.
Jack scraped against the side of the ship, then came over the rail and hit the deck on his knees. He was shaking from what Logan could only imagine to be fear and exhaustion. His lips had gone pale. He tried to stand, failed, and caught himself on one hand.
“How long have ye been on that boat?” Pete asked.
“Long enough,” Jack managed.
“Get him up,” Logan said. “Ye, find him dry clothes. Ye, get him blankets. Someone bring hot broth, nae rum. He needs heat, nae cold.”
