22
Afew hours later, Emma carried the cat as far as the top of the stairs, the footmen right behind her with a giant chest of drawers.The catr had fallen asleep against her by then, soft and heavy for something so small. Its claws kept catching on the front of her dress when she got to Logan’s door.
She stopped and looked down at the bundle of fur.
“Well, Lord Whiskerfield, you cannot come into the room with me,” she murmured. “I cannot let you see the fight that would most definitely ensue.”
She looked around and spotted a low bench against the wall, with a folded cloak on it. She set the cat carefully on the cloak. It blinked once, curled itself into a tighter ball, and went straight back to sleep.
Emma stroked a hand over its back. “Good kitty,” she cooed. “Try not to make me regret keeping you, do you understand?”
The two footmen waited a few paces away with the chest on the cart, trying not to stare at the Laird’s door as if it might bite them.
“Ready, me Lady?” the taller one asked.
“Yes,” Emma said.
The warmth of the cat lingered on her fingers. She curled them into her palms and pushed the door open.
Logan’s chamber smelled of smoke and wool. His bed was a mess, blankets thrown aside. One boot lay upside down near the fireplace, as if he had kicked it off and decided that was far enough. A shirt hung over the back of a chair, still wet from washing.
Steam slipped from the half-open door at the far end.
“Bring the chest in,” Emma ordered. “Set it near that wall. His chest can be moved later, but I prefer my things where I can reach them.”
They rolled the cart forward, wheels rumbling over the stone. She walked toward the steam.
The bathing chamber was lit by a few candles near the floor, and the light turned the water in the tub golden. Logan lay in it, arms stretched along the rim, head tipped back. His hair was slicked back from his face, and his eyes were closed.
For a moment, she simply watched.
Oh.
There was a strip of cloth on his side, pale against his skin. Water slid over his chest, traced the rise of muscle and the dip of old scars, then broke at the edge of the bandage. His knees poked out of the surface, solid and easy, as if the tub had been built for him.
Emma’s throat went tight.
She knocked her knuckles lightly against the doorframe. “Good morning,” she said. “I thought you would be preparing for your journey to the shore by now.”
His eyes opened, and they went straight to her face, then past her shoulder to the shadows of the footmen, then back.
“What are ye doing here?” he asked.
“I am moving in,” she announced. “These are my chambers as well. I am tired of sleeping down the corridor as if I am visiting an uncle for the summer.”
“Aye,” he said slowly. “And ye brought a small army to help.”
“It is just two men and a chest.” She shrugged. “Hardly an invasion. I am hanging tapestries here. The walls are miserable.”
“Emma—”
“I am thinking lilac above the bed. Or soft green, whichever works better against the light. Your chest, of course, will be moved to the far wall. Mine is being moved to this one. I like the light from that window.”
Behind her, a footman cleared his throat, trying to make himself invisible.
Logan did not look away from her. “Ye are giving orders in me room while I am naked in a tub.”
“What was the alternative?” Emma asked. “Wait till you were gone?”
