“I cannae travel?”
The maid nodded. “Nae unless ye want to risk a deadly infection.”
He stood up when she finished. “Isobel, send for David.”
David came, hair damp with sweat. He took in the cut, the cloth, the way Logan stood, but did not comment.
“Pick a man ye trust,” Logan instructed. “Send him south with a letter and enough money. He needs to ride to London.”
David’s eyes flicked to Isobel and back to him. “To yer bride?”
“Aye,” Logan said. “Emma Huntington.”
Two Weeks Later
The wound across his ribs and torso had yet to heal completely, but it was already at the point where he could take short rides to the village. When he returned that morning, he noticed howmuted and gray the sky was, and a part of him wondered if the battle he had fought two weeks ago had anything to do with that.
The guards at the gate saw him approach and moved as one. The doors swung, and stable boys stepped forward then back. The courtyard gathered a whisper and let it go when he swung down.
He handed the reins to a lad and turned. A maid with flour on her apron rushed to him, hands lifted. “Me Laird, let me?—”
“Nay.” He kept his voice even. “I can stand.”
She skidded to a halt. “Aye.”
David approached, a tired look on his face. “Me Laird, there is something I need to tell ye.”
“I am certain it can wait. I need a bath first.”
“Nay, me Laird. It cannae wait. I daenae think?—”
“David,” Logan interrupted, resting a hand on the man’s shoulders. “Right now, I am tired and in need of a bath. ‘Tis that simple.”
David swallowed but did not respond.
Logan crossed the yard, and the men stepped aside. The door to the keep opened before he touched it. As he moved throughthe passageway and up the stairs to the family rooms, warmth ran along his ribs. Blood was beginning to seep through the bandages.
He’d gone too far, exerting himself this time around.
Two scullery maids flattened themselves against the wall and looked down at the floor. He saw their eyes cut to the bandages beneath his shirt, but moved on anyway.
Something felt off. He was well aware that his servants were a bit terrified of him, but it felt too much this morning. There must be something else.
He shoved the thought away and continued walking.
At the top landing, he turned in the direction of his chamber. A boy with a kettle took one look at his shirt and almost dropped the handle. Logan put a hand out and took the weight with him through the door.
“Set it there,” he said. “Leave.”
“Aye.”
Later that morning, after changing into a clean shirt, he stepped out of his room and headed to the study.
“Me Laird, there is something ye need to ken,” a maid called from behind, right as he reached the door.
“What is it with ye people this morning?”
“Me Laird, there is someone…”
