The bloody cravat, the slashes on his arm and chest. The swollen jaw, the gash in his ear, the blood in his hair…damn it, he hadn’t even managed to hide the blood-stained shirt from her. It was still clutched in his fingers.
He tossed it aside, and held up his hands. Then he remembered they too were covered with blood, and he quickly shoved them behind his back. “It’s all right, Ana. I’m not hurt.”
I’m not hurt? Christ, was that the best he could do? His wife wasn’t a fool. Anyone could see hewashurt—people with blood smeared across their chests generally were. “That is, I am hurt, but it’s not as bad as it looks.”
She was shaking her head, her other hand now pressing against her stomach as if she feared she would be sick. Something dark descended on Logan as he stared at her, something he’d never felt before.
Helplessness.
He’d done this to her. He’d put that look of horror on her face. He wanted to go to her, to take her into his arms, but the thought of staining her with his blood made him recoil.
He couldn’t comfort her. He didn’t know how to help her.
Not once had Logan ever failed to justify his clan’s faith in him. Illness, injury, sick or lost children—whatever the crisis, his clan turned to him when despair threatened, and he found a way to take care of them.
But now, faced with his silent, trembling wife, he didn’t know what he could say or do to take care ofher. Her, the one person in the world he wanted to protect more than any other. Why couldn’t he care for her? How could the powerful love he felt for her make him so weak?
His helplessness overwhelmed him, nearly knocking him to his knees. It was stronger than anything he’d ever known. Stronger than the ferocity that had saved his life tonight. Stronger than the four long years of anger and grief he’d carried inside him since the day he watched Rosal Township burn. Stronger even than the will his father had instilled in him, the loyalty and devotion that made him fight to protect his clan.
Strong enough to defeat him.
It all caught up to him then. The burning pain he’d been denying, the blood loss, the long ride from Lord Cowden’s, the chill he couldn’t overcome—it all slammed down on him at once, and he staggered from the blow.
A soft cry tore from Juliana’s lips. Logan’s gaze darted to her face. He could see the exact moment when she put aside her confusion and fear, and focused on the one thing that mattered the most to her.
Him.
In an instant, her entire demeanor changed. She dropped her hands to her sides, flung her shoulders back, and pressed her lips together with determination. “Logan.”
He was fading in and out, but Logan felt her hands slide around his waist, the brush of her fragrant hair against his shoulder. She was speaking to him, saying something else, but he couldn’t hear her. He knew only that she was supporting him—she, his wee wife, supportinghim.
His arm must be so heavy across her slender shoulders, but they were moving together, slowly, across the room toward the bed.
He fell onto it with a grunt. The ceiling above him was spinning and weaving, and he couldn’t feel Juliana beside him anymore. He reached out for her, a plea on his lips, and then she was there again. Her small hand slipped into his. He heard her voice, saying something about a basin of water and bandages, but he couldn’t make sense of it.
Bandages…who needed bandages? Who—
He shot up, struggling to rise from the bed. Grace. She’d fallen off her horse. She was hurt, and he had to get to her before her horse trampled her—
“No, Logan. Lie down.”
Soft hands were holding him to the bed, and the sweetest voice he’d ever heard—hervoice—was low in his ear, murmuring to him. He couldn’t tell what she said, but he went still, listening eagerly. A cool hand stroked his hair back from his face as the room darkened and faded to black around him. She leaned over him, still whispering soothingly, and he knew then, in a way he hadn’t known before…
If he was given the chance, he’d listen to her voice forever.
Chapter Twenty-four
“Let me see if I have this right, Lady Juliana.” The doctor snapped his bag closed and rose from the chair beside Logan’s bed. “First Miss Grace tumbles off her horse, and now Mr. Blair finds himself at the wrong end of a blade, all in the space of two short days?”
Juliana grimaced. Had it only been two days? It felt as if weeks had passed since Grace’s fall. “I’m afraid so.”
“A broken arm, a mild concussion, and now a half-dozen knife wounds.” The doctor shook his head. “I don’t know what’s come over you all, but I advise you to take the greatest care of yourself, my lady. We don’t need any more injuries at Graystone Court.”
“No, indeed we don’t,” Juliana agreed, glancing down at Logan. He looked much better now he was no longer drenched in blood, but between his chest, arm, and ear he was half-smothered in bandages.
“Good. Now, how does Grace get on? Healing properly, I trust?”
Juliana nodded. “Properly, and quickly. I’m amazed at how much energy she has already.”
