Logen’s shout startled her out of her self-absorbed misery.Nay, not now.
Strong hands pulled her to her feet and turned her to face him. “Elizabeth told me she saw ye running from the keep as if the very devil himself chased after ye.”
She kept her gaze averted. She could not bear to look at him. His concern and his fear for her were making her head spin. One glimpse of his eyes, and she would burst into sobs.
“This is my fault.”
She nearly missed hearing his simple declaration, then couldn’t believe what he’d said once it finally penetrated her mind. Did he think to sway her by taking the blame? Sympathizing? Lulling her into acceptance?
Nay. She would not make it easy for him.
“It is.” Her voice sounded strained to her ears, but it didn’t matter. He’d heard her. Logen looked as if she’d slapped him, head drawn back, brows drawn down in a fierce frown.
“Ye ken I need yer help, Coira. I thought we agreed...”
“Why? So ye can remain laird?” She wrenched herself out of his grip and backed away until the surf splashed the hem of her dress. “Why must ye do that? Why not step aside, let the conspirators have their way. Let them succeed or fail. They canna do worse than they’ve already done.”
“I canna quit.”
He clenched his fists, and for once, Coira saw he, too, was trapped. She bit her lip.
“’Tisna in me to do that. I’m responsible for the clan. For ye. Ye are my charge...”
All the sympathy she’d felt for him a moment ago fled. “Yer charge? What do ye mean?”
Coira knew she’d struck a nerve by the flush staining Logen’s cheeks. Something he’d withheld from her. Something he didn’t want to share. She didn’t know whether to be angry or scared.
“Tell me, Logen.”
He sighed and held his hands out to her, palms up, in supplication. “Ye can sense how badly I feel about this. The elders made ye my charge, my responsibility, soon after ye arrived. For yer own good—”
“My good?” Her anger spiked, heating her body despite the cold water splashing behind her. “Nay. Likely to protect themselves from me…from what they imagined I might do.”
“And to protect ye, newly returned and ill.”
“So all yer care and concern, yer sweet words, yer offers of help, were simply ways to keep me near ye? To discover what I was doing? How I felt? All lies?” She was a fool—again. She backed away, into cold water up to her ankles. “Ye’re no better than the Lathan laird.”
“Nay, Coira. I am no’ he. Ye have sensed my feelings for ye. Ye ken they are true.”
“Or ye managed to convince me of that.”
“Come back to the keep, lass.”
“Logen, I canna take this any longer. I canna takeyeany longer. Please, leave me alone.”
He stood his ground. “I understand if ye are unhappy with me. I pushed ye too hard, too fast. We can take more time for ye to learn to protect yerself. To build yer dunes. Ye willna take meals in the great hall, nor be around large groups. No’ until ye can bear to be among them. But dinna turn away from me, Coira. I do care. I do need ye. I may even love ye.”
Coira’s gasp silenced him. Thank God. She stared at him, disbelieving. How could he say such a thing? Hemightlove her? Oh, aye, he wanted her. She could not doubt that. But to use the possibility of love? Her chest felt cold. Hollow. Nay, she never expected him to stoop so low.
“I’ve heard such promises before,” she spat. “They led to my broken heart, pierced by a blade.”
Logen’s pain assaulted her, stealing her breath.
“I’m sorry, lass. I dinna mean to hurt ye. I want ye to ken that, with time, we can—”
“Nay. I must leave. I canna live here. I canna go through that again. Send me away, please Logen. The Lowlands.” She waved an arm behind her. “Ireland.”
“Coira, nay.”
