Of all the women in the clan, the one whose face kept appearing in his mind was the one he could not become involved with. His charge. Coira. Why did she fascinate him? Because she was an enigma? Or beautiful? Or just a new woman about the keep?
With a growl, he tossed a rag into the bucket, then wrung it out. The hot, clean water eased his muscles and relieved the prickles on the skin of his face, neck, and shoulders. Would her touch be soft and tentative? Or firm as she washed the sea salt from his body? He dipped the rag again, then stood over the bucket and wrung the cloth out behind his neck. Warm rivulets ran down his back and buttocks, and he imagined her fingers trailing there instead of droplets of water.
Then he wiped down his chest to his belly, pausing before moving lower. Would she be so bold as to touch him there, too? To trail the warm rag across his skin? Or grasp him firmly with it and stroke away the salt? His cock twitched at the thought as droplets ran down his thighs. He squeezed more water into the curls below his navel, shuddering at the warm, wet sensation, imagining her hands, her mouth, there instead.
Nay, this was foolish. He’d been too long without a woman; that was all. The scare today had his blood up. He quickly washed down his arms and legs, ignoring the need that clawed at his belly. Then he dunked his head in the remaining warm water to rinse the salt from his hair, slicked back the wet strands, and reached for another rag to dry off with.
Someone knocked at the door, then opened it without waiting for a response. He had a brief impression of a lithe build and chestnut hair before recognition slammed into him.
Coira!
“I came to...oh!”
Logen clutched the scrap of cloth to his unruly groin.
Her hand clapped over her open mouth as she stared at him.
“What are ye doin’ here?” Had his longings somehow summoned her?
Coira whirled and presented her back to him. “I came to warn ye. I dinna think yer fall was an accident.”
Logen pulled a shirt over his head and reached for his plaid, wrapping it about his waist, not bothering to be neat about it, as he considered her statement. He didn’t think it was an accident, either, but why didn’t she? He buckled a belt in place. “Ye can turn around now, and tell me what ye think is so urgent that ye must enter my chamber without leave.”
It amused him to see her peek over her shoulder. Did she think he would lie and remain unclothed? For what purpose? To embarrass her further? Not that she didn’t deserve it.
“Well?”
Slowly, she pivoted, pink still blossoming across her cheeks and nose. “I owe ye an apology. I shouldno’ ha’ surprised ye the way I did.”
“True,” Logen agreed. “Ye couldha found yerself with a dirk to yer throat.” The thought made him queasy, especially after what he’d been picturing before she burst in. “Dinna do that again.”
“I dinna plan to. But I had to see ye without the rest of the clan being aware of it.”
“And why is that?”
She paused, and the look she gave him left no doubt she thought him daft.
“Few of them trust me. If something were to happen to ye, as has happened to the lairds before ye, I would be blamed.”
Logen pursed his lips. She was right, painful as it was to admit. “That would be convenient, aye.”
“I think someone made ye fall. From the boat. It wasna an accident.” Her words came out in a rush, as if she thought he’d be swayed by their velocity.
Logen frowned. “Why do ye think that, lass?” Could she have learned something he’d been unable to uncover for weeks in the short time since she’d returned?
Suddenly, she twisted and placed a hand on the door, cocking her head, then turned back to him. The rosy pink fled her face, leaving behind wide eyes and pale, translucent skin. “I canna tell ye.”
“Ye dinna ken? Or ye willna tell me.” Surely, she could not be involved. Could she?
Her nervous swallow was so obvious, Logen would have laughed except she had tensed like a bowstring drawn to its breaking point, her body rigid, her arms tucked close to her sides. His frown deepened. He stepped toward her, but for every step he took, she retreated until her back was to the door and she had nowhere left to go. What did she fear?
“Coira, I willna hurt ye. It doesna matter what ye have to tell me.” His earlier lust evaporated into concern for the frightened lass before him. He was tempted to stroke her cheek, to bring some color back to her countenance, but he reached instead for the hands she clasped before her so tightly that her knuckles were white. Cold. Her hands were so cold. What was going through her mind to upset her so? He wrapped his fingers around hers to warm them and was rewarded by seeing the tense line of her shoulders drop, just a little.
“Someone kens I’m here,” she whispered. “I felt the same cold hatred just now that I felt right before ye fell.”
“Someone’s out there?”
Her eyes widened. He moved her aside, more gently than his haste dictated, and yanked the door open, but the hallway outside was empty. No one lurked there. He waited a moment, listening, but all he heard was Coira’s rapid breathing. He shut the door, softly, and turned back to her.
