Winter Heat (13 page)

“The Highlander way?” Logan asked with a sneer of his own. “You believe the Highlander way is the way of the underhanded and devious?”

Munroe’s lips spread into a grin. “It worked, didn’t it? I am the victor, and rest assured, I will claim Maggie MacDonald for my own.”

Logan turned to the woman cowering in the corner. One side of her face was mottled and swollen where someone—most definitely Munroe—had struck her. “Go, lass,” he urged her in a low voice. “Go find some help.”

She rose and scurried away, fumbling as she tried to work the broken door. Watching Munroe, who glowered at him from the bed, Logan thrust open the door for her. She scuttled down the passageway. Logan backed over the threshold, keeping his eyes on the man in the bed. When he was out of Munroe’s sight, he turned to follow the girl toward the stairs.

Munroe wasn’t worth talking to, much less arguing with. Logan needed to find Maggie. Perhaps she was in her room in the tower. He’d search there next.

Just as he raised his foot to step from the landing onto the stairway, a floorboard creaked in the corridor behind him. Tightening his grip on his musket, Logan spun around.

Munroe stood not ten paces away, naked, flushed, and sweating. He yanked his hand out from behind him. The barrel of a pistol shimmered at Logan in the dim flickering torchlight.

Munroe’s finger tensed on the trigger.

As in the duel, Logan was faster than his enemy. In a fraction of a second, he raised his musket and aimed at the center of Innes Munroe’s chest. And fired.

Deafeningly loud, the boom of the shot echoed in the confines of the enclosed space. Munroe lurched backward with the force of the ball entering his chest, and then he collapsed flat on his back, his head cracking against the wooden floor. Blood gushed from the hole torn in his breast.

Logan stared down at him. A year ago, Mrs. Sinclair had told Logan to keep his musket close, that it would lead him to his “one.” He hadn’t suspected there was any credence in her words. He’d kept the weapon near because it was the last gift he’d received from his brother. Now he realized he had followed behind the barrel of his gun when he’d first found Maggie’s brooch, and then Maggie herself.

The truth struck him like a hammer. Innes Munroe had to die. He would never have let go of his desire to possess Maggie MacDonald. Logan had to kill the man in order to keep Maggie safe.

As the footsteps of scores of people pounded up the stairs behind him, Logan slowly lowered his gun.

Curled into her only upholstered chair, Maggie sat staring at the lazy, low flames of her fire, blinking back tears. She’d convinced her servants to leave earlier, to enjoy the Hogmanay bonfire and then join the ongoing festivities at Naughton’s mother’s house.

Logan had lost the duel, had left her forever. Honor had compelled him to leave her to Innes Munroe.

Hogmanay had always been her favorite holiday. When Maggie was a child, she and her mother would join the other women in the castle kitchens in the days leading up to Hogmanay, helping to prepare the feast. On Hogmanay day, Maggie would play with the other children; then in the evening, after a heavy supper, she would sit in awe as she listened to the castle bard tell glorious tales of the MacDonalds.

Late at night, with their bellies full and their eyelids heavy, Maggie and Torean would follow her mother upstairs to the nursery. Speaking in low tones so as not to wake the other children, her mother would rub their backs and tell them about the legends of New Year’s Eve.

She said that when they grew older, they would stay up until the New Year dawned. She warned them to be wary of strangers on Hogmanay. If a light-skinned, light-h aired man knocked at the door after midnight, it was very bad luck indeed and boded poorly for the future. If a dark-skinned, dark-h aired man came bearing gifts of salt and coals, it would mean good luck for the coming year.

In later years, Maggie participated in the ritual with glee. She’d laughed behind her hand as she watched the older women ply dark young men with packs of salt and coals and then send them to make rounds, ensuring that the person making the first footing of the year into each home was a dark-h aired man bearing the requisite gifts.

Maggie glanced at the clock. It was past midnight already, she realized. It had been a long, painful day. It was the New Year, and Innes Munroe planned to come for her soon.

How would she endure it? How could she survive a life without Logan?

“Keep to yourself,”
her mother had said.
“Be independent and self-sufficient until you know you are safe.”

Maggie rose and slowly turned in a circle, surveying the interior of her cottage. In the years after Duneghall’s death, she’d felt safe here. But now that Innes Munroe had invaded this space and stolen her away, it was no longer secure.

She’d only be safe if she were with Logan. She knew that now.

She must leave this place. Run. She was no brawny man like Logan, but she was no fool. If she prepared herself well enough, she’d survive the elements.

Rapidly, she calculated what she needed to do. She must gather what she needed and slip away a few hours before dawn, early in the morning when all the people were still sleeping off the effects of Hogmanay. She’d bundle up and carry the barest supplies necessary for a weeklong walk. By the time everyone awoke, she’d be long gone. And if they came searching for her . . . well, there was an abundance of places to hide in the mountains.

Excitement welled in her chest. She was going to follow Logan home. To hell with Torean and Innes, and their duels and promises. They weren’t worth her trouble.

When Innes came for her, he wouldn’t find her. She’d be long gone by then. She’d be with Logan.

Was that what her cousin had intended for her to do? Was that why he’d given Innes a whore? To distract him from pursuing her? To give her a head start?

As Maggie hurried to her shelf of clothing, her heart expanded with forgiveness for her cousin. She took a plaid from the shelf and spread it across her bed; then she picked the lightest but most nourishing foodstuffs from her pantry and tossed them to the center of the plaid.

A sharp knock sounded on her mended door, and clutching a packet of dried fish in her hand, Maggie stiffened.

Innes Munroe’s image flitted through her mind. Innes was fair, light-h aired, and light-skinned. Would he be the pale stranger bringing bad luck to her doorstep? Would he come for her so soon?

Yes. Knowing Innes, he would. He’d be drunk and violent. He’d hurt her.

Another knock. More urgent.

She looked around wildly for something to use as a weapon. Finally her gaze alighted on the iron fireplace tongs.

She lurched forward, dropped the packet of fish on the bed, and grabbed the tongs. This time when he broke down the door, she’d be waiting to wallop him over the head.

“Maggie, it’s me.”

At the sound of the voice, the fear drained out of Maggie in such a powerful rush, she was left gasping for air. Her knees nearly buckled. The fireplace tongs fell to the floor with a clatter.

“Logan? ”

“Open the door, Maggie.”

She jumped forward, yanked the door open, and threw herself into his waiting arms. Just as quickly, she retreated, horrified. “Your wounds! Oh, did I hurt you?”

“No,” he said gruffly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind them. “Come here.” He tugged her back into his embrace.

For long moments, they stood holding each other at her threshold. Maggie closed her eyes, letting the questions simmer, but when they began to well, she pushed them aside. Later. For now she just wanted to touch him, to revel in his closeness.

She burrowed her head into his shoulder, breathing in his essence of heather and peat, and taking in his ever-present warmth. He pulled her closer, held her body flush against his, from head to toe.

“Why did you come back?” she whispered.

“Did you not wish me to?”

Her breath left her in a harsh exhalation. “I wanted it more than anything! I was planning . . .” She glanced at the bundle she’d began to gather on the bed. “I was going to slip away. To . . .” She took a deep breath. “To follow you.”

“I’m glad you would have come to me.” His arms tightened around her, and his lips pressed into her hair. “Even when I was the one to have failed you.”

Satisfaction flooded through her. There were no admonitions that it was a foolish plan, that she was too weak, that she would have perished in the mountains. Instead, he trusted her. He respected her enough to know she would have found him.

“You didn’t fail me, Logan.”

Turning from the bed to her, he slid a knuckle down her cheek. “I brought you something.”

He dug into the folds of his plaid and brought something out. She gasped. Was that her mother’s brooch?

“What have you done to it? ” She gazed wide-eyed at the enormous clear gem that had replaced the agate. “Is that a diamond?”

“I’m fairly certain it is,” he said. “And this is exactly how it appeared when I first saw you.”

“You went back to that place?”

He nodded. “I don’t know how—I wasn’t intending to go there. But when I stopped the horse, there I was. Your brooch was on the ground. Partially buried in water and mud, but the gem sparkled and caught my eye.”

“
That
gem?” she questioned, still not quite believing it.

He frowned at her. “Aye.” He turned the brooch over in his hand so they could study it from different angles. “You cannot believe this is an agate.”

She released a breath. “It was an agate last I saw it. It was . . . an amber color.” Now it was crystal clear, with the barest hint of gold that glimmered when the firelight washed over it.

And then it struck her. “Oh. Heavenly Lord . . .”

“What is it?”

She blinked at her brooch. “My mother. She said . . .” How could she voice it without sounding mad? “She said this brooch would tell me when I met my soul mate. The man I’m supposed to spend my life with. I . . . I think it’s telling me now.”

Logan’s frown deepened. “How can that be?”

“The agate has transformed into a diamond.”

For long moments, they both stared at the enormous gem, scarcely breathing. It merely sat on Logan’s hand, the dragon’s talons wrapped protectively over it, glittering in the light of the fire.

“Come home with me, Maggie.”

Her gaze snapped up to the harsh lines of his face. His wide forehead, thick brows, strong nose, and his dark eyes. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. The most masculine.

She reached up to touch his rugged cheek. “I’ve never wanted to be taken care of,” she murmured. “But when you are near me, Logan, I want you to care for me. I want your protection, the safety that I know you can offer me. I want to go home with you.” She swallowed, almost afraid to reveal her heart. “But I wish to care for you as well. Protect you as well. I wish to be your partner. In all ways.”

Logan smiled. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He paused, then swiped the pad of his thumb over the plump part of her lower lip. “I want to marry you, stand beside you, sleep with you. I want you to bear my children. I want to grow old with you.”

“But . . .” She took a deep, sobbing breath. “But what of Torean and Innes? They’ll come after you.”

“Munroe is dead, Maggie.”

“What?” she gasped.

“I killed him.”

“What . . . what happened?”

Setting the brooch on the arm of the chair, he once again drew her close. “I found Munroe abusing a woman named Mary Steward.”

“Poor Mary,” Maggie breathed. “Did Torean see what happened to her?”

Logan nodded.

Maggie pushed out a breath. “He finally understands what a brute Innes is.”

“Aye. After the duel, he asked me to stay at the castle for Hogmanay. I think, even before I told him about Munroe blinding me, he suspected the man had cheated—”

“Is that what Innes did to you?” she breathed. “Blinded you? I didn’t know. I was certain something horrible had happened.” She touched a fingertip to the corner of his eye.

“Aye.”

“But you can see now?”

He nodded. “The effect was temporary.”

“So Torean understood and regretted his promises to Innes, but was trying to work out how he could honorably repudiate those promises without gaining the enmity of the Munroes?” she asked.

“Exactly. He is still cautious and unsure of his leadership, and I think he was taking his time to work out his final decision on the matter. He was trying to be wise. Yet when he heard the gunshot and saw Mary Steward so ill used—well, he regretted Munroe’s fate no more than I did.”

She looked up at Logan in wonder, stroking her hand along his cheek. A late-n ight dark bristle had broken out over his jaw, and it scraped against her fingertips. “You’ve saved me after all. Twice.”