“We killed her kin, Ealar. Her parents. Her brothers. She has hatred fer us, of course, but I’m workin’ on riddin’ her of it.”
He heard a sound behind him and turned to see the lasses entering the Main Hall. Miss Woodburn was carrying a basket under her arm.
Her gaze settled on him immediately, as if she was thinking of him and anxious to see him. Or was that what he wanted to believe?
She blushed a bonnie shade of pink when he smiled at her and then she looked away. Straight at Ealar.
Logan expected her to catch her breath or blush a whole new shade of pink at his brother’s good looks, but her gaze on Ealar was pure ice.
“Ye must be Miss Woodburn,” his brother said, unfazed by her glare and proving it with his bold gaze. “I have heard much aboot ye.”
“’Tis all true,” she replied woodenly, and then without waiting for his introduction, she walked off to put away the herbs she’d picked.
“Pardon me, Miss,” Ealar followed her and held out his hand to take her basket. “May I take a look at what ye picked?”
Logan’s instinct was to protect his family, but now, he felt a stirring to protect Miss Woodburn as well. Although would it not be wise to check the herbs? He certainly didn’t want her to poison his brother, and right now, she looked as if she would.
He wanted to trust her, but was he willing to risk Ealar’s life?
He went to her and stood at her side, then he took the basket of herbs from her. He wasn’t a fool, blinded by a lass—who had once found a way to make all her father’s guardsmen sleep.
Now that Logan knew Miss Woodburn a little better, he suspected she had spiked their water or ale. But why had she done it? Was it to sneak down to the dungeon and…mayhap help her father’s prisoner? It would explain his dreams of her.
Holding her basket of herbs, he set his tender gaze on her. How heavy her guilt must be to carry, and how much she must hate him for it all.
He dipped his gaze into the basket. He knew herbs and plants by sight, having to know in order to camp and cook outdoors in times of battle.
During her excursion with Helen, Miss Woodburn had collected wild garlic, dandelion leaves and roots, wild marjoram, thyme, and juniper. Nothing deadly. He handed the basket to his brother, took Miss Woodburn by the wrist and left the Main Hall.
He pulled her gently to the front door, opened it, and left the house and everyone in it. He didn’t speak, nor did she as he led her toward the mountain.
Finally, she tugged him to a stop. “What are ye doing, my lord?”
He turned away from the mammoth Nevis and looked into her eyes. He always thought of Ben Nevis as home—until he looked into Elspeth Woodburn’s eyes. “I want to be alone with ye.”
She looked away and down at his fingers around her wrist. “Why?”
He moved his fingers down to her hand and held it instead. “Lass, I—”
“Why would ye defend me to yer brother?” she asked, leaving her hand in his. “Now he is going to think—”
“Let him think what he likes.”
“Nae,” she argued, pulling free of him. “I dinna want him or anyone else to think we care for each other.”
“Why no’, bonnie El?” he asked earnestly. Was he wrong to think she no longer hated him?
He smiled at her. He had no choice, no control over his facial muscles. Not when she looked like a dainty pixie waiting for a breeze to come and sweep her away.
He wanted to reach out and take hold of her to keep her close. “Stay.”
“What?” She squeaked and blinked her huge eyes at him.
“Stay here with me,” he said deeply, his words coming from someplace within. He moved closer to her and prayed she wasn’t about to stab him with a carving knife.
“With ye?” she repeated on a whispered breath as he moved closer still.
He nodded and basked in her warm breath as he dipped his head to hers. “Let me win yer love.” He put his index fingerunder her chin, lifting it, and leaned in to kiss her. He wanted to. He felt as if he was born to kiss her. To love her. “I know ye were there with me in the dungeon. Let me make it all up to ye.”
