Part of Logan was glad he could no longer fight in battles. The other part wished his kin hadn’t killed the Woodburns so he could cut the throat of the man who had left him useless on this earth.
He was about to enter his house when Jamie shouted Ewen’s name. Logan looked toward the mountain pass, south of them and saw his cousin walking his horse into the great glen with another hooded rider in his saddle.
Jamie waved, and then with a quick glance at Logan, raced off to their returning cousin and his companion.
“Looks like a lass,” Steafan noted, watching them.
“Ye can tell that from here?” Logan asked.
“Cousin, surely ye have been too long withoot a lass that ye canna even recognize the shape of one. Besides, who but a lass would Ewen give up his saddle?
Logan shook his head at him, then shoved him out of the way and took off to greet Ewen—and discover if Steafan was correct.
Steafan gave chase, bringing a rare bout of laughter from Logan’s lips.
“Think I will have pity on ye this time because of yer arm?” his cousin shouted and then nearly ran into him when Logan stopped in front of the horse.
Steafan was correct. The rider was a lass.
As Logan looked up into her sea blue colored eyes, he remembered his fairy bending to speak to a rabbit while butterflies flitted around her, the angel he’d dreamed had freed him from his chains in the bowels of Dunley Keep.
“Miss Elspeth Woodburn,” Ewen introduced, stilling Logan’s heart. “Daughter of the late Baron of Dunley, William Woodburn and the only survivor of Dunley Keep.”
It was her. Logan called upon every ounce of strength he possessed to appear unruffled, unaffected to find her alive.
Whatever dreams he had of her during his recovery, he’d put away. It was her father who had changed his life. It was because he had once allowed her to affect him and his good sense that he could no longer fight for king or country.
“The Protestant’s daughter,” he said without any inflection but disgust tainting his words.
“The Royalist who caused the death of my kin,” she countered with more courage sparking her eyes than he’d seen in some soldiers.
Promising himself not to become bewitched by her again, he turned away from her and looked at Ewen. “I assumed she was dead.”
“I didna know ye knew her, Logan,” Ewen remarked, stepping around his horse to come to him. “I found her after a few witnesses came to me and informed me that a man had taken her that morning. One lead led to many more until I found her cleaning the kitchen floors of a tyrant, who took pleasure in beatin’ her until I threatened to take away his hands.”
Against the alarms going off in his head, Logan let his gaze find hers again. She’d been beaten. What manner of monster would strike her? He quieted his roiling blood that swooshed in his ears and returned his attention to Ewen. So, she had beguiled his cousin to fight for her. “Keep her,” he said under his breath—through his teeth. “I want nae part of a traitor to the king.”
With nothing more to say, he pivoted on his heel and walked away. Behind him, he heard her threats filling the otherwise pleasant morning air.
For a mad moment, he had regretted turning her over to Ewen. But hearing what a bothersome hellcat she was, he was glad he’d gotten rid of her.
“I will kill ye, Logan Cameron! Mark my words!”
He yanked his hood up over his head to conceal his scowl in the shadows it provided.
Ye are yer father’s daughter fer certain, then, Miss Woodburn.
Chapter Three
It couldn’t behim. This Logan of Lochaber could not possibly be the same man from her father’s dungeon. That man had been pitiful, covered in blood, dirt and bruises. This man had glossy, chestnut hair and dark, sharp eyes like a hawk, taking in every detail around him. When he’d taken in Elspeth, he scowled, dipping his brows over his eyes.
Did he remember her? But his unbruised eye, back then, had been on her for just a moment before he’d fallen unconscious again.
Aye, he appeared different with his hair clean and his face free of bruises, and six years older. But it was him.
Elspeth watched him walk away, most hated of hated men. When she finally couldn’t stand it another instant, she sprang from her saddle and bent to pick up a rock to throw it at his head.
Her escort, Ewen MacDonald, leaped at her and knocked her to the floor.
