“So, madame, you are as stubborn as ever,” Logan said even as he reached out to half-lift, half-pull her from her horse, placing her before him on his. His arm tightened about her waist like a vise as she immediately began to struggle.
Rosamund had shrieked with surprise, not just a little frightened at the sound of a male voice and then her removal from her horse to her captor’s. She quickly realized in whose company she was. “Let me go, you damned villain!” she yelled.
“You have led me a merry chase, madame, but you will return with me to Claven’s Carn.”
“I will not!” She punched at him in an effort to release his hold on her person.
Logan Hepburn sighed. “I know what happened, you virago. I am sorry! If you had married me in the first place, none of it would have happened.”
“I didn’t want to marry you!” she told him furiously. “Why could you not understand that I wasn’t ready to remarry? All you could do was babble on like some damned brook about needing an heir. You made me sound like breeding stock!”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I thought you understood I loved you, still love you! I assumed because you had children you would welcome the opportunity to give me an heir as you gave Owein Meredith heirs for Friarsgate,” he yelled back at her. He turned his mount and was relieved to see hers turn and follow him.
“You assumed? No, you damned borderer! You presumed! You did not ask. You told me what you would do. What you wanted. You never said you loved me and hoped that I would be the mother of your children. Nay! You told me that you would come and wed me on St. Stephen’s Day and that I would give you heirs. You never asked me what I wanted, Logan Hepburn! Now, put me down and let me be on my way!”
“Nay, madame. You will return to Claven’s Carn with me if it takes us all night to get there. You will eat a hot meal, and you will sleep in a dry bed. And your horse will get his rest, dammit,” he told her.
“Bah! You have learned nothing, have you? There you go, once again telling me what I will do!” she shouted. “Well, I won’t! You aren’t my lord and master!”
“Rosamund, shut up!” he roared, and then unable to help himself, he kissed her mouth hard. His head spun as the familiar white heather fragrance she wore rose up to envelop him with its subtle but powerful scent.
Rosamund yanked her head away from his, slapping him with her free hand as she did. But she was finally stunned into silence. She had not been kissed since Patrick Leslie had kissed her. Why was it that men she didn’t want were always kissing her?
They rode slowly on. It seemed forever, and then the horses turned from the road onto the path leading up to the Claven’s Carn keep. In the courtyard he put her down from the horse and slid from his saddle. Rosamund turned about and hit him a blow with her fist. It was a hard blow, and it actually staggered him. Unable to help himself, he burst out laughing as she turned away and stamped into his house. Rubbing his jaw, he followed her.
In the hall, Jeannie came forward clucking sympathetically as she saw Rosamund enter. “Oh, you poor dear!” she cried. “Come to the fire and warm yourself. I can only imagine how desperately you desire to get home, but you must not wear yourself out, Rosamund. You need your rest. Oh, I hope you have not caught a chill or an ague. These spring rains can be so treacherous.” She took her guest’s soaking cloak from her and gently pressed her into a chair. “Tam, wine for the lady!” she called to a servant. “Logan, take her boots off and warm her poor feet the way you do mine when they are cold,” Jeannie instructed her husband.
“Madame, please,” Rosamund said, “I am not used to being fussed over in such a manner. I will be fine. Well-meaning though the Hepburns may be, I was quite capable of getting home by morning by myself.”
“You were no more than a mile or two from here,” the laird said as he knelt and pulled her boots off.
Jeannie took the footwear and set it by the fire to dry. “Her feet, Logan,” she repeated, smiling at Rosamund. “Logan will have your poor little feet warm in no time at all. You must be ravenous. I will fetch you a plate myself.” She bustled off.
Her belly was even more evident now than it had been at the end of March, Rosamund thought glumly. Then she started as she felt his big hands enclosing one of her feet. “What are you doing?” she demanded, attempting to free her foot from his grasp.
“Warming your feet as my lady wife has instructed me, madame,” he said in bland tones, but the eyes looking up at her were filled with mischief.
He wanted her to argue with him, Rosamund realized. It would be useless, she knew, and so instead she said, “Very well, but be quick about it, Logan Hepburn. I am indeed frozen. Where is my family?”
“I assume they have eaten and gone to their beds, madame. It is late.” One big hand cupped her small foot while the other rubbed it gently. He couldn’t help but stare down at that foot as it nestled in his palm. It was a dainty foot, the skin soft and smooth. He had the most incredible longing to kiss it, which he forced back.
“I think you are actually beginning to succeed,” she remarked.
“Logan is the best foot warmer!” Jeannie said enthusiastically as she returned with a plate of food for her guest.
Rosamund took the plate and began to eat, but her appetite was not what it had once been. In fact, since she had arrived in Edinburgh to find Patrick so ill she had hardly eaten at all. Food had the tendency now to repel her rather than appeal to her. Still, for Jeannie’s sake she made the attempt.
Finally Jeannie reached over and took the plate from her. “I understand,” she said softly. “At least you got something down.”
Rosamund looked into the young woman’s face, seeing genuine sympathy and kindness. She felt the ever-present tears beginning to well in her eyes. She nodded at her hostess, but said nothing.
“Are her feet nicely warmed now?” Jeannie asked her husband.
“Aye,” he said, standing up again.
“Then fetch Rosamund some wine, Logan,” she commanded, and when he had gone off, she said, “I could see you wanted to cry, but would not before a man. I cannot even begin to imagine the sorrow you are suffering, Rosamund. I am truly sorry for it.”
Again Rosamund nodded, wordless. Then she turned away, gazing into the fire.
When Logan returned a few moments later with the requested goblet of wine, his wife stopped him with a hand, putting a finger to her lips.
“She has fallen asleep,” Jeannie said.
“I’ll carry her to her bed,” he replied.
“Nay,” Jeannie said. “You will wake her if you do, and then she will not sleep at all, Logan. Leave her by the fire. Her cloak is dry now. Cover her with it. She will sleep the night, I think. Let us to bed, husband.”
He nodded. “You go ahead, lass,” he told her. “I must be certain all is locked and barred.”
“Of course,” Jeannie answered him, and she left the hall.
Logan moved through his keep as he did every night before he retired. He checked the outer doors to make certain they were barred. He saw that the lamps were doused, the fires banked. Finally returning to the hall, he sat down opposite Rosamund. Her face was so familiar to him, for it was the face that haunted his dreams. He remembered the child he had first seen at that cattle fair in Drumfie those long years back. He had fallen in love with her then and there. Why was it that fate had conspired to keep them apart? He shook his head. Then, realizing his wife would wonder where he was, he arose and left her sleeping in his hall.