Ailsa slept late in the morning and was brushing her hair when Logan came into her room.
‘Norry told me you were dressed or I should not have dared to disturb you.’ In two strides he had crossed the room and pulled her up into his arms. He took the brush out of her hand and threw it aside as he kissed her. ‘I could not leave without saying goodbye.’
She was inordinately pleased at his show of affection and laughed up at him.
‘But you are only going to the Kirk to see the minister.’
‘I know, but I wanted to see you first. To assure myself that you are really here.’ He kissed her again. ‘You should make yourself familiar with Ardvarrick while I am gone. You will soon be mistress of everything I own and you must feel free to go where you will.’
‘I would rather you showed me over the house,’ she said shyly. ‘I would not be wanting to put myself forward in your absence.’
She waited for him to chide her for being foolish and tell her that a true lady would have no such qualms. Instead he smiled.
‘Very well, it will be my pleasure. But I’d advise you to ask Norry to show you the lower rooms, the kitchen and the like. They have always been her domain and while they will naturally be part of yours, she does not like me, a mere man, wandering around there!’
With that he left her and Ailsa went in search of the housekeeper, who was only too delighted to show her the service rooms situated in the basement and also the servants’ quarters on the upper floor. Ailsa was pleased that the luxury of the house was not confined to those rooms used by the master and mistress. Her own position had always been something between a servant and a member of the family and after the chilly cell-like bedchambers of Contullach Castle, the painted walls and sash windows in Ardvarrick’s attics looked very comfortable. It whetted her appetite for exploring the rest of the house with its master.
Logan returned to Ardvarrick shortly after noon and as he stepped into the hall, he saw Ailsa coming down the stairs. There was no mistaking the delight in the shy smile that lit up her face when she saw him. It gladdened his heart.
‘You are back!’ she cried, hurrying towards him.
He threw aside his hat and swept her up into his arms.
‘Well, well, if that is the sort of welcome I can expect from my wife, I am a very lucky man!’
‘I was looking out for you.’ Blushing, she took his arm and went with him to the dining room, where a cold collation was set out.
‘We did not know quite when you would return,’ she explained, sitting down with him at the table. ‘Mrs Noranside said you would be hungry.’
‘I am. Ravenous!’ He laughed, tearing a hunk of bread from the fresh loaf and helping himself to a piece of the cheese rolled in oatmeal. ‘The minister is well known for his frugality. But he redeemed himself somewhat in my eyes because he has agreed to marry us in four weeks’ time. If that is agreeable to you?’ He watched as Ailsa poured him some ale. ‘For myself I would like it to be tomorrow, but I must first write to my family in Hampshire about you. I doubt they will be able to make the journey, but I should at least advise them of the wedding. And I shall ask my aunt for advice on the latest fashions for you.’
When Ailsa blushed scarlet, Logan cursed himself for a fool and wished his last words unsaid. She was wearing the gown she had arrived in yesterday and he had reminded her of it. Norry had done her best to clean and repair the damage overnight, but it still showed signs of its ill use.
He said quickly, ‘You will feel more comfortable once you have a fresh gown to wear. I ride to Contullach tomorrow to see your uncle, so I shall bring your clothes back with me. They will suffice for the moment, but you must have new gowns as befits the Lady of Ardvarrick. I should very much like to take you to London and let you choose everything from the finest establishments, but there is no time to do that before we are wed.’
‘No indeed,’ she murmured, taking a little bread and cheese for herself.
‘We could travel to Inverness, to see what they have there, but I think I should write to my aunt. If I give her your description and measurements, she can send up whatever she thinks suitable. What do you say to that? No need to colour up, Ailsa, I have no doubt she will be delighted to help.’
‘Will she?’ Ailsa was tearing her bread into small pieces, but she was not eating them, merely dropping them back on her plate. ‘She is more likely to think you are marrying beneath you.’
‘Never. Not once I have told her all about you.’
She smiled at that and Logan hoped he had set her mind at ease. He continued with his own repast, his mind filled with plans for the wedding. There was much to be done, but before anything else he must go to Contullach. He had no doubt Ewan Cowie would be there, trying to lie his way out of trouble, now his scheme had been thwarted.
His heart contracted painfully when he thought of what might have happened to Ailsa and he glanced across the table, thankful to have her safe under his roof. She looked a little thin. Unusually pale, too, but he had no doubt that under his care and the watchful eye of Mrs Noranside she would soon recover her bloom.
He was shaken by a sudden, overwhelming need for her to be happy here. He wanted her to be happy with him. It was important that she knew that.
‘Ailsa, if there is anything at Ardvarrick that does not suit you, if there is anything I can do to make you happier, you must say so. Promise me!’
‘Why, of course I would tell you.’ She smiled at him, putting to flight the shadows in her eyes that worried him so. ‘I am happier here than I have ever been, I assure you. Now, finish your meal, sir!’
Some half hour later, Logan drained his cup and pushed it away from him with a sigh of satisfaction.
‘I feel better for that. Now, madam, I am at your disposal for the rest of the day. I said I would show you over the house, did I not?’
‘Yes, you did.’ She brightened immediately. ‘And I should like to see it as soon as maybe.’
Logan smiled. ‘Very well, if you do not object to my travelling clothes, we can begin immediately!’
After a brief inspection of the drawing and dining rooms, which Ailsa had seen already, Logan opened one of the doors at the far end of the hall and ushered Ailsa into the shuttered interior.
‘This is the morning room,’ he said, crossing to the window and folding back the shutters. ‘It was designed for my mother, but she died before the house was finished. You see the windows face south and allow in a good deal of light. You may have it for your own, if you wish. We can decorate it afresh and you can choose new furnishings.’
‘Oh, no.’ Ailsa had walked to the middle of the room and she was looking around, her hands clasped together. ‘I like it very much as it is. Once the wainscoting and furniture has all been polished, it will be very comfortable.’
‘I thought it would do very well for your music room.’
Logan felt the change in the air immediately. Ailsa was standing very still. It was as if she had become stone. He took a step towards her.
‘Have I said something amiss?’
‘No, not at all.’ She appeared to shake off some troubling thought. ‘I am sure I shall be able to make good use of this little chamber. Are there any more rooms on this floor that I should see?’
She was smiling at him, but there was a wariness in her eyes. He thought her tone a little brittle and suspected there was something she was not sharing with him, but he was reluctant to press her. She would confide in him when she was ready, he was sure of it, so he concentrated on answering her question.
‘The only other room is the one I have taken for my study. Would you like to see that?’
‘Very much.’
Ailsa followed him out of the morning room, relieved he had not questioned her. She would have to tell him about her music, but not yet. Not yet.
He led her to the very end of the passage. It was a corner room, sparsely furnished with two chairs and a few items of furniture. A handsome walnut knee-hole desk was positioned to make the most of the light flooding in through the windows set into two of the walls. Unlike her uncle’s writing table at Contullach, the top of Logan’s desk was almost bare. A single piece of paper bearing a few lines of writing lay in the centre of the desk and there was a neat pile of folded letters to one side, weighted with a pretty pebble. The only other items on the desk were a silver standish and a branched candlestick, both polished until they gleamed.
Logan scooped up the half-written sheet and screwed it into a ball.
‘I apologise for the room being so untidy.’ He threw the paper into the fireplace. ‘This is my private room. Norry is allowed in to clean it, but only occasionally. No one has been in here since I left to come after you.’
‘I think it is exceedingly tidy,’ she told him. ‘And very comfortable, too.’
She trailed a hand across the pretty veneered top of the desk as she moved past it to one of the windows that looked out over the approach road.
‘It is a fine prospect, is it not?’ Logan came to stand beside her. ‘With the sun glinting on the loch waters and the changing colours of the surrounding hills, it is better than any painting.’
She laughed. ‘It is a wonder you get any work done here.’
With him standing so close she suddenly felt very shy. Quickly she moved on. There was a map of Scotland on one wall and a small press that she presumed held the papers and ledgers pertaining to the household. On a side table she spotted a small pile of books. She put out a hand, then stopped and looked towards Logan, who nodded.
‘Go on,’ he said, smiling. ‘You may look at them.’
Logan watched her as she picked up the books one at a time and carefully turned them between her dainty hands. Finally, she took up the smallest volume, the Lovelace poems he had taken with him to Contullach. He remembered he had been reading the poet’s lines to his mistress when she had come into the solar and he had looked up to see Ailsa standing before him, the sun glinting on her red hair and enhancing the delightful sprinkling of freckles across her dainty nose.
He had been captivated, as he was now, and equally reluctant to show it. Then she had been almost a stranger and he had not wanted to frighten her away with even a mild flirtation. Here, today, she was his future wife and he had to rein in the urge to pull her into his arms and cover her face with kisses.
His throat felt very tight and he was obliged to clear it before he could speak again.
‘I brought these books with me from Hampshire, but I shall buy more now. And I shall purchase a press to store them. My uncle had a fine one, with glass doors and a lock. Not that anyone here is likely to want to steal books.’
‘And will you allow me to read them?’
‘Of course.’ He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Everything I have is yours, Ailsa.’
The pressure of his lips on her skin was lighter than a feather, but it sent the blood racing through her veins. Gazing up into his face, seeing the warm glow in his eyes, Ailsa wondered how on earth this miracle had occurred. How had such a man come to care for her?
‘What have I done to deserve such happiness?’ she murmured.
‘You have agreed to marry me,’ he replied. ‘Besides, you play the clàrsach like an angel, and that, surely, deserves a great deal!’
He spoke warmly, but the effect upon Ailsa was like the winter wind. Somehow, she managed not to flinch, to keep her smile in place, but an icy hand was clutching at her heart now and her blood was no longer singing. Her gift for music was gone. She should tell Logan. He deserved to know before they were committed irrevocably to a marriage. She opened her mouth, but the words she needed would not come. Some demon in her head argued that she should not risk losing him now, she should wait and make him love her for her own sake. Logan was still smiling at her and her uncomfortable conscience surfaced again.
Coward. Tell him. Tell him!
She swallowed and took a little step away from him. ‘Shall we continue our tour?’
Ailsa was at her dressing table the next morning when Logan came in. She put down her hairbrush and rose to greet him. She did not resist when he took her in his arms and kissed her, but when he raised his head she put her hands against his chest and gazed up at him.
‘You are dressed for riding. You are going to see my uncle?’
‘I am.’ He brushed a wayward curl from her cheek.
‘And if my cousin is there?’
‘I have no doubt he will be.’ Logan frowned, his eyes dark and brooding. ‘God knows what lies he has been concocting.’
‘But you will be able to lay the truth before my uncle.’
‘Aye, that I will.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Cowie must not be allowed to get away with this.’
Ailsa clutched his jacket, chilled at the thought of a duel. ‘You will not fight him?’
His face softened a little as he realised how anxious she was. ‘Not if you do not wish it.’
‘I do not.’ She clung to him. ‘Ewan cannot harm me now that I am here and you should leave Fingal to deal with him.’
‘I wish I could be sure he would punish Cowie as he deserves. I should much prefer to take my own revenge.’
Ailsa shivered, not for what might happen to Ewan Cowie, but hating the thought of Logan suffering the slightest hurt.
‘Let me write to my uncle,’ she suggested. ‘I will explain to him how badly Ewan treated me. Let me do it now, Logan, it will not take me long and you may take it with you. When he knows how Ewan ill used me and how well you have behaved, Fingal will act accordingly, I am sure of it.’
She held her breath. The men at Contullach would think it beneath them to be advised by a woman. They were quick to draw their swords and mete out vengeance, but Logan was different. He treated her with respect and listened to her arguments. The band around her heart tightened. It was one of the reasons she loved him.
At last he nodded. ‘Very well. I will fetch up paper, pen and ink while you finish arranging your hair.’
Logan and his men reached Contullach Castle just as the household was gathering for dinner. He pushed his way past the servants at the door and strode directly into the great hall. His entrance, followed by half a dozen men bristling with arms, caused an outcry. Benches were overturned as everyone jumped up from the table and Contullach came forward with a roar of anger.
‘What the devil do you mean by bursting in like this, Ardvarrick? I overlooked your coming in here wearing that wee sword o’ yours in the past, but your men know to leave their weapons at the door!’
‘Not this time,’ barked Logan. ‘You had my message yesterday. I explained everything so you know precisely why I am here. I want justice for your niece.’ He looked the older man in the eye, saying slowly, deliberately, ‘For my future wife.’
‘Your what?’
Contullach’s astonishment echoed in the muttering that went around the room. Logan ignored it.
‘You have proved you cannot keep her safe, so I must.’ He drew a folded paper from his jacket and held it out. ‘This is a signed and witnessed deposition from Mistress McInnis, describing her abduction.’ His eyes swept over the company. Ewan Cowie was standing with one arm thrown around Kirstin Contullach’s shoulders. Logan walked up to him. ‘By this rogue!’
Cowie sneered. ‘I’ve already told ye, Uncle, Ailsa was very willing to come away with me. In fact, I’d say she was desperate to be bedded. With almost twenty years in her dish, she is becoming a dried-up old—’
Logan silenced him with a blow to the jaw. Cowie staggered back. Kirstin screamed and threw herself between the men, but by that time Tamhas had grabbed Logan’s arm and pulled him away.
‘Steady, man.’
Logan shook him off, his blazing eyes fixed on Cowie. ‘I made Ailsa a solemn vow that I would not kill you, but by God, do not push me too far!’
‘Enough!’ roared Fingal. ‘I’ll remind ye you are not the Laird here, Ardvarrick. And you are not the only one with a grievance. I have lost the best harper I ever had through this business. Unless you want to drag our names and that of your future wife through the courts, then you will leave me to punish my own!’
Tamhas touched his arm again. ‘He is right, Logan. ’Tis better that we keep this matter between ourselves.’
‘Your man speaks wisely,’ said Fingal. ‘If the girl was not harmed, as you and my nephew both assert—’
‘Harmed!’ Logan rounded on him. ‘What would you call it? The villain carried her off against her will, imprisoned her in a ruinous castle and threatened her with the very worst of fates so that she risked her very life to escape him!’
Ewan Cowie uttered a curse and turned towards Fingal. ‘But I did not touch her, Uncle! On my life, I did no more than steal a kiss from the wench. She was still a maid when I saw her last!’
The implication in this final sneer was unmistakable. It was only Tamhas’s grip on his arm that stopped Logan drawing his sword and running the man through where he stood. Fingal Contullach was aware of it, too. He stepped in front of Logan, waving Ailsa’s letter in his face.
‘She is not your wife yet, Ardvarrick, but she was the Contullach harper and she is still my niece. Ailsa demands that I deal with the matter and I will. Damnation, man, I will flog Cowie as he deserves.’
‘Father, no!’
The strangled cry brought Contullach’s eyes to his daughter. She ran forward and clasped his arm.
‘Ewan confessed everything to me. He told me how bitterly he repents what he had done. We had quarrelled, you see, and he was angry with me. I drove him into her arms! Please, Father. The intimation has already been read out in the Kirk. In a week we will be husband and wife.’
‘Aye, you will,’ growled Contullach, scowling. ‘But because of what he has done, there will be no harper to play at your wedding. He deserves a whipping, if only for that!’
Logan watched through narrowed eyes the little scene playing out before him. Kirstin hung on her father’s arm, pleading for her man. Ewan Cowie stood behind her, looking for all the world like a repentant sinner, except for the cunning look in his small eyes. Logan felt a sudden stab of sympathy for the woman, if she could not see the sort of man she was marrying.
‘Well, Ardvarrick?’ Fingal turned back to him. ‘Will a flogging satisfy you? We’ll do it now, here in the hall where it can be witnessed by your people and mine. And afterwards, you will stay and eat with us, to seal the peace.’
The cold-blooded barbarity of it chilled Logan, but he knew better than to protest. This was a harsh land and it bred harsh people with their own ideas of justice. Tamhas stepped closer and murmured in his ear.
‘You should accept, man. Ailsa has always thought of Ewan Cowie as her cousin. She would not want his murder on your hands.’
Logan frowned. He had given Ailsa his word. It had been an easy enough promise to make when she was safe in his arms, but here, face to face with Ewan Cowie, he wanted nothing more than to put an end to the rogue.
‘Very well, we do it your way, Contullach.’
His reluctant consent was enough for Fingal, who called for his whip to be brought in. Ewan Cowie had grown pale, but he did not move, neither did he complain when two of Fingal’s men helped him out of his jacket and tunic. Logan turned away.
‘We have ridden a long way. Perhaps, Contullach, you can tell me where we refresh ourselves before we sit down to dinner with you.’
Fingal looked surprised. ‘You will not stay to see justice administered?’
‘I am content to leave that to you,’ he replied coldly. ‘Those of my men who want to stay and watch may do so. I shall not.’
With a shrug, Contullach barked an order. Logan and Tamhas followed a servant to a small chamber, where they found a pewter dish and jugs of water.
‘I am going back to the hall,’ said Tamhas, after quickly washing his face and hands. ‘I’d not put it past our host to go easy with the lash.’
Logan shrugged. ‘Not too easy. Fingal Contullach knows the rest of our party is watching. Also, he needs to show Cowie that he is still master.’ He dried his face and threw down the cloth, saying irritably, ‘What galls me is that he is angrier over losing his harpist than any harm that might have come to the lady herself.’
‘Contullach would say your years in England have made you soft.’
Logan scowled. ‘If he crosses me in this, he will find that is far from the case.’ He pulled off the black ribbon that confined his hair at the back of his neck and turned to the looking glass propped up on a chest of drawers. ‘Off with you, then, and watch Cowie take his punishment, if you so wish. I will return once I have made myself more presentable. I only hope they will mop up any blood before we dine!’
By the time Logan returned to the hall, all evidence of the scuffle and any subsequent punishment had been cleared away. Of Ewan Cowie and Kirstin there was no sign. The long table gleamed with pewter dishes and Fingal Contullach called to him from one end of it.
‘Come and sit beside me, Ardvarrick.’
Logan glanced at Tamhas, who nodded. The matter was dealt with, finished. The flogging had been administered, the culprit punished and life continued, although Logan was surprised at his host’s good humour. However, that was soon explained.
‘I met with the drovers two days ago,’ said Contullach, filling Logan’s tankard with ale from a leather blackjack. ‘The price they are offering for my cattle this year is pleasing. Very pleasing indeed.’
Logan’s brows rose. The meeting must have taken place before he had known that Ailsa was safe.
‘Why were you not searching for your niece?’
The old man shrugged. ‘I was fair certain you would find her. And you can rest easy now, Ardvarrick. Ewan Cowie will give you no more trouble.’
‘You can be sure of that?’
‘Aye. He confessed to me he allowed his ballocks to rule his brains.’ Contullach saw Logan’s look of polite cynicism and added, ‘The boy is young, Ardvarrick.’
‘Not that young,’ Logan flashed back at him. ‘He is barely a year younger than I!’
Fingal shrugged. ‘He has strong passions and has been too long without a woman. He has been waiting for my Kirstin, you see. Another week and they will be wed. Oh, I see what you are thinking, man, that I shouldn’t let him marry my daughter, but she is still mad for him and I cannot deny her what she wants. Besides, the match secures a strong leader for Contullach when I am gone.’
‘A strong leader, aye, but not a wise one.’
‘Nay, you are wrong. The boy will learn wisdom. Especially when he sees in his purse the extra money we get for our cattle this season.’ He grinned and lifted his ale cup. ‘To the peace, eh, Ardvarrick?’
Logan touched his tankard to Contullach’s, hoping rather than believing he had heard the last of Ewan Cowie.
After Logan had left, Ailsa was at a loss to know what to do with herself. She made her way to the housekeeper’s room in search of company and was grateful when Mrs Noranside invited her to take a dish of tea.
‘It has rarely been used since the mistress died, but I have the occasional cup and it is still good to drink,’ she said, setting a chair for Ailsa before she began preparing the tea.
‘When did Lady Ardvarrick die?’ asked Ailsa. ‘I beg your pardon if I appear too curious, but I am eager to learn as much as I can of the master’s family and little is spoken at Contullach about the Rathmores, save when there is something wrong, such as a cattle raid that can be blamed upon them.’
‘It has been much the same here at Ardvarrick,’ replied the housekeeper with a sigh. ‘The late mistress and Morag Contullach did try to bring the families together, when Master Logan was a boy, but I fear Fingal Contullach always resented Ardvarrick’s prosperity. It is true that my lady’s fortune accounted for some of it, but even more was down to years of good management.’ She sighed and looked a little wistful, then shook it off and smiled at Ailsa. ‘But what was it you asked me, my dear? Oh, yes, Lady Ardvarrick. Now, let me see...it must be all of four years since she passed on. A lovely lady she was. English born and well connected, too, but not too proud to make her home at Ardvarrick.’
‘Did she not miss England?’ asked Ailsa.
‘A little, but she wrote letters all the time to her family in Hampshire. She sent Logan to live with them, when he had finished his schooling in Edinburgh. That was just before the rising of fifteen and I think my lady was anxious he should not get caught up in that. She was also eager that he should know his relatives and something of the world other than Ardvarrick, so he went south. And he could not have disliked it, for he stayed there until last autumn, when he returned to take up his duties here.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He was reluctant when he first came back, we could all see that. He clung to his English ways, but by the end of the winter you could tell he was becoming more at home here. I am hopeful that we might yet see him in the belted plaid, for I recall even as a boy he looked very grand in it.’
Ailsa sipped her tea and imagined Logan’s tall, broad-shouldered figure in Highland dress. He had looked very handsome as they rowed away from Castle Creag, standing in the prow of the little boat in his tartan trews and jacket, his head up, hand on the hilt of his sword. Her saviour. Her protector and perhaps—a delicious frisson of excitement ran through her—soon to be her husband.
The day stretched out before Ailsa. Logan’s parting words had been that she should explore Ardvarrick and make herself familiar with her new home. She was a little shy of wandering around the house alone, but after spending a comfortable hour drinking tea with Mrs Noranside, the bright sunshine was irresistible and she went out to explore the grounds.
Everything at Ardvarrick delighted Ailsa. She loved the walled kitchen garden, where the air was redolent with the smell of herbs, but it was the terraces on the south front that she liked most. There was a paved walkway all around the house, but on the south side it led down via shallow steps to a terrace containing formal parterres full of lavender, pansies and primulas, as well as tall blue spiky flowers and other colourful blooms that were unfamiliar to Ailsa.
The plant beds were surrounded by low hedges of clipped box or yew and separated by well-drained gravel paths where she could walk out after a shower without having to change into sturdy footwear. Ailsa loved the neatness and order of the parterres and she was intrigued by the imposing statues that stood sentinel over the paths. More steps descended to a narrow strip of sloping lawn. A low wall defined the boundary of the garden and beyond it the meadows led down to the sea that glittered like silver in the sunlight. Colourful flowers had been coaxed to bloom in the borders and more marble statues graced the lawn. After Contullach with its stark stone walls and cobbled yard, Ardvarrick was luxury indeed.
She whiled away the afternoon out of doors, talking to the gardener who had been brought in by the late Lady Ardvarrick, when the new house had first been conceived, to transform the grounds. Ailsa learned that the statues dotted around the gardens were Italian, shipped over at great expense. Sadly, Logan’s mother had died before she had seen her designs realised, but the old Laird had ordered that the gardens should be completed and maintained, as a memorial to his wife.
After finishing a tour of the gardens Ailsa continued her exploration, finding her way to the well-appointed stables, where the head groom was happy to regale her with stories of Logan as a young boy, running wild around the estate. The time flew by and when at last a chill wind sprang up and she returned to the house, she was surprised to see that it was almost time for dinner.
She ran up quickly to her room. Logan had promised to bring her clothes back from Contullach, but he would not return until tomorrow and in the meantime, she must make do with her one gown. The housekeeper had done what she could to clean and mend it, but once she had something fresh to wear Ailsa was determined to throw it away. It held too many horrid memories of her imprisonment at Castle Creag.
She washed her face and hands and tidied her hair and was about to leave the room when she noticed the writing implements were still on the table by the window. Logan had told her that only the housekeeper was allowed into the study and that would explain why Shona, the maid assigned to look after her, had not returned them. Well, that was something Ailsa could do. She picked up the pen and the silver inkwell and made her way quickly to Logan’s study. The room was as she remembered it and Ailsa paused for a moment, imagining Logan here, poring over his accounts or working on his correspondence.
She wished he was there now and was obliged to give herself a little shake. This would not do, she was becoming quite maudlin! Ailsa carefully replaced the inkwell and pen on the standish and as she straightened, she noticed the ball of paper Logan had thrown into the fireplace was still there. It was resting on top of the kindling that had been laid in the fire grate, ready for the master to light when he next used the room.
Ailsa walked to the hearth and carefully lifted out the paper. She would not read Logan’s correspondence without permission, but surely there would be no harm in looking at something he had discarded, just to feel a little closer to him? Smoothing out the sheet, she saw it was the beginning of a letter, written with elegant, sloping strokes. Logan’s writing, she thought, smiling, and very like the man; bold and decisive. But as her eyes made sense of what she was reading, her smile faded.
My Dear Aunt,
Your letter informing me that Lady Fritchley, or Lady Mary as I shall always think of her, is now widowed was news indeed. Also, your assertion that she might now accept an offer from me is more encouraging than I had ever dared to hope after all these years...
There was no more, but it was enough. What was it Norry had said? An earl’s daughter. Logan’s first love. Ailsa looked at the date in the top corner of the page. Logan had been writing this when he learned of her abduction.
‘I would not bed a maid and then leave her.’
Ailsa leaned against the wall, feeling slightly sick. There could be no mistake, his heart still belonged to this Lady Fritchley. He had broken off from writing this letter to come to her aid and now, because of what had happened at the bothy, he felt obliged to marry her rather than to follow his heart. What other explanation could there be?
The door opened and Shona peeped in.
‘Ah, there you are, ma’am! Mistress Noranside sent me to look for you, so she did. She says I’m to take you to the dining room, ma’am, if it pleases you.’
‘What?’ Ailsa stared blankly at the young maid for a moment, trying to force her raging thoughts into some sort of order. ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I will come immediately.’
She crumpled the letter again and replaced it back on top of the kindling. Her limbs felt leaden and her appetite had quite gone, but she must not let it show. She would save her grief until she was alone in her room.
Ardvarrick House was a welcome sight in the late evening sunlight. Logan had only been away one night, but it felt a lifetime. He had wanted to rush off at dawn, but Contullach had insisted they hold a meeting to discuss continuing their agreement for a second year. Logan had been obliged to spend precious hours turning his mind to business when he wanted to be riding through the glens back to Ardvarrick. Back to Ailsa.
He hurried indoors and made his way directly to the drawing room, where he found her standing by the window.
‘Norry said I should find you here. But why are you in the gloom? We can afford candles, you know. As many as you wish!’ He laughed as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. ‘Have you missed me?’
‘Of course.’
Her eyes roamed his face anxiously and he shook his head. ‘If you are looking for cuts and bruises, there are none. I told you I would not fight Cowie. I left your uncle to deal with the matter.’
‘And did he?’
‘Aye. Cowie will trouble you no more, Ailsa. I have made it clear that if he sets foot on my land again it will be his corpse I shall be returning to Contullach.’ He felt her shudder and drew her close to kiss her again. ‘Now, let us put the matter behind us. We must look instead to the future. Do you agree?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Yes, certainly, let us not talk of it any longer.’
She would have turned away, but Logan stopped her. He caught her chin and turned her face towards the light.
‘But what is this?’ he said, frowning. ‘You are looking very wan, my dear.’
‘I am a little tired,’ she said, gently freeing herself from his grasp. ‘I did not sleep too well last night. Norry is waiting for the word to serve dinner, or would you prefer to change first?’
‘I cannot sit down with you in all my dirt,’ he replied. ‘And we can both change our clothes. Your belongings have been packed into two horse panniers which I have had taken up to your room. Come along, I will escort you. You will be able to put on a fresh gown, which I am sure will cheer you.’
Her smile looked a little forced, yet when they reached the door of her chamber and he kissed her, she clung to him and responded eagerly. When at last he broke off and raised his head, he could not prevent a laugh escaping him.
‘By heaven, I have only been away one night!’ His arms tightened. ‘I am sorely tempted to take you to bed now and not wait for the preacher to marry us.’
She blushed adorably, but twisted out of his arms.
‘You tempt me, too,’ she murmured, ‘But we agreed we would wait.’ She reached for the door handle. ‘And besides, Mrs Noranside will be cross if we are late for dinner!’