Page 43 of To Wed a Wild Scot
“If you wish it. I’d agree to a divorce, once my father—”
Logan drew his hand away and strode over to the window before she could say any more. He was more upset by her offer than he could explain. A divorce would shame and humiliate her. Her fine friends, even her family might shun her if her husband divorced her.
Had he really driven her to such extremes?
He leaned his hands against the windowsill and stood there for some time, peering out into the darkness, his thoughts a baffling mix of remorse and confusion. By the time he returned to the side of the bed, Lady Juliana had fallen asleep. He felt a quick, sharp stab of disappointment, but perhaps it was for the best.
He didn’t have any answers for her.
Logan slipped quietly into the hallway, intending to sleep on one of the settees in the sitting room, but any hopes he’d had of avoiding Widow Macaulay died a quick death.
“Stop right there, Logan Blair.”
Logan froze. He might be the laird, but Agnes Macaulay had known him since he was a drooling infant. She hadn’t the slightest qualm about flaying the skin from his bones with that barbed tongue of hers.
She stared hard at him for long enough to make him squirm, then asked, “Ye going to marry that lass?”
Logan opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Yes? No? I’m going to marry her, then divorce her?
He hadn’t any idea which answer was the truth, so he said nothing.
His expression must have said it all, though, because Widow Macauley let out a delighted cackle, as if he’d given her just the answer she wanted. “That’s what I thought. Ye were a naughty little lad, Logan Blair, but even then, I never took ye for a fool. Glad to see I was right.”
Chapter Eleven
The next day dawned cool and sunny. Despite their late night, both Logan and Juliana rose early, and were on the road to Castle Kinross only an hour after the sun peeked over the horizon.
There was no more talk of soft lips or blue eyes, and no more talk of marriage. There was no more sharing a saddle, either. Lady Juliana and Fiona rode Domino, and Logan did his best to convince himself it was much more comfortable having Fingal’s saddle to himself.
Neither of them mentioned the kiss.
Logan thought about it, though. He spent most of the ride playing over those moments in his mind. His stomach leapt every time he recalled her warm lips pressed against his. He would have sworn Juliana was thinking of it, too. She took care not to look at him, but every time she felt his gaze on her face, her cheeks reddened.
Logan reconciled himself to a quiet ride, but after a few more miles passed, Juliana surprised him by saying, “You never intended to be gone from Castle Kinross for longer than a day, did you?”
“No. I meant to return last night.”
“When I saw your saddle bags, I assumed…” She trailed off, biting her lip.
Lady Juliana had been there when he’d unpacked his saddle bags this morning, and turned over to Widow Macaulay the medicine, cloth, and other supplies Mrs. Selkirk had sent.
“You assumed I was a dishonorable scoundrel and a coward, as well as a thief.” Logan’s temper sparked, but then he noticed the mortified flush on her cheeks, and his anger softened. “You had cause to think so, I suppose.” He hadn’t given her any reason to trust him.
“Perhaps, but I’m sorry I…that is, I beg your pardon, Mr. Blair.”
Logan glanced at her. He hadn’t expected that. “I accept your apology, and I beg your pardon for taking your letters. I regret it.” He blew out a breath, relieved to have that weight off his chest.
“Why did you do it?”
“I told you why, the night you arrived. I thought it was better for the clan if Fitz married Emilia.” He still thought so, but he didn’t say it.
To his shock, Lady Juliana said it for him. “Because of who my father is, you mean.”
Logan tensed. There was no anger in her voice, yet he still hesitated to bring Lord Graystone into it. It would only be natural for her to defend her father, and he didn’t want to open another rift between them. Then again, if they did marry, they’d have to have it out sooner or later. “Yes.”
She was watching him carefully. “Then thievery is not your general habit, Mr. Blair?”
