Page 84 of To Wed a Wild Scot
The next thing Juliana knew, his shouts were ringing in her ears. A sound was clawing its way up her throat, but before she could scream a third time, Grace hit the ground with a brutal slam. Logan leapt from his horse and ran toward her. Juliana didn’t recall dismounting, but her feet crashed into the ground as she ran after Logan, praying with every step she took the mare wouldn’t trample Grace under her pounding hooves.
Instead, the mare bolted. Logan shot forward and fell to his knees beside Grace.
Juliana didn’t remember running. She didn’t know if she sobbed, or if any tears ran down her cheeks. Later, all she could remember was Grace, one arm twisted beside her head, and blood—very red against her pale face—trickling from her nose.
* * * *
You need to forgive him…
These words in Logan’s soft voice kept repeating over and over in Juliana’s head. He hadn’t spoken for hours, yet she could hear him as clearly as if he’d just said the words aloud.
She wasn’t sure why these words should be haunting her now, unless it was simply that it was impossible to ignore the similarities between this moment and the last evening of her father’s life.
She and Logan were in a dark room, sitting beside Grace’s bed. Juliana held one of the child’s small hands tucked inside her own, but Grace’s other arm was secured in a sling. The surgeon who’d come in to set the broken bone had assured them it was a simple fracture, and Grace would suffer no lasting effects from the injury. They’d had the doctor in as well, but he’d been optimistic about the knot on the back of Grace’s head, predicting with a calm smile the worst struggle would be keeping the child confined to her bed long enough for her to heal.
Since this morning, Juliana hadn’t spared a thought for anything other than Grace. Her father and even Logan had receded to the back of her mind while she waited in agony to see how severe Grace’s injuries were.
When the doctor told her Grace was going to be just fine, the relief was like nothing Juliana had ever felt before. It did something to her—shook something loose inside her, and the evening of her father’s death came crashing down upon her again.
And with it, something else. Something Logan had said to her that day in the carriage, before they’d arrived at Graystone Court.
She’d told him her father had given her everything, but Logan had shaken his head. Then he’d said something she hadn’t understood at the time.
He didn’t trust you. That’s a difficult thing to forgive in someone you love.
Juliana found the outlines of Logan’s face in the shadowy room. It had taken time, but now she thought she understood what he’d been trying to tell her that day. Somehow, he’d known how she felt before she did herself.
Until this moment, she’d struggled to understand why she couldn’t forgive her father. He’d been ill when he amended his will—not in his right mind. Juliana knew that, yet even after his death she could feel a hard, cold knot of anger in her chest when she thought about the last few months of his life.
She’d told herself she was a selfish, ungrateful daughter—that only a monster would withhold forgiveness in the face of a beloved father’s death. She’d told herself over and over again he’d only wanted her to be safe, to protect her, yet she still hadn’t been able to let go of her anger and resentment toward him. She hadn’t known why at first, but as the days passed her confused thoughts started to untangle themselves in her head.
Her father had loved her dearly. He thought her perfect—a diamond of the first water, destined to become a duchess. He couldn’t have been prouder of her charm and intelligence. She was everything he ever wanted in a daughter, and he saw her as a credit to him.
But he’d never really seenher. And she…well, she’d seen herself through his eyes, hadn’t she? An accomplished, charming, decorative lady of fashion. For a long time, she’d believed she wanted the same things for herself her father wanted for her.
But that wasn’t the truth. It never had been.
The truth was, until she’d been forced to act to save Grace, she hadn’t had any more faith in herself than her father had. Deep down, she’d doubted herself. There was a part of her father that hadn’t believed she was capable of taking care of herself and Grace, and a part of her had wondered if he was right.
But underneath the trappings that were so important to her father, there was a great deal more to Juliana than either of them had suspected. A woman of strength, of determination and grit. That was the part her father had never seen. He’d never even suspected it was there.
But Logan had.
Never once, since she chased him from Inverness to Castle Kinross, had he ever underestimated her. She hadn’t let him.
This man—this fierce, maddening Scot—he’d helped bring out another side of her. The side that was willing to struggle for what she wanted, to fight for what mattered to her. He’d made her pursue him, made her meet every challenge, because nothing less than everything she had, everything she was, would ever be enough for him.
“I never wanted to be a duchess,” she said suddenly.
Her voice sounded loud in the quiet room.
Logan’s head snapped up.
“I never wanted to be a duchess,” she repeated softly, more to herself than to Logan. It was the truth. The titles, the properties, the fortune—none of it had ever mattered to her the way it mattered to her father.
Logan said nothing, and more words rushed to Juliana’s lips. She had so much to say to him, so many words locked away inside her heart. “I always imagined I’d marry Fitzwilliam. He was one reason why I came to Scotland. You’re right about that. I’ve always loved him.”
Logan remained silent, but she sensed the sudden tension in him.
