He slipped his fingers free of her body and pulled her shift back down over her knees.
“The other day,” he said, caressing her back, “you told me Becky had made up a bedchamber for me.”
She nodded drowsily against his chest.
“I’ll sleep there tonight.”
“No, no.” She lifted her head. “Logan, you needn’t be alone.”
“You just told me you still wanted time.”
“That’s not what I mean.” Her hand pressed against his chest. “There’s more than one way to share pleasure, and there’s more than one way to share a heart.”
“I’ve told you—-”
“And you lied. You loved someone once. Enough to want to marry her. Enough to carry a memento of her with you for years, through battle and worse.” She pounded his chest with the flat side of her fist. “I know there’s something in there, you stubborn creature. That beneath that hard exterior, you’re nothing but squish. You’re not fooling me.”
He made his voice cold. “You’re fooling yourself.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged and looked away. “I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time.”
The truth of it was, he was a coward. Too afraid to admit that whatever remained of his dark, shriveled heart was growing involved.
Maddie had a great deal about him wrong, but maybe she was right about a few things. Perhaps Logan wasn’t quite as empty inside as he’d wanted to believe. And that thought scared him. He didn’t want to need her, not that way. If he needed her, that gave her power over him, and he’d danced long enough at the end of her string.
All those letters, all those years.
All that wanting and yearning she’d rekindled in him . . .
Only to be left for dead.
The senseless anger swirled in him. The urge to hold her, punish her, pleasure her, possess her. Tonight, he would be a greater danger to her than Grant could ever pose.
He gathered what willpower remained to him and stepped back. “Good night, mo chridhe. Take yourself up to bed. And when you get there, bar the door.”
Chapter Fifteen
Over breakfast the next morning, Rabbie cocked an eyebrow at him. “Still no progress on the bedding front?”
Logan stared straight forward. He refused to acknowledge the question.
“That’s a no, I take it.”
“Are you certain you’re applying yourself?” Callum asked.
Logan gave him a sharp look.
“You’ve got to be the Rob Roy of her imaginings. Are you calling her a ‘bonny lass’? The Englishwomen’s hearts go all a--flutter at that.”
“What do you know about the hearts of Englishwomen?”
“He’s got the right of it,” Rabbie put in. “ ‘Bonny lass’ is good. ‘Wee bonny lass’—-well, that’s even better.”
“ ‘Yer wee bonny lassie,’ ” said Callum, taking the improvement one step further. “Throw in lots of ‘och’ and ‘aye’ and ‘dinna fash yerself,’ too.”
Rabbie shook his head. “You’re all missing the obvious answer.”
“What’s that?” Munro asked.
Logan was glad Munro had asked, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to. But truth be told, he was coming to the end of his patience. If he didn’t have her soon, he was going to go mad with wanting. At this point, he was willing to listen to any idea, no matter how ridiculous—-even if it came from Rabbie.
Rabbie hunched over to whisper. “She’s got to see him with his kit off. Shirt, plaid, all of it.”
A coarse whoop rose up from the men.
Logan rolled his eyes and stabbed his meat with his knife.
“No, I mean it,” Rabbie said, standing up. “Here’s how it goes. You rise early one morning, Captain. Choose a misty one, when the gloom’s settled like a blanket over the valley.”
He waved his flattened hand before them like an artist painting a landscape. “You strip down to your skin, and then you have a dip in the loch. Wait until she comes looking for you. Because she will. They always do. But pretend not to notice when she does. And then—-just when she’s close enough to see and she’s been watching for a while, you rise up out of the water. Like a dolphin. Or a mermaid. Shooting up through the mist and pushing your hair back with both hands”—-Rabbie thrust both hands through his hair to demonstrate—-“with all the little beads of water trickling down over the ridges of your shoulders and chest.” He danced his fingers down his belly. “Like so.”
Munro snorted. “So he’s supposed to go down to the loch at half--crack o’ the morning, paddle about in the frigid water for an hour or two, and then emerge? I’m finding it difficult to believe she’d see anything impressive.”
Everyone laughed. Even Grant.