Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-nine

C
leo watched as her father removed his gloves and slapped them against his hands. The small taproom was crowded at this hour, and he eyed their surroundings impatiently, ostensibly hoping that they might be served by one of the harried-looking servant girls sometime soon.

Jack stood up from the table, his impatience getting the better of him. “I’ll go speak with the innkeeper and see when we might expect service.”

Cleo watched him stalk away, feeling as miserable as ever. In fact, with every mile they’d traveled, a pore-deep misery had infiltrated every inch of her.

“Are you well?” Annalise asked from beside her, blinking those wide brown eyes of hers with their impossibly long lashes.

Cleo nodded mutely. She should ask Annalise the same question. With her handicap, cooped up in a carriage for hours couldn’t be that comfortable. Only Cleo couldn’t muster the energy or inclination to talk.

“I’m certain a warm meal will do you good,” Marguerite volunteered.

Cleo stared out at her bleakly. “Will it?” She wasn’t convinced she’d ever feel well again.

Marguerite cocked her head, her gaze sharpening on Cleo. “Well, no, actually. I’m not convinced you’ll ever be fine. You just walked away from your husband. And you may be too foolish to realize it, but you love the man.”

“Marguerite,” Ash chided.

She glared at her husband. “What? I won’t sit silently as she does this. She needs to hear the truth.”

Cleo turned to look out at the taproom. She didn’t need to hear it. Because she already knew.

Yes
. The word had slipped inside her mind before she could stop it. It was the answer she’d been fleeing from when she earlier asked herself if she loved her husband. It was there, inescapable.
Yes
.

She felt as though she’d left a part of herself with Logan. She couldn’t recall ever feeling this wretched . . . save for when she buried one of her siblings.

So the remaining question was whether she was protecting herself at all if she was left hurting so much.

She closed her eyes in a tight blink. When she opened them moments later, she found herself staring at a young couple at the table next to her. Two small children crowded around the mother, eating from a single bowl of stew. She brought the spoon to one child’s mouth and then the next, taking only an occasional sip for herself. The husband tore a large loaf of bread into pieces, placing the hunks upon a trencher that already held bits of cheese he’d torn up for the family. It wasn’t much food for a family of four. But they smiled. They laughed. The mother kissed her children, and when she looked at her husband her eyes glowed.

They loved each other. They were happy. Even with their meager food and their well-worn clothes.

Her hand drifted to her belly. Did a life already grow there? A part of Logan? It dawned on Cleo that she’d like that. She would love that. In fact, she wanted that. She wanted it with Logan.

She stood abruptly. “I-I have to go.”

Ash rose without a word and left the inn. Cleo hardly paid him any note. She looked desperately at each of her sisters. “I made a mistake. I have to go back.”

Annalise smiled. “Oh, Cleo. You do love him.”

Cleo nodded. “Yes, I have to see Jack. We have to go back now. At once.”

Marguerite made a shushing sound and guided her back down.

“No,” Cleo shook her off. “You don’t understand. I left him. He thinks I don’t care about him.”

“I understand,” Marguerite said evenly. “And so does Ash. He went to fetch the driver to ready the carriage.”

“He did?”

Marguerite smiled. “We knew you would come to your senses.”

“I wish I’d done so sooner.” Her shoulders slumped.

Annalise scooted close and patted her back. “At least you did it before reaching London.”

Cleo nodded, feeling only a little mollified. She wouldn’t feel totally at ease until she saw Logan again. Until she told him how sorry she was. Until she told him how she felt—that the only thing that terrified her any longer was the possibility of losing him.

Hopefully, he’d forgive her for running away. Hopefully, she wasn’t too late.

I
t was well past dark when they arrived back at McKinney Castle. She’d expected a sleeping village, but the lights of countless lanterns glowed through the curtains of her carriage. Every cottage window was lit, almost as though in vigil. Several people walked along the road toward the castle, slowing the progress of the carriages.

“What’s happening?” Annalise asked, glancing left and right out the carriage window.

“Something’s wrong,” Cleo announced, her stomach sinking.

“I’ll find out.” Jack opened the door and hopped down from the slow-moving carriage.

She lost sight of him as he moved to talk to a villager and their conveyance clambered on, eventually entering into the yard, blazing with the light of dozens of torches and lanterns. Or at least they advanced as far as they could into the yard. People, wagons, and several draft horses blocked them from going any farther.

Unable to wait for her father to arrive with an explanation, she popped open the door and eased herself down, holding her skirts in one hand. Ignoring the sound of Annalise calling her name, she hastened through the crowd, scanning the yard, eager to see Logan. Would his eyes light with joy when he saw that she had returned? Or would they still look as cold and empty as before? Perhaps he’d resigned himself to her leaving . . . perhaps he was even glad to be rid of her.

She banished the thought, refusing to let it deter her from her course.

Shaking her head, she stepped to the side as a wagon loaded with rock and stone rolled past. Was it typical for them to work so late into the night? Ahead, she spotted Simon and cut a direct line for him. He’d know where she could find Logan.

“Simon!” she called out, rushing to reach him.

He swung around, his hair mussed and wild about him—but not nearly as wild as his eyes. She paused, unease taking hold of her as she surveyed him. He was covered in dirt. Even his dark hair was chalky with it.

“Cleo.” He took a halting step toward her. There were others around him—a fact that only caught her notice because they all stilled unnaturally.

“Simon.” She glanced at the faces watching her. “Where’s Logan?”

Behind her, she heard her name being called. A glance over her shoulder revealed Jack, pushing through the crowd, his expression grave and urgent.

She looked back at her brother-in-law. He’d moved closer now. “Cleo . . . you came back . . .” His voice faded as he reached for her.

“Where’s Logan?” Her voice rang sharply.

He shook his head at her, his countenance bleak and beyond weary.

Her gaze drifted, lifting over his shoulder. A gasp tore through her throat at the giant pile of rubble where the north-wing wall had once stood. Where she’d last seen Logan.

Her stomach dipped, dropped to her feet as understanding washed over her. She wasn’t aware of anything. Not her scream. Not the hands holding her back as she attempted to launch herself at the pile of ancient stones that buried her husband.

C
leo hefted another rock onto the wagon bed, hardly breaking stride before she turned to fetch another one.

“Cleo, take a rest. Here . . . have a drink.”

Shaking her head, she strode past Jack. After her initial shock, she’d changed into a pair of Josephine’s spare trousers that the girl had been quick to volunteer. Considering that Josie and Abigail had been working alongside everyone else, there was no chance Cleo was going to stand idle.

“Cleo,” Marguerite called from the side where she watched everyone work. She stepped out of her husband’s way as he dumped two buckets of stones into the back of a wagon. “Please . . . you haven’t stopped.”

And she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not until she found Logan. Her mind strayed, inched toward that voice whispering through her mind.
He can’t be alive. Not in there. Not beneath the crushing weight of those stones
.

“We found someone!”

Cleo dropped her bucket and raced forward at the shout, clambering up the rubble to the spot where several men crowded. Simon and Niall were there, at the head of the group.

“He’d dead!” a voice shouted.

She jerked to a stop, wobbling on the uneven surface, a sob strangling in her throat.
No, no, no
. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring herself to look. It’s not Logan. Logan couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t have lost him just when she learned how much she loved him.

Jack was there, at her side, his fingers wrapping around her arm in support. She looked at him, her chest a twisting mass. “Is it . . .”

Jack shook his head and released her arm. He hurried ahead, climbing toward the body they’d unearthed and taking position beside Logan’s younger brothers.

She waited, watched with her heart in her throat as he stared down alongside Logan’s brothers. In moments, he whirled around, his gaze locking with hers. “It’s not him!”

Relief sagged her shoulders, poured through her in a wash of gratitude—quickly replaced with the familiar fear again. Logan was still buried under all those stones. Bile rose in the back of her throat. She pressed her hand to her lips until the nausea passed.

Becoming ill would accomplish nothing. Without a word, she turned and gathered another stone, hefting it in her arms.

She paused when she caught sight of Simon’s face. The defeat there, writ upon the youthful lines and hollows, struck a painful blow. He said something to one of the men, shaking his head.

Had he given up? Logan’s own brother?

Fresh determination burned a fiery trail through her. Logan wouldn’t give up if that was her down there. Not until he found her. Dropping the stone in her bucket she picked up another one. Stopping wasn’t an option.

“Cleo.” Jack arrived at her side again.

She faced him, blowing at a strand of hair that dangled before her eyes. “What are you waiting for? Pick up a rock.”

She didn’t wait to see whether he joined her or not. She simply resumed moving, working quickly, past the point of exhaustion . . . telling herself there was still hope. He was still under there. Still alive. She couldn’t let herself believe otherwise.

Opening her mouth, she called his name as she removed stone after stone, convinced he was down there somewhere, and determined that he hear her voice and know help was coming.

Jack spoke her name gently. “Let’s go inside and rest. The others will continue to work.”

“I want to be here when he comes out.”

Jack cleared his throat. She didn’t even look up from her task, determined not to lose even a moment more of time. “Cleo, you have to consider . . . he’s probably gone.”

“No,” she barked. “I don’t have to consider that. I won’t. Not unless I’m staring at his dead body. Until then, I’m digging. We all are. Now cease your prattle and get back to work.”

There was only a moment’s hesitation before Jack continued, tossing rocks into his bucket with a steady clink of stone on stone.

Opening her mouth, Cleo called out for Logan again, unearthing rocks until she couldn’t feel her hands inside her heavy work gloves. She just moved from instinct and memory, her heart driving her.

Chapter Thirty

L
ogan winced as another stabbing pain shot up from where his foot was pinned.

He cursed himself for making the movement, the slight adjustment of his body that caused the lancing agony. It was too dark to investigate what trapped his foot.

He couldn’t sit up. He splayed his hands flat on the stretch of wood that hovered two to three inches above his chest. It was the bottom of the scaffolding. One of its chains rattled somewhere near his head and he knew without its protection he would have been crushed beneath stone.

Somehow in the collapse, the heavy plank had fallen above him, covering him. The scaffolding was wedged at an angle, creating a small shelter of sorts—a pocket of air and space that wouldn’t last forever.

He knew this, and in the endless dark he took careful sips of air, clinging to the hope that his brothers would find him—that they wouldn’t stop. That they would be in time.

Cleo
. Her face drifted through his mind. He was glad she’d gone. That she wasn’t here, up there with the rest of them, suffering all manner of anxiety and grief. He knew she cared for him. That’s why she’d left. Ran. Her feelings for him had grown into something real. Too real for her to face.

But he’d let her go anyway, instead of confessing his feelings, baring all for her, everything—and demanding the same from her.

He supposed that made him as much of a coward as she was. And now it might be too late.

He stopped breathing abruptly. The slow, easy cadence he’d established forgotten as his ears strained, listening. And there it was again. A sound. Faint. Far away—as if from the bottom of a well.

Logan!

His name. If he could hear them—perhaps he could be heard, too. Forgetting the need to save his air. He opened his mouth and shouted.

C
leo moved beyond the point of feeling. Beyond exhaustion. The only thing driving her was sheer faith that Logan lived.

She’d know if he was dead. She’d feel it. Practical or not, this is what she told herself as she dumped another bucket into the waiting wagon and tromped her way back up the mound of depleting stone. They’d find him soon.

She secured her footing on the uneven surface, ignoring how her legs trembled, and resumed working, calling out Logan’s name periodically, forcing her voice to ring loudly even as it cracked from overuse.

She’d just tossed another rock into her bucket and was bending down for another one when she heard something.

She stilled, cocking her head to the side. It came again. Directly beneath her. She tossed her rock and began digging furiously, flinging stones aside. It didn’t take very long for her to reach something that wasn’t stony rubble—a small smooth patch of wood, no more than an inch in diameter, peeked out from where she’d cleared away rocks. She tapped the surface with her fingers.

An answering cry greeted the sound.

She shot up, nearly losing her balance. “Over here!” she shouted, waving an arm wildly for the others. “I heard someone! Here!”

Men rushed her, crowding all around her, clearing the stones away, revealing more and more of the long stretch of wood. Scaffolding—it was the scaffolding, she realized with burgeoning excitement.

Jack wrapped an arm around her shoulders and moved her off to the side. She let him, knowing the men would all work faster than she could. Her gaze ached as she watched more and more of the plank become exposed.

Suddenly there was a hand—a filthy, dirt-covered hand shooting out from beneath the plank.

She shouted and lunged forward.

Jack pulled her back. “Wait. Let them clear the area and see . . .”

His words faded and she knew the rest of what he was saying:
let them see if he was fit to view
.

She didn’t care. She’d seen that hand reaching for help. He was alive and she had to let him know she was here for him. That she’d be here for him no matter what.

She broke free and stumbled forward. She fell, caught herself on her hands and climbed, shoving through bodies, calling for Logan.

“Cleo!”

Simon appeared through the press of figures. He grabbed her hand and pulled her the rest of the way. One arm around her, he held her up as men lifted Logan to freedom.

Her throat constricted. She’d called his name for countless hours but now she could say nothing. Could only stare at his face, dirty and streaked with blood.
Alive
. Her heart squeezed so tightly within her chest she feared it might burst.

And then he saw her. He blinked, shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. As if he were suffering a mirage.

He hobbled toward her, one arm around Niall for support, his eyes fastened on her—feral and alert. Not the eyes of a man trapped for hours beneath a pile of crushing stone.

He winced as he took a jarring step and she realized he couldn’t put his weight on his right foot. She hastened forward, slipping her arm around his waist and closing her eyes in one long blink at the solid sensation of him alongside her body. He was whole. Alive.

“You look good in trousers,” he murmured near her ear, stirring the hair that hung there loosely.

She snorted. Of all the things she’d imagined him to say, that had not been among them.

“I shall wear them every day for you then.” She smiled up at him as they eased off the rocky ground.

He turned to look at her, his face completely absorbed in the study of her. “Are you making promises?” he asked, bewilderment in his voice.

She swallowed against the sudden lump in her throat. Was he simply stunned that she was here? Or was there something more to his reaction? Did he not want her here?

Emotion swelled through her and her body trembled, the ordeal of the last hours catching up with her.

Hope filled her, eclipsing everything else. She wanted to hold him, talk to him, say all those things that desperately needed to be said. But Mrs. Willis was suddenly there, all efficiency as she took charge, sweeping Logan into the foyer, brushing Cleo aside so that she might assist him up the stairs. Just as well, she supposed. She was so shaky, her legs possessing all the consistency of pudding. She wouldn’t want to risk losing her grip on Logan as they ascended the steps.

Cleo followed, letting Mrs. Willis direct. Logan needed tending and she was the best person to see it done. As he was carried up the stairs, he looked back several times, his gaze finding her. She resisted the impulse to rush after him and pour out her soul, confess her fears and proclaim her love. That was a selfish need. Logan needed to be taken care of first. The needs of her heart could wait.

“Come.” Abigail was at her side, taking her by the arm. “Let’s get you changed and freshened up. I imagine you could use a bath. When was the last time you ate?”

Cleo looked longingly after Logan, mumbling some inane response.

Abigail followed her gaze. “Mrs. Willis will care for him. Let’s take care of you so that you may be there for him when she’s finished.”

She glanced down at her filthy person and grimaced. Abigail made good sense. And she would like to look her best when she begged his forgiveness and asked for another chance as his wife. With that thought, Cleo permitted Abigail to tug her away, wincing when she grasped her gloved hand.

“What’s this?” Abigail pulled her glove free and hissed a breath at the sight of Cleo’s ravaged palms. Even with gloves, her palms were raw with broken blisters. “Come. Logan’s not the only one requiring some nursing.”

As she was pulled away in the direction of Abigail’s chamber, she glanced down the length of corridor. Logan was already out of sight and her heart squeezed. As grateful as she was that he lived, this wasn’t precisely the sweet reunion she had imagined.

L
ogan barely withstood Mrs. Willis’s examination. He ground his teeth through all her poking and prodding, if for no other reason than to get through her inspection as hastily as possible. The more he complained, the longer she would linger over him, convinced he was mortally wounded. He hadn’t lived his entire lifetime at McKinney without coming to know how the woman operated.

“I need to see Cleo. Where’d she go?”

“There now.” Mrs. Willis rose from where she’d wrapped his left foot tightly in bandages. “Not broken, I believe. Just sprained and mightily bruised. It will take a while to heal fully, but you’ve always been a strong lad.” She motioned to a crutch propped against the edge of the bed. “When you’re fit to rise, you can walk with that. Belonged to my nephew Joseph when he broke his leg. Remember him? Great lumbering ox was always clumsy.”

“Good.” He began to rise, reaching for the crutch. “Now let me find Cleo.”

She pushed him back down by the chest. “You’re not going anywhere. Your sister’s looking after her. She’ll come to you soon enough.”

He growled low in his throat, but knew better than to raise a fit with Mrs. Willis. In his present condition, he wouldn’t get two feet before she dragged him back to bed by the ear.

Nodding, he forced out the words, “Very well.”

She eyed him dubiously, and he wondered if he’d surrendered too soon. “I’m hungry,” he volunteered. “I could use some food. The quicker to regain my strength.”

Mrs. Willis nodded once, obviously satisfied, as he knew she would be. “That’s a good lad. I’ll be back with a plate for you. You just rest here and wait.”

He nodded, struggling to maintain a neutral expression on his face as she ambled from the chamber.

As soon as the door clicked shut, he slid his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the crutch. Propping it beneath his arm, he began a slow, limping walk from the chamber.

Cleo couldn’t be far. He assumed Mrs. Willis meant Abigail was looking after Cleo. Josephine could hardly look after herself much less someone else. In his anxiousness, he simply opened the door to his sister’s room.

Abigail spun around, startled. “Logan!” she uttered his name quietly, and he immediately saw why.

Cleo had fallen asleep upon the bed wearing only a robe, her hair still wet from her bath. Dark smudges marred the tender flesh beneath her eyes.

“Leave us, Abbie. We’ll stay the night here.”

Abigail gathered up the garments Cleo had worn before her bath, pausing to look down at her sleeping sister-in-law. “She just sat down for a moment, and then she was asleep. She’s had quite the day.” Abigail’s gaze slid over him. “You both have.”

“She came back,” he murmured.

“She never stopped, Logan. She pulled stones alongside the men. She was like a woman possessed.”

His gaze devoured Cleo as she slept upon the bed. He wasn’t surprised she possessed such tenacity and determination. He’d seen evidence of that since he met her. He was only astonished that he was the recipient of such steadfast resolve . . . that she should care about him that much.

Abigail glanced from him to Cleo upon the bed. “Are you certain you want to sleep in here? I can have someone carry her to your chamber.”

“No.” He wouldn’t stand idle and helpless as someone else carried her for him. No one would hold her but him. Seeing as he was in no condition to do so at this time, they would spend the night here.

“Very well. I’ll keep Willis away.” Abigail hugged him quickly. “I’m so glad you’re safe, brother.”

As his sister left the room he snatched a blanket off the nearby chaise and limped the remaining steps to the bed. Lying down beside his wife, he covered them both with the soft fabric.

Sighing, he felt his beaten body finally ease and relax. Draping an arm around her waist and holding her close, he inhaled her clean scent and forgot all of his aches and pains. The elation in his heart eclipsed all else.

“Logan?” she murmured sleepily, lifting her head.

He looked down at her face, brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. “I’m here.”

“I thought I was dreaming.” Her eyes blinked with alertness.

“No dream.”

“How . . .”

“Did you think I could stay away from you?”

Emotion brightened her gaze. “You’re not angry at me . . . for leaving you?”

He stared into her eyes for a long time, the knowledge seeping into his bones that she was the one. The woman he was born to love. The woman he was meant to live out his life with. And that just maybe . . . she felt the same way. “You came back.” His thumb brushed her bottom lip. “That’s all that matters to me. That’s everything.”

A sob choked her throat and her lips quivered. “I never should have left. I was scared. I was running away . . . too scared to give us a chance. To take a risk. When we returned and I learned what happened, that you were buried under that wall, I thought it was my punishment for turning away from you . . . from denying what I felt. I love you.”

“No punishment,” he muttered fiercely, holding her face in both hands and kissing her roughly. He broke away to rasp against her lips, “I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you. Because if you ever try to leave again, I’ll chase you down and drag you back home—here where you belong.”

She snuggled closer to him, her face upturned to his. “I’ll never leave again.”

“I’ve always wanted you, Cleo. You just had to let go . . . and let me love you.”

Her eyes shimmered wetly in the dim room. “I’m letting you.”

“And I’m yours. Forever.”

“I love you, Logan.”

He smiled and kissed her again, long and deep. “It’s about time you said it.”