Page 19 of Finding Faith (Seduced in Scotland #2)

L ogan stared across the small, dirty cottage at a man he had long believed dead. Never in his life would he have guessed that Duncan Carlyle was alive. Even as he stared at this shadow of a man, thin and gaunt faced, a part of Logan was sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him. How could he be here? And why was he so hell-bent on killing him?

Well, that at least was to be expected. Logan had abandoned him in the jungle, and now, apparently, he was back to exact his revenge. Guilt had been Logan’s constant companion these years since his return from Burma. But now Duncan was back, and everything in the world seemed to flip onto its side.

Logan stared into the bloodshot eyes of a man he had once considered a dear friend, and curiosity got the better of him.

“How are you here, Duncan?” Logan asked. “What happened to you?”

A bitter sound escaped the man’s chest. He spat on the floor but kept his unnerving, cool glare on Logan.

“I’m guessing you never thought you’d see me again.

“No. I thought you were dead.”

“Well, sorry to ruin your day,” he said, clicking the gun back. “But some fools just can’t stay dead.”

Logan shook his head, not sure what he meant.

“Duncan, I never wanted you to die. If you knew what hell I’ve been through since that day—”

“What hell you’ve been through?” Duncan shouted, cutting Logan off. “I should love for you to know one day of my hell.”

Logan nodded, aware that he had no right to compare their experiences.

“Then tell me, Duncan. What happened?”

“Well, I was shot, wasn’t I? But I think you remember that, don’t you?” he asked, his tone acrimonious.

“I do,” Logan said slowly. “You had come up from below deck. You had been sick.”

“I was still sick,” he barked. “Sick as the devil on ice. My head… throbbed,” he said, his eyes shifting as the memory came over him. “And I couldn’t see, couldn’t think. I was on death’s doorstep, I was. Then, by the grace of God, I was shot. And you know what? I was grateful. Grateful to finally have a release from the pain and the damn drumbeat in my mind.”

Duncan’s free hand reached the side of his head, and he pressed it into his temple as if still experiencing the pain. Logan’s eyes shifted around the room, searching for anything he could throw at the man to knock the gun out of Duncan’s hand, but only a few chairs and torn blankets lay scattered about—none close enough for him to reach.

“I was so sure of death, that when I awoke, I was convinced I was in hell. The heat was unbearable. It was as if someone had tossed me into a fire. I later learned that my fever had returned, due to an infection this time. Supposedly, I was bedridden for six or so months.”

“You don’t know how long it was?”

“I was a prisoner,” he snapped. “No one told me anything. They only kept me alive as collateral, but a poor Highlander doesn’t pay much ransom. When the war finally ended, they kicked me out of the town without anything. It took me weeks of walking through the jungle to find a port and then another month or so to work for passage to Australia.”

“Australia?” Logan said. “Why?”

“Because passage to Britian was too expensive and I was weak. I couldn’t work as fast as I had before the fever and I had to sleep along the wooden boxes and crates that lined the docks. By the time I reached Australia, I was flea-infested and half my former size.”

That was true. Duncan had always been a mountain of a man, but he was now rail thin, with sunken cheeks and dark circles around his eyes.

“But why didn’t you inform someone of your rank and troop? As a prisoner of war, surely the British government would have found you passage home.”

Duncan laughed.

“Is that what you think? When has anyone ever cared about a half-dead solider months after an unpopular war has ended? Even if I did retain any of my former clothes or items, do you think I was the only poor bastard, wailing on the docks about my woes? No one cared. And worse, if you complained, you could get passed over for work. So, I kept my head down and fought and stole and begged for work until I could reach Australia.”

Logan’s stomach turned at the thought of Duncan, battered and filthy, living on the streets in a foreign land, knowing that no one was searching for him because everyone believed him dead. Logan felt as if he should have known, should have handled it somehow. But he pressed forward.

“How long were you in Australia?”

“Two whole years,” he said, his eyes drifting momentarily. “It was hotter than sin there. Worse than the jungles. At least in the jungle, there was water in the air. Australia was dry, and it was relentless. For two years, I dug ditches. It was the only work I could get that paid steadily, and every penny went into my ticket home. I didn’t even have enough to post a letter home. All I wanted was to be home again.”

The wistfulness of Duncan’s voice turned suddenly savage as he refocused on Logan.

“And then I returned to find that you had betrayed me.”

Logan was sure Duncan’s hatred of him was valid for leaving him in the jungle, but he frowned at his accusation. How had he betrayed him here, at home?

“Do you mean the knighthood?” Logan asked, shaking his head. “You have to believe me; I did not want it.”

“No, not the bloody knighthood,” Duncan snapped. “I mean Jeanne.”

Logan stared at him.

“Jeanne?”

“Yes, my Jeanne,” he said, his rage barely contained as he shook his head. “I knew I was damaged. Broken. Scarred,” he said, gesturing to his face. “I knew I was coming home a pathetic imposter of who I had once been, but she is still my wife and I had hoped…” The emotion in Duncan’s voice seemed to break, and he brought the gun up to his head and began hitting himself in the forehead with it. Pity flooded Logan’s chest, and he stepped toward Duncan, but the gun was quickly turned back on him. “Stay there!” he barked, now shaking.

“Duncan, I don’t know how you came to this conclusion, but Jeanne and I have never—”

“Don’t lie to me!” he shouted. “I saw it with my own eyes, Logan! My own damned eyes.”

Logan couldn’t help but feel aggravated that he should be accused of something so ridiculous. Duncan knew perfectly well that Logan had never fancied Jeanne, not even before the war. He took another step forward, the gun be damned.

“Then perhaps you lost your sight in Burma as well as your sense,” he yelled back. “Because I’ve not laid a finger on Jeanne, ever.”

“I saw the two of you together, multiple times. You, all preening and pathetic and my Jeanne wrapped in the cloak I gave to her before we left.”

“What are you talking about? What cloak?” Logan said before it dawned on him.

Faith’s cloak. Jeanne’s cloak.

He recalled the Carlyle plaid that trimmed the cloak Faith had borrowed time and time again so that she wouldn’t be recognized by anyone seeing her from afar. With Jeanne being a widow and so heartbroken about her husband’s passing, neither Logan nor Faith considered that anyone would look twice if they saw Jeanne roaming the countryside.

But someone had seen, and it had been her own husband.

Realizing the mess he had made, Logan lifted his hands as the distant sound of horse hooves vibrated through the dirt floor.

“Duncan, I swear to you, that wasn’t Jeanne.”

“You lying son of a bitch!” he said, backing up to peer out of the window. Someone was close.

“It wasn’t Jeanne, I swear to it,” Logan insisted.

“Stop lying to me!” he shouted as a form appeared in the doorway next to Logan.

Windswept, copper-colored hair was the first thing Logan saw. Jeanne stepped into the house, her eyes on him before something close to a choking sound came from Duncan. She turned her head and made an equally unsettling noise before freezing.

A wash of pain, longing, and disbelief passed over Jeanne and Duncan’s faces as Logan glanced between the two. He felt almost rude for being in their presence during such a tumultuous reunion.

“Oh God,” Jeanne whispered, shaking her head. “The devil’s come to trick me.”

Duncan’s eyes were intent on her. Jeanne took a step forward, but Duncan raised the gun higher, keeping her away. She stopped immediately.

“Stay back,” Duncan said, his voice distraught and cracking.

“Stay back?” she repeated breathlessly. “Faodail, me?”

“Aye,” Duncan said, seething. “You.”

Logan spotted a half-burnt log sticking out of the fireplace. It might be enough to distract Duncan before he wrestled him to the ground. He looked back at Jeanne, who had tears in her eyes.

“Do you not recognize me?” she said, her hands reaching before pulling back. “It’s Jeanne.”

“I know you… And I know it wasn’t your fault,” Duncan said, glaring back at Logan. “He’s a predator, he is. No doubt he would have shot me himself eventually just to have you.”

She tilted her head, her brow creased as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been laying with this one,” Duncan said, pointing the gun at Logan for emphasis. “I know you have—there’s no use denying it.”

Jeanne’s eyes went wide.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been watching it for weeks,” he snapped all his attention on Jeanne. “You can’t tell me otherwise. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes.”

Logan felt their precarious position become more dangerous. Jeanne’s breathing became short. Then, she scowled as her cheeks turned as red as her hair, and she took yet another step forward.

“Duncan Carlyle, what the devil is the matter with you?” she spoke hotly. “You dare accuse me of being unfaithful? Of lying? When you’ve been home for weeks without telling me? Without coming to me or your family? And now you’re holding me and your best friend at gun point?”

“I…” The question seemed to stump him, as if he couldn’t quite connect the practicality of her words to the present situation. “I thought you might…” Duncan rubbed the butt of the gun against his temple, an expression of agony on his face. It was obvious that he was unwell.

“Thought I might what, Duncan?” Jeanne asked.

“That you might not like what I’ve become,” he said, looking at her. “I’ve done things… Terrible things, Jeanne.”

For a moment, the old Duncan was staring back at them. Jeanne had always been the only person ever who could scold Duncan into shame.

But that had been years ago. Duncan shook his head, unwilling to be spoken to this way. He lifted the gun a fraction, and Jeanne’s advance stalled.

“But I know what I saw!” he shouted, his pained tone echoing throughout the small cottage.

Logan knew that Duncan was unsettled, but Jeanne was visibly aggravated. She seemed unaware of how dangerous a man with a gun could be.

“I’ve not touched any man since you left, you daft fool,” she hissed, though she didn’t advance. “And may the devil take me if I’m lying.”

“It’s true, Duncan. Jeanne wasn’t the one wearing that cloak.”

“Cloak?” she repeated. “What… You mean, my cloak? I haven’t seen it in weeks. I thought I lost it.”

“That’s not true,” Duncan said, more to himself than to them. Both hands came up to the sides of his head, and he started hitting himself again. “You’re both lying.”

“My friend, you are not well,” Logan said with his hand outstretched, coming forward. “Put down the gun and let us take care of you.”

“If I put it down, you’ll just kill me,” he said, his eyes closing in obvious pain. “This blasted banging…”

“I should kill you for pointing that at me,” Jeanne said hotly.

“Jeanne, please ,” Logan pleaded.

“What?” she said, frustrated. “He’d do better to turn it on himself, because when I get a hold of him, I—”

“You are not making this any easier!” Logan shouted, and Jeanne’s mouth snapped shut.

Edgy about the situation at hand, conflicted over what to do next, Logan was momentarily distracted when he heard a low growl nearby.

Jaco?

In the next instant, two figures appeared in the doorway, one tall and the other short. The shorter one charged through the door and leaped up, attacking Duncan, who fell backward as the gun went off. Everyone ducked as the bullet when through the thatched roof. Duncan yelled out in pain as Jaco’s jaw latched onto his arm. Logan had to physically pull the dog off Duncan.

In seconds, Logan had the gun in his possession. He jammed it into his coat pocket as a miserable and bleeding Duncan clasped his arm to his chest. Logan thought to tie his injury up, but Jeanne had thrown herself onto Duncan.

“You daft, stupid, foolish man!” she said as she peppered his dirty face with kisses. “Oh, I could kill you!” she said as her hands touched his face, holding him tenderly. “I love you and only you, you miserable idiot!”

“Jeanne,” he said, wincing. “I’ve missed you so.”

Logan turned his back on them to give them some privacy. He did not envy Duncan’s position, as Jeanne would likely prove a terrible nursemaid, but at the very least, Duncan was finally back where he belonged.

Lifting his gaze, he saw Faith standing in the doorway, looking frightened at all she had witnessed. Sheer elation filled him at the sight of her, followed by terror that she should have come to a scene of such danger. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her out of the house and into the clearing behind the cottage.

“What the blasted hell do you think you’re doing here?” he snapped as he twirled her around to face him. “Have you any idea how much danger you just walked into?”

Faith, surprisingly, was at a loss for words. She only stared at him and then back at the cottage.

“What…” she began. “What in the world…”

But Logan’s blood was pumping furiously as the adrenaline began to subside. His anger and panic at the situation caused him to react without thinking.

“What could have possibly possessed you to come out here?”

Faith blinked, then frowned as she stared up at him.

“I was worried,” she answered honestly, nodding over his shoulder. “Jaco was bleeding and agitated, I thought something happened to you.”

“You didn’t think to call on Graham? Or someone else?”

“He wasn’t around,” she said defensively. “So I came myself.”

“Of all the foolhardy things you’ve done,” he said, shaking his head in exasperation. “You might have been hurt.”

“He was pointing the gun at you, not me.”

“It could as well have been you.”

“But it wasn’t.”

“It could have been!”

“Well, I don’t see what the point of it all is now.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” he continued. “Because you don’t seem to realize that if something happened to you, anything at all, that would be it for me. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

Faith’s eyes widened at his confession.

“Excuse me?”

“I,” he thundered before his voice dropped. “Damn it. I…”

Faith’s hand rose to the center of his chest. His skin tingled beneath her warm palm, and he tried to push past his insecurities.

“You what?” she asked gently after a moment.

Logan looked into her green eyes, the same that had aggravated him, aroused him, annoyed him, and excited him. His hand came up to her cheek.

“I love you,” he said gruffly, feeling more exposed than ever.

To his pleasure, the tips of Faith’s mouth curved up, and she took a small step forward, leaning against his solid frame.

“You do?” she asked, her tone amused.

“Yes, although I should probably have my head examined, like Duncan in there—”

Without warning, she reached her hands up, grabbed either side of his face, and pulled him into a desperate kiss.

Suddenly, everything that had once been so important in his life ceased to matter. His nightmares, his anxieties, his mother’s abandonment, hell, and even his art collection paled compared to his desire for Faith. She was the most important person in his entire world, and he wasn’t sure how he would convince her to marry him, but he would try.

The rumbling of horse hooves galloping toward them barely distracted Logan long enough to pull away from Faith as Graham and several grooms thundered across the open field to where they stood. Jeanne and Duncan came out of the house at that moment, with Duncan wrapped in a hole-filled blanket and Jeanne pressing a dirty rag to his forearm. His other arm was wrapped tightly around her shoulders.

“Logan!” Graham said as he and the others came to a halt. “And Faith? What are you doing here?” He glanced around from on top of his horse, and when his gaze landed on Duncan, his mouth fell open. “Duncan Carlyle? It can’t be.”

“It is,” Jeanne said lovingly, looking up at her husband with a tear-stained face. “He’s finally come home.”

Graham looked back at Logan, who shook his head.

“Our horse thief and shooter,” he said before quickly adding, “but he is not well. He needs a doctor. Whatever damage he’s caused, I will take care of restitution personally.”

“Well, the horse is clearly right over there,” Graham nodded. “Besides shooting you and cutting a few leather straps, I don’t think he’s wanted for much of anything.”

“Good,” Logan said, tightening his own arm around Faith. “Then let’s bring him to Harris House. And call a doctor.”

Graham gave him a nod and swung off his horse. He helped Duncan to Jeanne’s steed, and once the both of them were on its back, he instructed his grooms to take Sweetness home.

“Faith,” he said after everything had been settled. He eyed her and Logan with interest. “I think you should come home too.”

She nodded and started to draw away, but Logan pulled her into a kiss before she left his arms. Faith gasped but then melted against him until he broke off, settling her away from him. He glanced at Graham who was frowning.

“Logan,” his friend said with warning.

“I’ll see her back.”

“Now, wait just one moment—”

“Please, Graham?” Faith pleaded, sinking back into Logan’s arms. “Please?”

Her brother-in-law was visibly annoyed, but after a long pause, Graham smirked and shook his head.

“An Englishwoman then, Logan?” he said with a friendly taunt.

Logan gazed back at Faith and smiled.

“Aye,” he said. “An Englishwoman, indeed.”