Page 6 of Finding Faith (Seduced in Scotland #2)

N either of them spoke as they made their way down the staircase, through the main hallway to a narrow door. It was strange, as most of their time in each other’s company was comprised of snipping at one another, but at that moment, the sole focus of her attention was the heat that stemmed between her hand and his arm. Never in her life had she felt a forearm so large and rigid. It made her curious what his bicep felt like, and soon she wondered if his entire body was as firm and strong.

“I see you’ve stolen my dog’s loyalty,” he said, his tone neither accusatory nor mirthful. “I would have thought you’d prefer him to stay away.”

She bent down slightly as they walked, patting Jaco on the head.

“He was a great comfort during my illness and Grace allowed him to stay in the room.”

“So she tells me.”

By the time they reached the kitchens, Faith was warm and flustered, though she assumed it was because she hadn’t had any sort of exercise in days. Apparently, her appearance was altered enough for Logan to comment on it.

“Are you certain you are well enough for this?” he asked, his tone concerned. “Your cheeks are red.”

“Are they?” she said, taking her hand away from him as they entered the doorway leading to a servants’ dining room. She pressed her fingers to her cheek. He watched her closely as she sat on a long wooden bench beside a rough-cut table where the servants’ meals took place. “You know, it isn’t polite to point out someone’s physical flaws.”

“I didn’t say your cheeks were flawed.”

“No, but red cheeks are hardly considered pleasing.”

“On the contrary, I quite enjoy seeing you flushed.” Faith knew he was teasing her, but the heat in his eyes made her pulse flutter and she swallowed. Really, it was very impolite of him to make such comments, and she was appalled to find that she was flattered by them. “Now, what would you like to eat?” he asked, walking into the kitchen portion of the large room, where several cooks and maids were busy preparing dinner. Several servants paused in their work to see if he had any orders for them, but with a wave of his hand, Logan seemed to convey that their presence wasn’t intended to disturb the servants’ work. A number of large brass pots and pans hung from the opposite whitewashed stone wall while the clanging of metal utensils echoed throughout the open room. “Puddings? Meats? Cheeses? Or something sweet, like tarts or biscuits?”

Faith’s stomach growled, and she put her hand to it.

“I’m nervous anything too rich would make me unwell. Perhaps a plate of biscuits?”

With a nod, Logan moved around the kitchen quickly as if he had spent much time there. That was absurd, of course, as men of position rarely ventured into the kitchens. They could simply request something, and a servant would bring it. But Logan seemed capable and soon procured a delicate blue-and-white plate piled ridiculously high with shortbread biscuits. The cook, a stout older woman named Mrs. MacGregor, brought a pot of strong black tea, cream, and sugar and set it before them without a secondary glance. It seemed she was used to Logan being in her kitchen. But not Jaco.

“Come along, you mangy mutt,” Mrs. MacGregor said, holding a piece of overcooked meat above the dog’s head. He followed her instantly as she led him away from the table. “Out of my kitchen.”

The dog followed her to the door, which she opened before tossing the meat out. Jaco ran after it.

“He’s as faithful as a snake,” Faith mused, taking up one of the buttery shortbread biscuits.

“Aye, he is,” Logan said with a smirk as his voice dipped. “But he’s far better at retrieving sticks.”

Faith felt a giggle bubble up as she bit into the delicious pastry. Whether it was because she hadn’t had anything sweet in days or because the cook was an accomplished baker, Faith didn’t know. All she knew was they were the most excellent biscuits she had ever tasted.

She might have restricted herself slightly if she had been at a formal dining table or been in the company of someone whose good opinion she sought, but that wasn’t the case here, and she was well and truly hungry. She ate three circular biscuits before even looking up, only to find Logan watching her with his brows slightly raised and a faint smile on his lips, seemingly entertained by her famishment.

Taking a sip of her tea, Faith swallowed the delightful treats, noting a surprising lack of aftertaste that she was used to.

“These are delicious. You have a very talented cook,” she said, loud enough for Mrs. MacGregor to hear. Faith could see the old woman’s profile pull up into a smirk as she tended to her steaming pots over the stove. “But they’re different than the ones at Lismore Hall.” Faith picked up another one. “What is the difference?”

“That’s because Graham has long since convinced Lady Belle to use honey in nearly every recipe. When he started his honey business, he had his cook whip up a shortbread recipe using honey as the sweetener, and he gave them to Lady Belle to try. Whether she genuinely enjoyed them or not, who knows, but she told the cook to begin using that recipe forthwith,” Logan said, adding loudly over his shoulder, “However, Mrs. MacGregor would sooner shoot me the take any requests to change her recipes. Isn’t that right, Mrs. MacGregor?”

“There’s no use fooling with a good and proper recipe,” she answered from her post.

Logan smiled and faced Faith. She took another bite of a biscuit, delighted to discover the relaxed rapport Logan shared with his staff. For some reason, she had always assumed that he would be an arrogant master, but he seemed to be on a more familiar level with his staff.

Seemingly aware that he had surprised her, he tilted his head.

“What is it?”

“I always assumed that you would be an overbearing employer,” she said, dipping her chin. “Someone who barked orders or even belittled those who worked for you.”

“Why is that?”

“From all our interactions, I suppose.”

Faith knew he knew what she meant, so he exhaled slowly.

“We did manage to make some pretty severe impressions on one another, didn’t we?”

“Yes.”

“It seems rather a ridiculous thing to occur now, looking back.”

“Well, it wasn’t me who started it,” Faith started, lifting her chin. “You were rather rude from the time we first met at the MacTavish house.”

The crease between Logan’s brow deepened.

“If I was, it was only in response to you.”

She frowned back at him.

“How so?”

“It was evident you didn’t want to be there. When Graham told the story of Tam Lin to you and your sisters, you were uninterested. I’m sure you may have even rolled your eyes during his telling.”

“I did not.”

“Oh, you most certainly did.”

“Were you watching me?”

“No,” he said quickly. “But your indifference was evident.”

“If that’s true, it wasn’t because I didn’t appreciate the story. It’s only because I don’t like fairytales.”

“Tam Lin isn’t a fairytale. It’s a folk story. One the people in this area take very seriously.”

“You cannot expect me to believe in fairies.”

“Not at all,” he said, taking the biscuit from the plate. He ate it in one bite, taking a swig of tea before he spoke again. “But ridiculous or not, it means something to the people here.”

“Does it mean something to you?”

He hesitated before answering.

“Not exactly,” he admitted. “To be honest, I’ve never quite liked them myself. But it’s the principle of it.”

Faith gave him a sardonic look.

“Bravely defending your heritage against the English?” she asked in jest, but a shadow fell over his face at the mention of English, and Faith wondered if she had touched upon something. She leaned slightly forward. “Tell me, if I were Scottish, French, or some other nationality, would you have been quite as offended?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. Then, “Well, maybe. I mean, I suppose not.”

“You know, my heritage is not my fault. My parents had me, not the other way around.”

That made him smirk.

“I guess that’s true,” he said. “Tell me, are you more like your mother or father?”

“Neither, I’m afraid,” Faith said softly.

“Why? Were they both gentle, well-spoken people who never argued with anyone?”

Faith glared at him, but sensed that he was teasing and threw a biscuit at him. He caught it deftly and took a bite.

“They were, actually. All of those things, and they wanted their daughters to be like that as well. You might not believe it, but once I tried my very best to be the perfect daughter.”

Logan’s brow dipped slightly and genuine curiosity came over his handsome face.

“Is that so?”

Faith nodded.

“But when they died, I…I guess I became rather angry.”

“Angry?”

“Yes. At them for leaving me and my sisters, at the world for taking them, at everyone, really, even though it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” she said, her tone dipping. “I suppose that’s not a very good thing to admit, is it? But it’s true.”

A long silence followed, and Faith was sure she had crossed some unknown line admitting such things to him, but then he spoke.

“Aye. I can understand that.”

She glanced at him.

“You can?”

“Children often don’t have the capacity to understand tragedy. Anger is one of the more basic feelings humans and sometimes…” he said, his own eyes shifting down. “Sometimes it’s easy to believe that anger is the only thing that can protect us from being hurt again.”

Faith’s eyes widened. Yes. That was exactly how she’d felt and to hear it said so perfectly, well, she felt suddenly lighter. Leaning forward, she nearly spoke when he leaned back and continued.

“I suppose I can forgive you for being English, as it isn’t really your fault.”

Faith smiled at his jesting tone and she nodded, tucking away her previous response.

“Well then,” she said. “Perhaps we should put our prideful ways behind us and start anew.”

Logan’s hazel eyes locked onto hers, and she felt a warmth crawl over her.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

“Faith Rebecca Sharpe!” Grace’s voice echoed into the room. Faith and Logan turned to see Grace and Arabella standing in the doorway. “What on earth are you doing out of bed?”

“Ah, just taking in the scenery,” she said meekly, pushing the plate of biscuits away. Logan pulled them toward himself. “Isn’t this the most modern kitchen you’ve ever seen, Grace?”

Her sister was not amused.

“Come, you must return to bed,” she said, coming forward to take Faith’s arm as she stood from the bench. “You are not fully recovered yet.”

Faith was escorted back down the tiny hallway to the main foyer without so much as a goodbye. As they headed up the grand staircase, Grace finally spoke.

“You likely think I’m being irrational, but I insist that you rest. I know being held up in this room for days is difficult and that you’re not terribly fond of Mr. Harris, but you must consider your health.”

“But—”

“Now, I am not unreasonable. If you feel well enough in the morning, I promise we can go home. But you must trust me, Faith.”

Faith wanted to tell her that she didn’t mind Logan’s presence as much anymore, but she nodded, thinking the better of it.

“Of course, I trust you, Grace. And you are right. I will stay in the room until you’ve dictated otherwise.”

Bringing her fingers to her forehead, she made a mock salute as they reached the guest room where Faith had been staying, causing Grace to smirk.

“Alright, enough of that. Back into bed.”

Faith allowed Grace to help her undress, and soon she was tucked back into her sick bed. Dinner was served some hours later, bone broth and plain tea. Not terribly pleasing, but Faith did not argue.

Once her tray was removed, Arabella was permitted to read to her for an hour, and she, Grace, and Faith spent the evening in pleasant enough company. At the same time, the maids began to pack the sisters’ belongings as Grace had decided they could return to Lismore the next day.

“I must say, it’s been a grand thing, having you stay here,” Arabella said with a yawn as she closed her book. “Even though you’ve been sick. I hope you’ve had a pleasant enough stay.”

“I have, Arabella, thank you.”

“I should like to give you something, to remind you of your time here,” she said as her hand dipped into the pocket of her dress.

Bringing her small fist up, she uncurled her fingers and revealed a small, circular piece of amber stone. The light from the lamps shined through it as she held it up between her index finger and thumb, causing it to glow.

“It’s lovely,” Faith said.

“Isn’t it?” Arabella replied, handing it over. “I gave Logan a near identical one before he left for Burma. Amber is lucky, you know.”

“Is it?”

“Oh yes. Old Miss Fletcher told me so when I was girl, just before Logan left for war. He had taken me to Glencoe with him for a visit before he left. She gave me one just like this, so that I could give it to Logan.”

“Miss Fletcher?” Grace said, coming forward to inspect the gem in Faith’s hand. “I’ve met her. She has a set of rooms behind Dr. Barkley’s office.” Grace frowned. “Doesn’t she have a bit of a reputation for, well, folk medicine?”

“That’s a kind way of saying that some people call her a witch,” Arabella said, turning back to Faith with a wink. “She’s a firm believer in the wee folk.”

“Oh dear. Not more fairy tales.”

“I don’t believe in witches,” Grace said. “Nor in talismans, although there is a certain train of thought that a positive attitude can lend itself to good things. There was an English physician, Dr. Haygarth, who did a study about positive influence and imagination. Supposedly, if a patient believes they have been given an effective treatment, regardless of whether they’ve actually been given something with medicinal value or not, it can make them better. Of course, it’s all very subjective.”

“The power of positive thinking to cure an ailment?” Faith asked suspiciously. “That seems ambiguous at most.”

“It is. But I know Miss Fletcher does have a healthy knowledge about local herbs and remedies for ailments. I’ve spoken to her a number of times and many locals will still pay her a visit, if they don’t agree with or like Dr. Barkley’s diagnosis, which is probably why he lets out his rooms to her—to keep his patients close.”

“Well, even if it is a superstition, I believe that amber is lucky. It brought my brother home safely, although he did lose his amber,” Arabella said off handedly. “Still, I was very pleasantly surprised to find this one, just on the front steps. It was rather magical, really, considering how deep one must dig for it usually.” She smiled. “But there it was, just the other day. I thought of giving it to Logan, to replace his, but he’s a bit like you, Faith. Only, I’m sure you’ll humor me and accept it as a token of my friendship.”

Faith’s fingers clasped tightly over the small stone.

“Of course, I will. Thank you so much, Arabella.”

She smiled, and after bidding them goodnight, she left, soon followed by Grace, leaving Faith alone to finally rest.

The blankets that had kept the chill away from her during the height of her fever were now far too warm. With one leg hooked over the edge of the blankets, she flipped through the book Arabella had given her. It was a recent print about Renaissance painters. Fascinated by it, she was peacefully enjoying herself.

But then, about an hour after her sister left, there was a knock at the door. Glancing up and putting her book down, she wondered what Grace could possibly want.

“Come in,” she said, expecting to see her sister when Logan’s frame filled the doorway.

She immediately sat up straight.

“Mr. Harris,” she said, somewhat shocked. “I, um… What are you doing here?”

“I was told that you were only offered broth for dinner,” he said, revealing a bunched-up cloth he held clenched in his fist. “I thought you could stand to eat something slightly heartier.”

Faith smiled as he came around the bed, handing her the tied-up napkin. Leaning forward, she untied it to reveal apple slices, a sandwich of bread and cheese, and several shortbread biscuits.

She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling too widely. Perhaps she really had been too harsh in her first understanding of this man.

Looking up, she began to thank him, only to see his gaze was focused on her bare ankle. It was the oddest thing. He was completely still and had the strangest expression on his face. For some reason, Faith felt suddenly uncomfortable beneath his scrutinizing stare.

Slowly, she pulled her foot back and snaked it beneath the blankets.

“Thank you,” she said, holding up an apple slice. “I do appreciate it.”

But Logan didn’t answer. Instead, he just looked at her as if some puzzle that had eluded him had suddenly made sense. Faith was about bid him goodnight when he spoke.

“Who was your art teacher, in London?” he asked, his tone uneven.

“Excuse me?” she asked, a minor panic filling her heart.

“Your art teacher. Who was he?”

“Ah, it was Mr. Delaney,” she said after a moment’s pause to ensure she didn’t tell her first teacher’s name. “My friend Renee’s brother.”

“And no one else?”

Her brow scrunched together defensively.

“Who else would there be?”

Logan stared at her as if struggling to decipher her words. But instead of answering her, he asked another question.

“Have you ever had your portrait painted?”

An alarm sounded throughout Faith’s body as her eyes widened, and she grew cold. Why would he ask such a thing? She leveled him with a straight stare, unwilling to tell him anything.

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s what I said, isn’t it? No.”

Her tone was forceful and unpleasant, but he stepped toward her and leaned over, crowding her. When he spoke, she shivered.

“I don’t believe you.”

What could he know? Certainly nothing of importance. And yet Faith’s entire being seemed to scream out to beware, because he already knew too much.

Suddenly, her breathing felt laborious, and she shook her head.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said, pushing his napkin of treats away, ignoring how close his face was to hers. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get some rest now.”

Logan’s eyes dropped to her mouth and for the briefest of moments, she thought he might kiss her. She inhaled, worried that there was a part of her that actually wanted him to do so, but that would be insanity. Of course she didn’t want him to kiss her. There certainly wasn’t an amorous feeling between them, and she wouldn’t admit it even if there was. But beneath his analyzing stare, Faith felt her skin grow hot.

“It is you.”

Faith shook her head. He couldn’t know. He couldn’t possibly know. It was impossible.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to—”

“ Odalisque Reclined by Donovan,” he breathed, and Faith felt her heart shatter. “You’re the woman in the painting.”

Oh, God. This wasn’t happening. How could this be happening? She closed her eyes, humiliated and furious, hoping she was still sick and this was some sort of fever dream. But the sinking feeling in her chest was too real to be imagined.

“Why…” she tried at first. “I mean, how do you know that painting?” she asked, refusing to look at him.

“I’m the current owner.”

Faith’s eyes snapped open, unable to believe what she had just heard. She gaped up at him.

“Excuse me? H-how?” she asked before she could stop herself but held her hand up. “No. Don’t tell me. Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to know.”

“Faith—”

“This cannot be happening. This can’t happen,” she said, suddenly frantic. She pushed the rest of the blankets off her as she swung her feet off the bed to stand, moving around him. “Oh God. You must leave. You have to leave.”

“Wait.”

“I can’t do this. Oh God, how is this even happening?”

“Can you hold on for a moment?” he asked as he reached for her, but Faith wouldn’t stay. She pulled away from him, and she could see the look of regret in his eyes, though whether it was about telling her about the painting or not being able to touch her, she did not know. “I only wanted to—”

“Fine. If you won’t leave, I will,” she snapped, unwilling to discuss it any further.

She stalked toward the door and reached for the door handle to pull it open, but Logan’s hand came above her head, holding the door shut. Faith turned as her entire body began to shake with outrage.

“How dare you—”

“Will you calm down for just a moment?”

“Calm down?” she hissed. “How can I calm down when you… You’ve somehow managed to bully your way into ownership of a piece that should never have left its maker?”

“Do not direct your displeasure at your former paramour at me. I merely stated a price, and he accepted.”

“Paramour?” Faith repeated. “How dare you compare what we had to something so, so cheap!”

“Is this the scandal that took you and your sisters away from London last year?” he asked, tilting his head. “I admit, I would never have guessed that you were the cause of your relocation.”

“Of course it’s not,” she bit out. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no one in my family knows about that…that piece of canvas.”

He let out a frustrated breath.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to—”

“To embarrass me? Shame me? Make me out to be some sort of fool? Well, you have,” she said hotly. “I thought I had judged you too harshly, but if this isn’t evidence that my initial impressions were correct, I don’t know what is. You are nothing but a wicked man. A no-good, blackmailing coward.”

At the word coward, pain and fury flashed in Logan’s eyes, and in an instant, he had his large hands clutching her upper arms in an aching grip. Faith gasped, partly stunned by his audacity but also partially excited, though only the Lord knew what that said about her. Would he hurt her in flash of anger? She doubted it, although she couldn’t clearly state why or how she knew that that was a line he wouldn’t cross.

After a stalled moment, Logan spoke, his tone grave.

“Say that word again and you’ll see how very wicked I can be.”

His voice’s biting tenor told Faith she had hit a nerve. While she was morosely satisfied to get under his skin, his reaction made her curious. What right did he have to be indignant?

“I knew what you were the moment I saw you,” she said, her eyes dropping to his mouth. “Cold and calculating.”

“And you’re nothing more than a liar,” he countered, his breathing uneven.

“A liar? How?”

“Pretending to be all innocent and self-righteous when you’re nothing more than a—”

Fury like Faith had never known sprung up within her. How dare this man speak anything to her? Particularly things that she had only privately considered herself. He had no grounds to judge her.

“Say it,” she bit out through clenched teeth. “I dare you.”

But something seemed to stop him. He only gave her a single shake as if he couldn’t bring himself to do any more.

“Arrogant bastard,” she hissed after a long moment.

“Conceited harpy.”

How wrong she had been when it came to this man. This awful, plotting man. But as her breathing became difficult, his hand approached the side of her face. She pulled back only slightly before mirroring his advance. Her hands came up to his face, and in an instant of madness, she kissed him.

A burst of color, sound, and taste enveloped her senses as Logan stood, stunned into stone. For a moment, she thought he might not kiss her back, but then suddenly, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her—and after that, she was lost. Whatever possessed her at that moment to do such a brazen thing as to kiss him, she did not know, only that it felt as if it were imperative, necessary even. There was an overwhelming need to dominate and demonstrate her autonomy, as though to say her body was her own and no painting or prose created in her image could take any part of her away.

But Logan’s mouth possessed her in such a devastating way. Never had she experienced such a torrent of fevered excitement, as if every inch of her had been made to experience every inch of him. It was as if kissing him had unlocked some secret compartment within her, and she was desperate to explore it.

But before her thoughts could even form, Logan’s strong arms loosened, and he held her shoulders, pulling away the warmth of his body.

“Wait, wait,” he said in a rough whisper, his eyes meeting hers.

They stared at one another, shocked for a moment, before Faith stepped back. Her hands covered her face as if the intensity of his stare burned her.

“Oh God,” she said to herself. “What is wrong with me?”

“Faith—”

“No. Do not speak. Please, just go,” she begged, moving around him. “Please.”

Thankfully, he didn’t speak, and when the door opened and closed behind her, she rushed to lock it. Turning, she pressed her back against the carved wood and slid to the ground, shame filling every part of her being.

What on earth was she going to do now?