“The lass has been here over a sennight now.” Ansel crossed his arms over his chest, leveling Logan with a hard look.

Although Ansel had called a halt to their drills for the day, the other men lingered on the training field, clearly interested in yet another standoff between Ansel and Logan.

Damn it all. That was just what Logan needed—for the men to find yet another reason to dislike and distrust him. Kirk would inevitably defend him, but even Logan’s only friend had grown more insistent with his own questions about Helena in the last few days.

There was naught for it except to make himself the villain in these men’s eyes yet again. Logan squared his shoulders to Ansel.

“She can stay as long as she likes,” he replied. “And she doesnae need yer permission.”

“Aye, she does,” Ansel rumbled. “Moreover, we deserve some answers. How did she find us? Why is she here? And what does she want?”

Logan gritted his teeth. In truth, he’d like to have a few answers out of the lass as well, but he wouldn’t push her. She deserved to rest and recover without being badgered.

“She didnae find us,” Logan said, repeating what he’d already told the others several times in the last sennight. “She collapsed in a random patch of Highland woods that happened to be nearby. And it doesnae matter about why she’s here or what she wants. She’s under my protection.”

Ansel narrowed his dark eyes, and Logan silently cursed the man’s Sutherland stubbornness.

“Let me at least speak with the lass.”

“So that ye can interrogate her? Nay,” Logan replied flatly.

“And why havenae ye questioned her?” Ansel shot back. “Why havenae ye gotten some answers out of her? For a man of yer…history, I would expect ye to be less trusting of others.”

Now the others were no longer simply lingering. They had slowly begun to gather behind Ansel, staring Logan down. Only Kirk stood by his side.

“If ye are loyal to the Bruce, as ye claim,” Ansel went on, “then ye should be more concerned with protecting his cause rather than an Englishwoman. For all ye ken, she is a spy.”

White-hot anger shot through Logan, snapping his control.

“I thought the mission of the Bodyguard Corps was to protect the innocent? Isnae that the cause we serve? Well, she is innocent—no’ some bloody spy. When I found her she had bruises on her face—the kind that come from a man’s fists.”

He dragged in a breath, trying to regain his composure. “I’ll no’ push her just to appease yer curiosity—or yer unfounded suspicions.”

Ansel blinked, and for the first time since Logan had met the surly Sutherland, the man actually appeared cowed.

“We didnae ken that,” Angus, the gnarled old warrior, said, bowing his red and gray head. “If the wee lassie was mistreated, no wonder she took such a risk by being out in that storm.”

The others looked sufficiently placated as well. Niall’s youthful face flushed red with embarrassment, and Will’s normal scowl deepened suddenly.

“She still needs time to rest,” Logan said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “As I said, I willnae push her. At the least, she deserves to recover in peace.”

And after that? Would she stay? Or would she keep running from whatever had driven her out of England?

Logan silently cursed the sudden and powerful urge to protect Helena—from what she feared, from his own desire, and from the need to have answers from her. The men, especially Ansel, would want the truth about her eventually—which Logan didn’t have.

As the others began to disperse to their huts, Logan let the sharp autumn air cool his mind. But answers didn’t lie in the Corps’ practice field, so he slowly made his way back to his own humble dwelling.

Just as he reached the front door, a sound froze him in his tracks.

Two sounds, in fact. One he recognized instantly as the low, gentle lilt of Helena’s English-accented voice. The other he’d heard so rarely in the last few months that it took him a moment to realize it was Mairin’s soft speech.

He stood outside the door and listened as twilight descended, dumbfounded.

For the last sennight, he’d trudged back from training with the others to find Helena in his cot, sometimes dozing, and other times sitting up with a soft smile on her face to greet him.

Mairin still spent much of each evening in her room, but when his sister wasn’t there, Helena would report in hushed tones that Mairin had come out and shared a midday meal with her, or had spent an hour simply sitting in companionable silence before the fire.

That was remarkable in and of itself—even with Logan, her own brother, Mairin was cagey and reserved. But now, to hear her speaking with Helena, a near-stranger and an Englishwoman no less, sent a surge of warmth into Logan’s chest. His sister was coming back to life—thanks to Helena.

Though he was reluctant to break whatever spell Helena had cast inside the hut, the night was growing cold and full darkness had nearly fallen. Gently, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Helena was seated on the edge of the cot wearing the green woolen dress she’d arrived in. No doubt Mairin had helped her don it, for the laces at the back would be hard for Helena to secure herself. Her stockinged feet dangled above the floor, swaying slightly. Her black tresses had been combed and ordered into a simple braid that hung over her shoulder

Mairin sat cross-legged on the ground before the fire, her own face and hair looking unusually clean and orderly.

Both of them turned at Logan’s entrance, Helena smiling kindly and Mairin blinking in surprise.

Logan belatedly noticed that they each held one of his linen tunics in their laps, threaded needles in hand.

“Lillian thought we might be growing bored cooped up in here,” Helena said in answer to Logan’s unspoken question. “She kindly brought over needles and thread. We found some of your tunics to mend. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Nay, I dinnae mind,” Logan replied in a daze.

He glanced again at Mairin. Her surprise from a moment ago seemed to be degenerating into discomfort. She dropped her eyes to her lap, but the needle remained motionless in her hand.

Just as Logan began silently cursing himself for ruining the moment, Helena’s cheery voice cut in.

“If I had my sewing basket with me, I’d give you the scissors to cut off that thread,” she said to Mairin. “But I suppose we’ll have to make do with biting it off—not very proper, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Without waiting for Mairin’s response, Helena brought the repaired tunic in her lap up to her mouth and pinched off the tail end of the thread with her teeth.

“There. That’s done,” she said, folding the tunic and setting it aside. “But you still haven’t told me the story, Mairin.”

Logan shifted his gaze to his sister. She hadn’t moved, but the tense set to her narrow shoulders had eased slightly. She glanced up at Logan. “She wants to know why ye call me Little Bird.”

Logan felt his own shoulders loosen. “Go on, then,” he said with an encouraging nod. “Tell her.”

As he moved to the table and lowered himself onto one of the stools, Mairin played with a scrap of thread, seeming to search for her voice.

“I am fifteen years younger than Logan, ye ken,” she began, not making eye contact with Helena. “So I was no’ only my mother and father’s baby, but everyone in the clan’s.”

“We doted on ye terribly,” Logan inserted, feeling a rare smile curve his lips. “Spoiled ye rotten, we did.”

“Aye, and gave me silly pet names as well,” Mairin shot back, her own lips quirking. She turned to Helena, more at ease than ever. “They all said I had the bones of a sparrow, for I have always been wee and light.”

Helena lifted a dark eyebrow in silent invitation for Mairin to go on.

“And everyone in the clan said I had eyes as big and round as an owl’s.” Mairin widened her gray eyes, and Helena chuckled softly.

“Ye are leaving out the best one,” Logan urged.

To his utter delight, Mairin rolled her eyes at him, just as a lass her age should. “And they loved to say that I had the appetite of a hawk—and ate as messily as one, too.”

At that, Helena’s warm laugh filled the little hut. Logan’s heart stuttered nigh painfully at the beautiful sound of her merriment.

Mairin snorted, but it sounded more amused than annoyed. To his shock, Logan found himself chuckling along with Helena’s infectious laugh.

“Speaking of eating,” he said, rising.

He set about arranging the simple meal of fresh bread, cheese, dried meat, and small green apples that Lillian had apparently dropped off on her visit earlier. Kirk’s wife had taken many of the camp’s men under her wing and had been tirelessly helpful with Mairin, even when that meant keeping her distance. Logan owed her much, not least for feeding him, his sister, and Helena for the last sennight.

When the three of them finished the meal, Mairin murmured her good-nights and retreated to her chamber. Logan couldn’t help noticing the lightness of her step and the lack of strain around her eyes as she left.

As the door to Mairin’s chamber clicked closed, the seed of an idea began to bud in the back of his mind. He froze, his thoughts racing with the possibility.

“What is it?” Helena asked softly from the cot.

“How are yer feet?”

She blinked at the question. “Much better. The stockings don’t hurt them at all.” She lifted one wool-clad foot as if to demonstrate.

“Do ye think ye could stand? Or walk?”

“Aye,” she replied, her eyes lighting. “I would love to stretch my legs.”

Besides seeing to her most basic needs, Helena had adhered to Madge’s advice that she rest and stay off her feet as much as possible, but she was clearly eager to move.

Logan fetched her ragged boots from beside the door. He’d wrapped the soles with toughened leather strips, anticipating that she’d need the use of them soon. It wasn’t a perfect fix, but they would give her more protection from the hard ground now.

As she pulled on first one boot and then the other, he grabbed her cloak from the door and donned his as well.

When she rose from the cot, her legs wobbled like those of a newborn colt. He shot to her side, steadying her with a hand on her waist. As he swung her cloak around her shoulders, she lifted her gaze to his and heat spiked in his veins.

Nay, he couldn’t get distracted by those vibrant green eyes. He had a plan—one for Mairin’s benefit, not his.

He placed her hand on his forearm and led her slowly to the door. As they slipped outside, she dragged in a lungful of crisp air.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her upturned face catching the silvery moonlight.

“No’ far—only to the burn just there.” He waved at the stream that trailed behind the hut a long stone’s throw away. “I want to make sure Mairin doesnae hear us.”

That had her dark brows lifting in surprise, but before she could ask, he guided her toward the stream. As they drew nearer, the sound of water sluicing over rocks grew louder.

Moonlight gilded the flowing water, making it sparkle and dance. The air was sharp, but no wind rustled the trees overhead, leaving the forest quiet except for the sounds of the stream.

Logan halted and once again wrapped his hands around Helena’s trim waist, lifting her onto a large boulder beside the stream to ease her feet.

“What is it you want to say?” Helena asked softly. In the moonlight, the green of her eyes appeared as translucent as the finest glass, and her gaze was steady and inquisitive.

Logan drew in a deep breath, a strange twinge of uncertainty reverberating in his belly. Aye, he had a plan, but how much of it was actually for Mairin and how much was his own selfish desire to keep Helena close? And what if she rejected his idea? What if she didn’t want to stay?

Christ, he was acting like a frightened bairn. There was only one way to know what Helena wished.

“Ye said before that ye wanted to stay—to work, make yerself useful.”

Her eyes brightened. “Aye. And I still do.”

Logan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“As I said, I could do laundry for you and the others. Or I could mend your clothes—your tunics seem to get quite a few tears and rips in them from your training.” Her rosy lips spread in an excited smile.

“Nay, that is no’ what I intend for ye to do.”

Her smile faded with uncertainty. “What, then?”

“I…” He cleared his suddenly thick throat. “I want ye to serve as a companion.”

Helena’s eyes went as round as the moon. “Your companion?”

“Nay!” Even as he blurted the denial, longing surged in his blood and tightened his skin.

What would it be like to take Helena as a lover—or a wife? Aye, she sent hot need through his body with her merest look, but it was more than that. In only a sennight, he already found himself looking forward to the moment he stepped into his hut after a long day of training to the sight of her beautiful smile.

He shoved the fantasy away harshly. He was not meant for that life—a life of stability, permanence, happiness. His past was proof enough of that.

“Nay,” he repeated, willing his voice to be level. “A companion for Mairin.”

Her lips parted and a soft exhale passed them. What had she felt at the idea of being his mate?

“What do you mean?” she murmured.

Tension slowly coiled in the pit of Logan’s stomach and in the muscles of his neck and shoulders. He’d been nervous to ask Helena to stay on with him and Mairin, but now that he had, he realized he should have been more concerned with how to explain things to her. It would mean revealing at least part of the darkness of Mairin’s past—and his own.

He worked his jaw for a long moment before at last speaking. “There are a few things ye need to understand.”