The ground swayed beneath Helena’s feet.

Nay. Not Craigmoor.

She’d thought the worst fate that could befall the place she’d called home had already come to pass—she’d left it in Geoffrey’s clutches.

But a new sickening clarity swept over her—it could be far worse than that.

The castle would be sieged for months. The people trapped inside—Ida and other innocents—would starve and die. How many had already been injured—or killed—defending the castle wall?

“Helena.” Logan’s deep, soft voice drifted to her. A strong hand closed around her arm. It was like an anchor mooring her body to solid earth, yet her head still spun wildly.

She blinked. The fire blurred before her and seemed to grow to monstrous proportions.

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard Finn Sutherland speak again.

“I’d better get to Laird Sinclair before this snow grows any heavier,” he said. “If the weather allows, I’ll return tonight. If no’, I’ll stay at Roslin and return in the morning.”

“Aye,” Ansel replied gravely. “Stay safe. I’ll consider all that ye’ve told us and be ready with a decision by dawn.”

Distantly, Helena registered that the men gathered around the fire began to disperse. A somber air now hung over the group as they stepped from the cover of the pine boughs and into the swirling snow.

“Helena,” Logan murmured again.

She dragged her gaze up to him. His steely eyes caught the orange glow of the fire. The flickering light danced over his scar, making it look even more savage.

Abruptly, she pulled from his hold and turned away. Some irrational, frightened instinct told her that she could not let him gaze at her face, for if he did, he would see all her pain, all her fear, and all the secrets she still guarded. He would see the truth.

“Helena, wait.”

Ignoring him, she stumbled away from the fire and the practice field. She could hear his boots crunching in the snow behind her, but she did not slow. Yet she had nowhere to go besides his hut. Like a fool, she hurried there, bowing her head against the falling flakes.

She shoved her way into the quiet, dim hut, Logan close on her heels.

“Talk to me,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Her throat was so tight that it felt as though she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes darted around the small space, but unless she wanted to retreat to Mairin’s empty chamber, there was nowhere to escape. Even if she could somehow hide like a frightened child, though, it would not change reality.

With shaking hands, Helena pushed off her cloak and let it fall to the ground. Numbly, she walked to the cot and sank down. She let her face fall into her palms as the shocked tears began to flow.

The cot’s straw-filled mattress dipped beside her as Logan sat down. “If ye cannae speak, let me. Craigmoor was yer home, was it no’?”

She nodded, a sob rising in her throat.

“And now ye fear for yer people—the ones ye left behind when ye fled de Neville.”

His big, warm hand landed on her back and moved in slow circles.

“What is happening isnae yer fault,” he said.

“Aye, it is,” she mumbled through her tears.

“How would it be any different if ye were there?” he asked gently. “Would ye be able to send away the Scottish army single-handedly?”

“You don’t understand.” She lifted her head from her hands and faced him at last. “The people in that castle are the only family I have left.”

“Nay, lass,” he replied, swiping his thumb over her tear-dampened cheek. “Ye have me now, and Mairin. I…I love ye, Helena.”

Helena’s heart expanded at the softly spoken words and the emotion in his steady gaze.

“I love you, too,” she murmured, the sudden realization warming her.

Yet loving Logan wasn’t enough to chase away all of the pain. Images of Ida and the others starving, or lying broken and bloodied in the castle yard, flashed with sickening repetition through her mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push away the nauseating thoughts. Only Logan’s hand on her back kept her from losing herself in hysterical sobs.

She needed him—needed the strength of his arms around her, the warmth of his breath in her hair, the tender brush of his lips that dashed away all fears, all doubts.

When she opened her eyes again, she found Logan watching her, his russet brows drawn down in concern. She lifted a hand to his hard-set face. The copper stubble along his jaw rasped against her palm, but she relished the sensation, for it was a real and present reminder that she was still alive.

Logan loved her, and she loved him. Mayhap that could be her whole world for a moment.

As she traced his scar with one finger, his eyes darkened, but not with anger. Nay, his gaze burned with a steely flame that nearly stole her breath. Some unspoken need built between them, making the air heavy with anticipation.

She touched his lips with the pad of her thumb. Suddenly, his hand shot out between them and captured her wrist. But instead of pulling her fingers away, he held her in place and kissed her thumb where it brushed his lips.

He moved on to each of her fingers, kissing them gently. Then he went back to her thumb and nipped the pad with his teeth. She shivered as he did the same to each finger.

But when he moved back to her index finger and pulled it into the heat of his mouth, she gasped and jerked in surprise. He teased her with his tongue in an erotic prelude, a promise of things to come.

Longing turned her limbs to honey. Heat began to pool low in her belly as she watched him slowly pull away, his eyes heavy with desire.

She leaned forward, closing the distance between them so that she could press her lips to his. Though his mouth was soft, she could feel the tension in his jaw beneath her hand. He was holding back, she realized, but all she wanted was to let go.

“I want this,” she breathed against his lips. “I want you.”

“Ye are innocent,” he murmured.

It was wrong, she knew. She thought of what her father had hoped for, what he’d planned for her before the fever stole him away. Naught had changed, and yet everything had changed. She’d escaped the fate that had waited for her at Craigmoor. With Logan, she could be a new person, free of the past—free of her old promises.

“I want this,” she repeated, more firmly this time. Aye, she wanted to give herself to Logan, to claim this life as her own—as his woman, and he as her man.

All hesitation vanished from his rugged features. He pulled her straight off the cot and across his lap, finding the nape of her neck through her hair and drawing her in for a kiss.