As Logan closed the hut’s door, Helena’s sobs burned his ears.

He dragged in a lungful of freezing air, but it did little to clear his swirling thoughts.

He was a bastard to leave her alone with her tears, especially after all they’d just shared. Yet he feared that if he stayed, he would only hurt her more by turning cold and stony, his only defense against the storm of emotion raging within him.

He was nigh mad with grief at the thought of losing her—she was only returning to Craigmoor, he told himself firmly, unable to consider the far more terrifying possibility that he would truly lose her if de Neville managed to harm her.

He’d promised to protect her, and yet just as he’d feared, the promise of a man like him was worth next to naught. He could not go with her and ensure that she came to no harm, for Mairin needed him here. So he would let Helena go—back to Craigmoor, into danger, and out of his life.

Snowflakes fell lightly now, but several inches of fresh snow crunched under his boots as he retreated from the heartbreaking sound of her tears.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he found himself striding back toward the night-dark practice field. The bonfire he and the others had built earlier was a low orange glow up ahead through the trees, beckoning him onward.

As he reached the burned-down fire at the edge of the field, Logan halted abruptly. Kirk crouched before the embers, a cup in one hand and his gaze lost in thought as he stared into the remnants of the fire.

“Mind if I join ye?” Logan asked, moving closer.

Kirk looked up and gave Logan a faint smile. “Nay, no’ at all. In fact, it’s good ye are here, for now ye can share the blame with me for dipping into the whisky.”

Kirk shifted, and Logan saw the small wooden keg he’d brought back from the village earlier that day.

“I believe Ansel intended this to be saved for the yuletide celebration,” Kirk said, wedging the top off the keg and dipping his cup into the liquid inside, “but tonight seemed a fitting time to break into it.”

Though Kirk’s words were light, there was an unmistakable solemnity in the air hanging over them. Kirk would likely be the one sent to the Borderlands to lead the siege against Craigmoor. He would have to leave Lillian behind, which no doubt saddened him, but the burden of a mission involving a long siege was far greater than that for Kirk, Logan knew.

Logan crouched in the snow beside Kirk and accepted the whisky-filled cup he passed to him.

“I’ve been thinking on Edward Bruce,” Kirk said quietly, his pale eyes scanning the embers.

“Aye?”

Logan had never asked what Kirk’s relationship with Edward Bruce had been like when he’d worked as his right-hand man in Ireland. All he knew was that the Irish campaign had nearly left Kirk, one of the strongest and most honorable men Logan had ever known, broken and faithless in the Scottish cause.

“He was a man of great aspirations,” Kirk said. “I can only imagine what it must have been like to be the younger brother of the King of Scotland.”

Logan snorted. He knew something of being in that position, on a smaller scale. His thoughts flitted to his own older brother and the aspirations they’d shared—before everything had been shattered. He did not want to interrupt Kirk and burden him with the shame of his past, so he remained silent.

“He fancied himself the King of Ireland,” Kirk went on, “though the Irish people didnae ever come to love him. It was a difficult task Robert gave him, yet Edward made it more difficult with his treatment of the Irish.”

Kirk let a long breath go.

“And now he is dead.”

“Are ye glad?” Logan asked softly. Kirk had every right to be—it had been Edward Bruce’s order to relentlessly siege Carrickfergus, the Irish stronghold, until those inside were forced to resort to cannibalism before it fell to the Scottish. That siege, which had lasted more than a year, was what had made Kirk nearly desert the cause and question the existence of his very soul.

“Nay,” Kirk replied, surprising Logan. “I am sad that the Bruce has lost his brother, and also saddened that Edward Bruce became yet another casualty of this endless war. I will admit, though, that I am glad his death will mean the end of the campaign in Ireland. We werenae wanted there, and we were becoming no better than the English, enforcing our will on the people when all they wanted was their freedom.”

Logan lifted the cup toward the dying embers. “To Edward Bruce,” he said. “May he rest in peace. And to the end of this bloody war—may it come swiftly.”

He took a deep swig of whisky, letting it burn down his throat and into his stomach, then passed the cup back to Kirk.

“To the Bruce. And to peace,” Kirk said, raising the cup and taking a long pull from it.

When Kirk lowered the cup, he gave Logan another sad smile.

“I saw ye looking at the others when Finn said we were to send a man to the siege. Ye ken as well as I that it should be me.”

“Nay, it shouldnae,” Logan replied. “Ye’ve done enough for the Bruce’s cause already.”

Kirk lifted a dark eyebrow and snorted. “When I asked the Bruce to send me to this camp, I thought I would have a wee bit more time to get my head on straight before being sent back out into battle.”

He sobered, his pale eyes turning somber in the light of the embers. “But the truth is, I’ve devoted my life to this cause. Aye, I dinnae wish to lead another siege. I dinnae wish to keep fighting this same damned war. But I’d give my last breath for our freedom.” He shrugged. “I’m committed to it.”

Logan reached for the cup and took another swig. “Ye are a good man,” he said as he handed the cup back to Kirk. “Ye have done something that I’ve never managed—ye’ve dedicated yerself to honor and justice.”

Kirk flashed him a smile. “Ye ken I had my doubts for a while, though.”

“But if ye hadnae had those doubts, ye never would have joined the Order, and we wouldnae have met.”

“Which means we wouldnae have been able to destroy the Order, and ye wouldnae have yer freedom right now.”

“Aye,” Logan replied dryly, “and I wouldnae be in this cursed camp surrounded by men who hate me.”

Though he spoke in jest, shame and frustration speared his gut. Aye, the others didn’t much care for Kirk, either—Will Sinclair, specifically—but at least Kirk was one of them. Logan, on the other hand, remained on the outside.

He wasn’t truly a Scot, for he’d worked for the English against his own country. He wasn’t truly a Highlander, for he’d traded his honor for coin as a mercenary.

And he certainly wasn’t truly one of the Bodyguard Corps, for though he believed in the Bruce’s cause, he was hesitant to devote his life to it. Unlike Kirk, Logan had never committed himself to aught—he was too busy running from his past to dedicate his life to something even as noble as the Bruce’s fight for freedom.

Logan felt Kirk’s keen, sharp gaze on him. He turned to find his friend watching him knowingly.

“Truth be told, I likely wouldnae have regained my faith in the cause if it werenae for Lillian,” Kirk said, seeming to sense Logan’s internal struggle.

“Aye, ye were a goner for her.”

Kirk chuckled. “It was utter madness to fall in love with her. Roland and the Order would have skinned me alive if I’d failed to deliver her, and the Bruce would have hanged me as a traitor for turning her over to the enemy.”

Kirk shook his head ruefully, but then he grew serious. “She saved me, Logan. If she hadnae loved me, if she hadnae reminded me what kind of man I wanted to be, I may no’ have made it out of that scrape. And I’ll let ye in on another wee secret.”

He leaned toward Logan, though there was no one else around.

“She helped me find my faith in the cause again, aye,” Kirk said, a soft smile on his face, “but more than that, she made me realize something else: if there was ever a cause to devote yer life to, it is love.”

Logan’s heart lurched against his ribs. He had never committed himself to aught—except Helena. By God, he’d just proposed marriage to her. When he’d told her he wanted to share the rest of his life with her, it was the truest thing he’d ever said.

“Why are ye out here in the cold when Helena is in yer hut?” Kirk asked, again seeming to read Logan’s thoughts.

Logan scrubbed a hand over his face. “Christ, what a mess,” he muttered.

“Ye cannae mean to deny that ye care for the lass,” Kirk prodded. “We’ve all seen how the two of ye look at each other, and how protective ye are of her.”

“Nay, it’s no’ that,” Logan said, suddenly feeling as though he’d been wrung out and beaten against a rock like a bit of linen in the hands of a washer woman. “I dinnae deny it. I…I love her.”

“Well then tell her that, ye dolt!” Kirk said, smacking Logan’s shoulder.

“I did,” Logan shot back. “In fact, I just proposed.”

Kirk’s brows shot up. “And?”

“And apparently she’s already engaged—to the man who left the bruises that were on her face when she arrived.”

“What?”

“It gets worse,” Logan said, closing his eyes for a moment. “The man she’s engaged to—Lord Geoffrey de Neville—is the keeper of Craigmoor Castle, which happens to be Helena’s old home. She wants to go back to Craigmoor and reclaim the castle from de Neville, whom she fears will never surrender to the Scots until all inside are dead.”

“Christ,” Kirk hissed.

A silence only broken by the low pops of the dying fire settled over them.

“What will ye do?” Kirk asked softly at last.

“I have to let her go.” The words made Logan’s chest contract painfully, but he could see no other way. “Mairin needs me here.”

“Ye ken she is still playing chess with Lillian,” Kirk said. “Mayhap she could stay here with us while ye go with Helena to deal with Craigmoor and this de Neville bastard.”

Mairin had warmed quickly to Lillian. Part of Logan rebelled against the idea of leaving Mairin alone again, but if she were at the camp, she’d still be hidden in the safest place in all of Scotland.

Yet even if Logan was willing to consider the possibility of leaving Mairin and helping Helena reclaim Craigmoor, some other part of him still resisted.

If he went with Helena, what then? Would he live with her in the Borderlands without Mairin? Would they get married? And what of his past? If he didn’t keep moving, surely the shadows would catch up with him eventually.

“I never thought I’d ever settle down, make a home,” he murmured.

“Dinnae ye want that?” Kirk asked quietly. “With Helena?”

“Aye,” Logan replied without hesitation. “It isnae for lack of wanting. But wanting isnae always enough. Ever since I left my clan at twenty, I’ve been a wanderer, a mercenary, a man without a people. But I did have a home once.”

“And dinnae ye think ye can have one again?”

Logan watched the embers pulse and glow for a long moment, his heart heavy. “I dinnae think I deserve it again,” he said at last. “I dinnae think I deserve her.”

“Ye are wrong about that,” Kirk said. “I dinnae ken what made ye leave yer clan, nor do I ken all that ye did between then and when I met ye in the Order, but I do ken one thing—ye are a good man. Ye deserve to be happy, to build a life with Helena if she’ll have ye.”

“I dinnae ken,” Logan muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

The old, familiar desire to flee, to start over somewhere else, tugged at him. Yet strangely, he felt the pull of other, stronger forces working against that need to run. They were like little threads connecting him to the life he’d built here. One strung between him and Kirk, the only friend he’d had in a decade. Another linked him to Mairin where she sat safe in Kirk’s cottage with Lillian.

And another bound him to Helena. The thread connecting them was more like an anchor mooring a storm-battered ship. He loved her, and she loved him. The thought made his heart soar. But was that enough? Could their love overcome his past and the struggles that lay ahead?

“I dinnae ken,” he said again to himself, his frustration rising.

“All ye need ken is the answer to this question,” Kirk said. “Do ye love her? Truly?”

Logan’s heart leapt against his ribs, as if trying to pull him toward Helena. “Aye.”

Kirk suddenly gripped Logan by the shoulders and pinned him with an unwavering stare.

“Then go to her, and stand by her side no matter what.”

Kirk’s abrupt fierceness stunned Logan, but before he could respond, Kirk went on.

“Yer love for her willnae change with the circumstances. It willnae lessen, nor will it accommodate the fact that it is inconvenient for ye, or uncomfortable, or that it scares the shite out of ye. Just ask me,” he said. “Loving Lillian was the worst thing that could have happened to me at the time, and it was the best thing. It nearly cost me my life, and it saved my life. That kind of love is rare—ye are lucky if it happens to ye once in a lifetime. So dinnae waste yer chance, Logan. If there was ever a time to devote yerself to something, this is it.”

Kirk eased his grip on Logan’s shoulders, the blue fire in his pale eyes banking. “That is my advice to ye.”

Logan sat dazed, Kirk’s words and his own blood hammering in his ears.

Kirk was right. Loving Helena terrified Logan, because he’d never thought he would get a second chance at all the things he’d lost—a family, a home, a life devoted to justice and honor.

And wasn’t that the same reason he’d kept himself separate from the others in the Corps? Aye, he didn’t think himself worthy, but more than that, he was protecting himself from truly caring, truly committing himself, for if he did, he might lose everything again, just as he had when he was twenty.

Bloody hell, he’d already wasted so much of this precious opportunity—not only with the Corps, but with Helena. Here he was coming up with reasons why he couldn’t be with her, when he should have put his energy toward finding a solution.

Even as he chastised himself for frittering his time, an idea came to him, one that would not only save Kirk from the burden of carrying out another siege, but also keep him at Helena’s side when she needed him the most. It had been right in front of him the whole time.

Logan rose to his feet abruptly.

“I have a plan,” he said, his thoughts racing. “I need ye to—”

Just then, Finn broke into the clearing on his warhorse. He reined the animal in front of the dying fire and eyed Kirk and Logan.

“Laird Sinclair offered to let me stay at Roslin Castle, but with the storm nearly spent, I didnae feel the need to remain surrounded by Sinclairs,” Finn said with a sardonic frown. “Which of the huts might I stay in for the night?”

Kirk started to point, but Logan cut him off.

“Ye willnae have time for that,” Logan said. He turned back to Kirk. “Gather the others. I have something to say to all of them.”

Kirk blinked at him. Before he could consent, Logan turned away and trotted through the snow toward his hut.

Without hesitation, he threw open the door and stepped inside.

Helena bolted upright from the bed, clutching the covers to her chest. From the dim light filtering in through the doorway behind him, he could see that her eyes were puffy from crying.

“Get dressed,” he said, his heart thumping in the back of his throat. “We are going to Craigmoor.”