With the force of his kick, the door to the little hut Logan shared with Mairin exploded inward.

He heard Mairin gasp from the back room. He flinched, knowing he’d terrified her by barging in like this, but he would have to apologize later.

“Mairin!” he shouted as he angled through the doorway, careful of the woman in his arms.

His sister appeared in the doorway that led to her separate chamber, her eyes wide and her jaw slack as she took in the sight of him.

“Logan, what—” She blinked, seeming to surprise herself at the sound of her own voice.

“She needs help,” he cut in. “Go get Kirk and Lillian, or Ansel, or—anyone. Can ye do that, Little Bird?”

Mairin closed her mouth and nodded, her eyes still round and frightened.

As Logan strode toward the cot he used on the far wall of the hut’s small main room, Mairin hurried by him. She grabbed her cloak from the peg by the door, then gave him and the lass in his arms one last wide-eyed look before ducking out into the snowstorm.

Carefully, Logan set the lass down on his cot. She wasn’t shivering. That was a bad sign. Her lips were still faintly blue and her skin was cool to the touch.

Logan had seen men in this condition before. If they weren’t warmed right away, they died.

He unfastened the lass’s sodden cloak and pulled it free, dropping it in a wet heap beside the cot. The simple green woolen dress beneath was just as wet. Though the interior of the hut was kept cozy by the fire opposite the cot, warm air wouldn’t be enough to save the lass.

Logan gently turned the woman onto one shoulder and began working on the ties running down the back of her dress. Once he had them loosened, he peeled the garment, along with her damp linen shift, down her torso.

He averted his gaze as her breasts came into view. Now was not the time for his male instincts to stir to life, but he couldn’t help noticing that although she was a bit thin and as pale as the fresh snow outside, she bore the curves of a woman.

He made quick work of her wet clothes, pulling them over her flaring hips and down her legs. He peeled away her wool stockings as well, but when he reached her booted feet, he froze.

The undersides of her leather boots were torn to shreds. Though water-logged, the leather was of fine quality, but not made for the rocky ground of the Highlands. As he removed one boot and then the other, his fears for the lass’s feet were confirmed. Blessedly, none of her toes had turned black with frostbite. The skin of her soles was pale and tinged with blue, but the cuts and blisters there were still visible.

Wherever this woman had come from, she’d traveled hard and far.

And this would be the end of her journey if Logan wasted another second standing over her. He yanked his tunic over his head and threw it into the pile with her soaking clothes. As he stepped out of his boots, he pushed his breeches down and kicked them off.

Drawing a steeling breath, he slid into the narrow cot alongside the lass. He gritted his teeth against the cold brush of her toes against his shins. He slid one arm beneath her and pulled her against his chest, skin to skin.

Just as he tugged a blanket over their naked bodies with his other hand, the hut door burst open, letting in a swirl of cold air and snow.

“Logan, what the hell is going—”

Kirk stepped into the hut, his gaze landing on Logan and the lass in the cot.

“Close the door!” Logan barked.

Mairin and Lillian, Kirk’s wife, hurried in behind Kirk and shut the door quickly.

“What happened?” Lillian asked, her dark eyes round as they took in the scene.

“I found her in the woods. She’s alive—barely. She’s frozen half to death.”

“What do we do?” Mairin’s voice was quiet and thin with fright.

Just then, the door opened once more and Ansel loomed in the doorway.

“I’m warming her,” Logan said, ignoring Ansel’s surprised grunt. “But I’m no healer. I dinnae ken what else to do.”

The group fell silent for one long, terrible moment, and Logan knew they were as ignorant as he was.

To his surprise, Mairin was the first to leap into action. “More blankets,” she murmured as she strode toward her private chamber at the back of the hut. She returned a heartbeat later with the wool blanket that covered her own cot. As she draped it over Logan and the lass, Lillian blinked and gave herself a little shake.

“I’ll fetch more from our cottage,” she said, then spun on her heels and hurried through the open doorway into the snow.

Without a word, Mairin hefted their iron caldron over the fire and filled it with water from a nearby bucket.

“She may need a healer,” Ansel said, his brows drawn together. “I’ll ride to the village and get Madge.”

“I’ll go with ye,” Kirk interjected. “Once we have Madge, ye can stay in town with Isolda and the bairns. I’ll bring Madge back to camp.”

Ansel gave a curt nod in response, and the two men turned and left the hut, closing the door firmly behind them.

As Mairin moved quietly around the small space, Logan refocused on the woman in his arms.

Her eyes remained closed, the dark fan of her eyelashes a stark contrast to her ghostly-white skin. Her body was still cool against his despite the fact that he’d already built a cocoon of warmth beneath the two blankets.

She was soft and limp against him. He tightened his grip, ensuring that she was tucked into him firmly, the entire length of her body touching his warmth.

“I’m sorry I startled ye and snapped at ye,” he murmured over his shoulder to Mairin.

She glanced at him, her gray eyes surprisingly calm now, and shrugged. “It’s all right. Ye were trying to help her.”

Logan couldn’t remember the last time his sister had spoken two sentences in a row to him. He knew she was strong, for she had survived nearly six years of captivity in that God-forsaken hole in the middle of England, but there was also a frailness to her, a brittleness that made him afraid she was always close to shattering. Tonight, blessedly, she was braver and more capable than he’d ever seen her.

Lillian re-entered the hut then, her arms full of wool blankets. She piled them on top of Logan and the woman, but when the task was done, she stood back, clutching her hands nervously.

“I’m sorry I do not know how to help more,” she said, her brows pulling together.

Lillian was a good woman—she was strong and smart, and had brought Kirk back from the brink when he’d needed her most, but she had a mind for strategy, not herbs and healing.

“I’m heating water for tea,” Mairin said. “That might help her.”

Lillian let a breath go. “That’s a wonderful idea, Mairin.”

Despite Lillian’s kindness, which she’d shown Mairin unfailingly for the entire month and a half they’d been at the camp, Mairin flinched slightly. It wasn’t Lillian’s fault. Mairin simply could not stand the sound of Lillian’s English accent. Though Mairin had never explained it to Logan, he’d surmised that because her captors had been English, she loathed the accent, no matter how much warmth and companionship Lillian had tried to offer.

Not wanting to upset Mairin, Lillian normally kept her distance, but under the present circumstances, she stayed, trying to busy herself in the hut’s tiny kitchen while giving Mairin her space.

Logan again turned his attention back to the lass. How could she be so soft and supple, clearly in the prime of her life, and yet as cold and still as death at the same time?

Time crept by as they waited for Kirk to return from the village with the healer. In fair weather, the ride to the village just outside Roslin castle took about an hour, and another hour to return, but with the snow underfoot and more falling rapidly, Logan had no idea how long the journey would take.

His only awareness of the passage of time was measured in the achingly slow warming of the lass’s skin against his. Within their nest of blankets and shared heat, his body gradually learned each of her contours and curves.

Mayhap being smothered under half a dozen blankets had muddled his brain, but he felt as though they were melting together like wax, the barrier between his flesh and hers thawing and dissolving into naught.

He stared down into her face, watching for any signs of stirring. Her color had come back somewhat, so that now her skin was creamy rather than stark white. With only the length of a finger separating their faces, he began to notice more as her color returned.

A faded yellowish-green shadow lay under one of her closed eyes. A slash of red darker than her pink mouth cut across her bottom lip. And her jawline was faintly discolored as well.

A new stirring of heat began coursing through Logan’s veins—rage. His mind churned. Someone had hit this woman. She had fled. She had nearly died trying to get away from wherever she’d come from—and whoever had given her those bruises. They were only guesses, but he would stake coin on their accuracy.

The same fury that had nearly driven him mad when he’d learned of Mairin’s kidnapping, and again when he’d found her at last nearly six years later huddled in that cursed root cellar, surged into his limbs.

Logan was no hero. He’d known that the moment he’d fled his clan eleven years past and sold himself as a mercenary.

Still, Highland blood ran in his veins. He could not deny the pull to protect the innocent and vulnerable. This woman would have his protection, he vowed silently to himself.

Just then, her eyelids scrunched. Her dark brows dropped, then lifted, furrowing her forehead. A low moan slipped past her lips.

Logan went rigid, his attention sharp on her.

“Lass? Lass, can ye hear me?” he murmured.

She didn’t answer, but her eyelids fluttered and her lashes lifted. Her eyes locked onto his, and Logan’s breath caught in his lungs. They were the brightest green he’d ever seen, like the first leaves of spring.

Her lips parted and a rasping whisper came out. “H-help me.”

He stared into her eyes until it felt as though the world had tilted on its side and he’d been swallowed by a sea of green.

“Aye, lass. I promise.”