was, he hadn’t entertained the possibility that he’d be the loser. The notion of having to leave Maggie had only crossed his mind once—when she had brought it up. At that moment, the idea of him losing the duel had been out of the question. An impossibility.
What a fool he’d been.
“Very well.” MacDonald’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “I’ve a horse for you.”
“Why?”
“A man in your position shouldn’t be walking across the Highlands.” Logan didn’t answer, and the laird’s eyes flicked away. “What happened, man? I expected you would defeat him.”
Logan’s lip curled, and he rounded on the laird, furious all over again. “You suggested a duel thinking I would win, even when you’d offered your cousin to my opponent to strengthen the bond between your clans?”
“I did.” MacDonald sighed. “You see, at first I thought they’d make a good match. Both of them are high-spirited, after all, and I thought Maggie’s quick wit might compensate for Munroe’s lackluster one. But once she explained to me what happened . . . No.” He shook his head firmly. “I am fond of Maggie. I don’t wish to see her hurt. Earlier, I couldn’t believe that Munroe would do such a thing to her—I thought his interest in her was genuine. Now . . . Well, my cousin was in the right and I . . .” He swallowed. “I was wrong.”
“You were.”
The laird studied him. “You would take care of her, wouldn’t you?”
“Your question comes too late. I have promised to leave this place. To give Maggie to Munroe.”
The words tasted like poison on his tongue. He couldn’t allow Maggie to fall into Munroe’s hands. Yet how could he prevent their marriage and still keep the vows he’d made and retain his honor?
Hell if he knew. He needed time. Time he didn’t have, for he had no doubt Munroe would claim Maggie soon.
MacDonald released his breath. “Aye, Munroe has won her. Though . . . I wonder if the fight was fair.”
“No.” Logan snarled out the word. “It wasn’t fair.”
“What happened?”
“He threw something—a fine dust—i nto my eyes. Blinded me temporarily.”
MacDonald frowned. A long silence descended. Finally, the laird said, “Yet you must still leave.”
“I swore that I would.”
It had been stupid of him to assume Munroe would follow any code of honor for dueling. Nothing of this duel, from its inception to its end, had followed that code. He shouldn’t be surprised. And now, because he’d misplaced his trust, he couldn’t legally accuse Munroe of wrongdoing. It was simple: Fair or not, Logan had lost, and therefore honor demanded he must abide by his side of the bargain. He must leave this place.
“Yet you never promised not to return,” the laird said suggestively.
Logan stared at him. MacDonald was right. Logan had promised to leave MacDonald land straightaway, but he’d never made any promises to stay away. He could return. It was allowed, approved by the laird, and he’d never agreed not to.
But if he came back here, what then?
“Again, I ask you to stay. Just for Hogmanay. Your agreement to the conditions of the duel can be delayed until tomorrow.”
Logan shook his head. “No.”
MacDonald nodded, but regret darkened his blue eyes. “Very well, then. Your mount is saddled and awaits you in the stables.”
The horse MacDonald had given him was a chestnut mare, a fine English horse, not one of the diminutive creatures usually seen in this part of the world. Logan rode back up the mountain, retracing the path they had taken from the cottage.
The landscape had changed from its appearance a few days ago. Now the steep slope was a cold wasteland. Most of the snow had melted, and everything looked frozen, forbidding, dead, and damp. In spring, the land would be reborn, but now the mountain was lifeless and dull.
As the horse climbed, the air grew colder and the snow more widespread. With each outtake of breath, the animal released
What a fool he’d been.
“Very well.” MacDonald’s chest expanded as he took a deep breath. “I’ve a horse for you.”
“Why?”
“A man in your position shouldn’t be walking across the Highlands.” Logan didn’t answer, and the laird’s eyes flicked away. “What happened, man? I expected you would defeat him.”
Logan’s lip curled, and he rounded on the laird, furious all over again. “You suggested a duel thinking I would win, even when you’d offered your cousin to my opponent to strengthen the bond between your clans?”
“I did.” MacDonald sighed. “You see, at first I thought they’d make a good match. Both of them are high-spirited, after all, and I thought Maggie’s quick wit might compensate for Munroe’s lackluster one. But once she explained to me what happened . . . No.” He shook his head firmly. “I am fond of Maggie. I don’t wish to see her hurt. Earlier, I couldn’t believe that Munroe would do such a thing to her—I thought his interest in her was genuine. Now . . . Well, my cousin was in the right and I . . .” He swallowed. “I was wrong.”
“You were.”
The laird studied him. “You would take care of her, wouldn’t you?”
“Your question comes too late. I have promised to leave this place. To give Maggie to Munroe.”
The words tasted like poison on his tongue. He couldn’t allow Maggie to fall into Munroe’s hands. Yet how could he prevent their marriage and still keep the vows he’d made and retain his honor?
Hell if he knew. He needed time. Time he didn’t have, for he had no doubt Munroe would claim Maggie soon.
MacDonald released his breath. “Aye, Munroe has won her. Though . . . I wonder if the fight was fair.”
“No.” Logan snarled out the word. “It wasn’t fair.”
“What happened?”
“He threw something—a fine dust—i nto my eyes. Blinded me temporarily.”
MacDonald frowned. A long silence descended. Finally, the laird said, “Yet you must still leave.”
“I swore that I would.”
It had been stupid of him to assume Munroe would follow any code of honor for dueling. Nothing of this duel, from its inception to its end, had followed that code. He shouldn’t be surprised. And now, because he’d misplaced his trust, he couldn’t legally accuse Munroe of wrongdoing. It was simple: Fair or not, Logan had lost, and therefore honor demanded he must abide by his side of the bargain. He must leave this place.
“Yet you never promised not to return,” the laird said suggestively.
Logan stared at him. MacDonald was right. Logan had promised to leave MacDonald land straightaway, but he’d never made any promises to stay away. He could return. It was allowed, approved by the laird, and he’d never agreed not to.
But if he came back here, what then?
“Again, I ask you to stay. Just for Hogmanay. Your agreement to the conditions of the duel can be delayed until tomorrow.”
Logan shook his head. “No.”
MacDonald nodded, but regret darkened his blue eyes. “Very well, then. Your mount is saddled and awaits you in the stables.”
The horse MacDonald had given him was a chestnut mare, a fine English horse, not one of the diminutive creatures usually seen in this part of the world. Logan rode back up the mountain, retracing the path they had taken from the cottage.
The landscape had changed from its appearance a few days ago. Now the steep slope was a cold wasteland. Most of the snow had melted, and everything looked frozen, forbidding, dead, and damp. In spring, the land would be reborn, but now the mountain was lifeless and dull.
As the horse climbed, the air grew colder and the snow more widespread. With each outtake of breath, the animal released
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