Diamond in the Rough

Summary: Remy and Logan get to know each other grudgingly…and eventually, willingly. But Etienne doesn’t make it easy for either of them.

Author’s Note: My last chapter was accidentally deleted when my daughter decided to play her games on my Internet, and she closed down my program window for my Word doc. Trying to rebuild what I lost was a frustrating experience, so I hope this fills in any gaps.

“Aren’t you a sight,” Hank muttered over the brim of his tankard. Bobby’s eyes bulged as Logan took his customary place at their table.

“I thought Victor was supposed to be your bodyguard,” Warren tutted. “He isn’t doing a very good job.”

“Apparently, he didn’t know his duties would involve guarding my hide from seven year old boys.”

“Come again?”

“Kid’s quick. Aim’s good, too. Too good.”

“Shit,” Bobby cursed. “Two. Not just one black eye, but two.”

Warren’s lips twitched. Hank made an odd sound in his tankard and averted his dark blue eyes. Bobby had no such reserve.

“…*snerk*…mmph…hmpppphhh-pppfftttt…” His breath exploded into sniggers, and his face hurt from trying to wipe the grin off his face. Logan glared at him, his dark eyes promising bloody murder, but Bobby couldn’t help himself.

“He caught me off-guard.”

Bobby was cackling, slapping his knees, perhaps even howling, if Logan had to describe it. And he planned to describe it in detail as he explained to the undertaker why he killed one of his best friends at the inn that night.

In the meantime, the whisky helped anesthetize the bruises and his wounded pride. Logan sat back and stared at his companions, one after the other, knowing he presented a pitiful sight.

Smack dab between his eyes, Logan sported an angry red scar that practically bisected his forehead in two. The flesh of his shaggy dark brows was puffy, making them more prominent and sitting out in sharp relief. Victor told him it made him look like a Neanderthal of old.

The resulting bruising against the bridge of his nose spread beneath his eyes, ringing them in angry, violet broken capillaries. Logan looked as though he’d been in a fight with several grown men and lost.

All thanks to one petulant little boy and his rock.

“How is the boy now?” Hank asked.

“Raisin’ hell,” Logan told him. “He’s busy. Always hidin’, runnin’ or gettin’ into everything.” Candra’s description of him as well-behaved rang false in Logan’s mind, making him expel an exasperated breath. Frustration made his whisky taste too good. He motioned to the innkeeper for another round.

The past three days since his arrival were a trial.

The worst of it all? Etienne despised Logan on first sight. It wasn’t an auspicious beginning.

Etienne’s governess, who merely went by Nanny, was having as little success reigning him in. She was older and wore owlish reading glasses, and she had strong opinions about bed time and lessons. To Etienne’s credit, he was a bright student, fluent as his father was in French and he loved history and science.

Logan periodically watched him from doorways or windows. He didn’t want to intrude, but curiosity always got the best of him. His mannerisms and gestures were so much like his father’s. Logan wondered what kind of woman his mother must have been, what qualities she gave her son.

But in the meantime, the brat still hated him. Logan was at a loss.

Logan took only one consolation in his current predicament. It was a pleasure to see how happy Etienne was when he was finally, first reunited with his father.

*

Logan staggered inside, pride more injured than his face. Pietro and Jean-Paul hurried to his side, eyes wide and mouths agape.

“Sire!” Jean-Paul cried.

“What happened?” Pietro breathed, gingerly reaching out to touch Logan’s forehead. He fanned his hand away.

“Our houseguest happened. Which way did he go?”

“That woman rounded him up and dragged him off. Paige showed her to the guest quarters, sire. It’s been aired and made up, Highness,” Jean-Paul informed him. “Sire, you’re bleeding!” Logan’s shirt was a lost cause. Jean-Paul was grateful that it was one of his serviceably homespun tunics instead of his white silk or lawn that both grooms kept in impeccable condition.

Logan retreated to his temporary quarters and sat on his bed, waiting for Leonard to arrive. He held a rag as firmly as he could tolerate against the bridge of his nose to staunch the flow of blood.

Jubilee’s knock was timid. “Are you all right, sire?”

“Ask me again in an hour, sweetheart.”

She cleared her throat. “His Highness is asking after you.”

“My father?”

“No. His Majesty, the prince.” That caught Logan’s attention.

“Does he know his son has arrived?”

“Aye.”

“Good.”

“But he would like you to come to his quarters. Your quarters,” she corrected herself.

“I’m a bit indisposed right now.”

“I explained that to him.”

“So he knows what that entails, right?” He waved her away. “Tell him I will come by and see him once I’m ready. No sooner.” Logan needed a chance to collect himself.

Jubilee vanished in a swirl of plain brown skirts. Logan was grateful to be alone for a few minutes.

Leonard showed up a few minutes later, armed with his medicine pouch.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, Highness.” Logan glared at him like a wet cat. His family physician chuckled and began cleaning his wound. Logan had already removed his ruined shirt, giving him a better chance to work without having to worry about spilling any of his salves on Logan’s clothing.

The cut was deep. Logan hardly winced as Leonard stitched the jagged edges of flesh together with needle-thin thong. Logan sighed in regret.

“I was hopin’ things would’ve gone a little smoother than this.”

“Perhaps the mite is nervous about being in a new place. Or he just misses his father, and he can’t help acting out.” Jubilee knocked again, then hovered inside the doorway when Leonard broke away from his task.

“Sire?” she inquired nervously, twisting her apron in her hands. “His Majesty would dearly like an audience with you.” She swallowed. “Now.”

Logan scowled darkly, even though it hurt, pulling at his stitches. Jubilee thought it made him look more intimidating, now that the bruises were beginning to develop under his eyes as well, making them appear more sunken in his face. He resembled a vengeful spectre. Logan stood, and she averted her eyes at the sight of his bare chest. A flush rose up her cheeks and she felt a slight flutter in the pit of her stomach. Dimly she wondered why Prince Remy couldn’t perhaps reconsider his choice to reject Logan as a consort.

Logan dug in his trunk for a suitable shirt, this one made of gray hemp cloth. He shoved his arms into it and left his chamber without buttoning it up.

“He didn’t let me wrap it,” Leonard complained.

“Looks like it hurts.”

“Aye, lass.” Logan’s hurts ran more than skin deep. Leonard packed up his pouches and left Logan a pain-relieving salve on the vanity.

Logan strode back to his chamber and knocked briskly, feeling foolish for having to do so.

“Entre-vous,” Remy ordered curtly. Logan swept open the door.

The sight before him took the wind out of his sails.

Etienne was fast asleep, curled up on his father’s lap, back rising and falling with his gusting breaths. What moved Logan was the boy’s face, still visible where the top of his head was tucked beneath his father’s chin. His cheeks were blotchy and tearstained, but his lips held a faint smile, and his expression was completely peaceful. He clutched at his father’s shirt even in sleep, as though he was afraid to let him go. Remy stared down at him and kissed the top of his head, breathing in the scent of his hair.

Logan’s face softened, and he leaned back against the doorframe, arms folded.

“Jubilee made it sound urgent, said that ya needed ta see me.” Remy looked up sharply.

“A moment, mec.” He gently laid Etienne down on the bed beside him, grateful to let his legs uncramp themselves. Etienne moaned and smacked his lips. Remy smoothed his hair back from his cheek and laid a light coverlet over him, making his son snuggle down into the pillow.

Remy rose from the bed, then, and Logan instinctively hurried forward to help him up. Remy’s eyes were hard and his mouth was slightly mulish.

“Help me outside.”

“Ya don’t need ta go all the way downstairs.”

“Then to a different room up here,” he snapped, attempting to keep his voice low.

“Fine.” Logan assisted him down the hall, choosing to link his arm through Remy’s good one, minimizing what would have been too-tantalizing contact if their circumstances were less tense. But he felt Remy’s body go taut, as though he, too, were frustrated and unwilling to prolong their proximity or tolerate Logan’s touch.

“Where is dis?” Remy demanded as Logan pulled him inside a sparsely furnished bedroom.

“My room, for the moment,” Logan explained simply, shrugging. “Sit.” Remy took the seat by Logan’s vanity while Logan remained standing, once again standing in the doorway.

“Why wasn’t I told my son had arrived? Why didn’t anyone have the insight t’allow me ta wait for him outside?”

“You were resting,” Logan pointed out. “We only knew the approximate time of his arrival, based on word from my messagers, and my sentry announced when he appeared in my courtyard.”

“I should have been the first person he saw as soon as he climbed out of that carriage!” Remy snapped, jaw working. He ran his hand over his nape, tugging his ponytail in irritation. “He was worked up and in a state! He was so upset, and to yer credit, homme, ya have a large home. He could’ve gotten lost!”

“He could’ve, huh?”

“He’s an active young boy,” Remy said through clenched teeth. “Perhaps if ya had children of your own, mec, ya’d have some inkling of how much work goes into keeping after ‘em. They need attention.”

“That’s what his governess is for, ain’t it?” Logan reminded him. “That’s who that snappish old bat was who came with him, right?”

Remy huffed, and a hint of a smirk warred with his scowl. “Nanny,” he said.

“Okay. His nanny, then.”

“Non. Her name’s Nanny. She is his governess.”

“Pardon me for bein’ dense and uninformed,” Logan muttered.

“What, dis is funny t’you?”

“Do I look like I’m laughin’?”

Remy’s fists were balled up in his lap. “Look, if I had any choice, I wouldn’ be here. Pretty soon Etienne an’ I’ll go on our merry way, ‘specially if yer not prepared t’deal wit’ a lil’ one under yer roof.”

“Fer yer information, Highness,” Logan growled, “Etienne isn’t the only child who’s staying in my home. Ya haven’t met Artie yet, somethin’ it might’ve escaped ya ta have considered while ya were flirtin’ with my maids or runnin’ that close ta lettin’ my valets jump yer skinny ass.” Remy flushed, and he looked truly embarrassed beneath his anger.

“Dey’re your grooms,” he huffed.

“Hn.”

“Why don’tcha marry one of dem?” Remy jeered.

“That’s enough,” Logan rumbled. His voice was hard and low and he pinned Remy with eyes that brooked no nonsense. “Who I marry is my own damned business. And while yer so busy thinkin’ yer so much better than me, consider this. My mother and father brought ya here as my last resort.”

Remy’s smug look vanished.

“A squat, scruffy excuse fer a prince,” Logan added for good measure. The words tasted sour in his mouth.

“That make ya feel bigger, den?”

“Ain’t feelin’ too bad right now, considerin’,” Logan mused. He reached up to scratch his chin. His forehead throbbed. As though noticing that for the first time, Remy’s eyes flitted over the wound.

“Ya look like shit,” he murmured. “What happened?”

“Yer son’s throwin’ arm.”

“Non. He knows his manners, he wouldna done somet’in’ like dat.”

“Kid might know his manners, but he shortened his acquaintance with ‘em as soon as I opened my mouth.”

“Damn it,” Remy muttered. He began to look a bit contrite. “He hurt you.”

“Just a scratch.”

“Non.” Remy stood and crossed the room, wincing at the change in position. He moved too quickly for Logan to stop him and approached the doorway.

Slender fingers captured his chin, carefully turning his face to the left, then right. Remy made a sound of pity in his throat. Logan was surprised at the feel of his touch, of how cool his fingertips felt against his hot skin. He fought a faint shiver working its way up his spine and a rash of goosebumps that prickled over him.

“Dat ain’t how my son usually behaves,” Remy insisted. Absently his fingertip traced the edge of one of Logan’s brows, which were currently knitted together in confusion. Hazel eyes dilated and he swallowed roughly. “He won’t do dat again. I swear dis.”

“Might help if I keep my distance, fer the time bein’,” Logan decided, and he ducked his head, staring at the floor before he could sink any deeper into those compelling red eyes. “But I suggest Nanny be a little more mindful of him. I want him kept in line.”

The trance between them was broken.

Logan didn’t hold back, even as Remy shrank back from him slightly, face hardening and closing up. “Maybe ya don’t know yer son that well.”

“Ya presume too much.”

“There was a lot of anger in him when I greeted him in that courtyard.”

“He wuz scared. And maybe it’s escaped ya, but I’m all he has. And he’s ev’ry’tin’ t’me. Understand?”

“Loud and clear.”

“Ya might know what it’s like if ya had any lil’ ones of yer own,” Remy added coldly.

Logan’s expression remained bland, but Remy read hurt in his eyes. A pang of regret gnawed at him.

“I may never know, then.” Logan nearly excused himself from the room. “Enjoy yer time with yer son.”

*

The next few days weren’t any easier. Remy’s leg healed beautifully, and there was barely a scar left on his face; the slightly darker pink skin was nearly invisible and hidden in his hairline. His arm was taking longer to mend; Leonard changed the splint, shortening it to allow him more mobility. Remy and Etienne’s time at Towering Trees was nearing its end.

For Logan, the prospect brought equal parts joy and disappointment.

Etienne was determined to spurn his efforts to get along with him. He ignored him when he invited him along with Artie to the archery field or to watch the knights practice. Etienne clung to his father whenever Artie left for his lessons, and he refused to sit for tutoring alongside the other boy.

One day, Logan strode down to the main hall, dressed for riding. Remy looked up from a story he was reading his son while Etienne munched a handful of sugared almonds.

“Where are ya headed?”

“For a ride,” he replied simply. He kept walking toward the door, as though no further explanation was forthcoming. Behind him, he heard someone scuffling up onto small feet.

“Papa! I want to ride!” he insisted. Nanny arrived at that moment, adjusting her spectacles.

“It might do him some good, sire, to get some fresh air. He’s been a trifle, er, restless.” Logan was in the middle of taking his riding gloves from Victor and was about to undo the heavy bolt from the door. His eyes flicked her way briefly, but he was determined to leave unhindered.

“Papa!” Etienne cried, pouting.

That expression was Remy’s undoing, something Etienne was well aware of. He sighed.

“Logan,” he called softly.

Logan bristled. He halted in his tracks. Victor looked annoyed.

“Can ya spare another mount?”

“I wasn’t expectin’ comp’ny.” He left it unsaid that Because your son hates me.

“Could ya rearrange yer plans?” Something in Remy’s eyes dared Logan to say no. Logan’s patience had worn so thin it was transparent.

“Vic,” he murmured.

“Aye, Highness?”

“Saddle another mount. The mare,” he said. Victor’s heavy blond brows drew together, but he swept out, intent on obeying his prince.

Several minutes later, they rode side by side, with Victor bringing up the rear. Etienne sat in front of his father, hands covering Remy’s while he guided the reins. The weather was balmy, with a faint breeze. Etienne was slightly impatient with the pace, but Remy chided him to settle down.

“Look,” Logan called, “a kit.” Etienne smiled at the sight of the small red fox as it vanished into the brush. “Ever seen one before?” Etienne ignored him.

“He asked ya a question, petit.”

“So?” he sulked.

“Guess he hasn’t, then,” Logan shrugged.

“I have too!” he cried, indignant.

“Then tell him so,” Remy suggested.

“Don’t want to,” he muttered under his breath. Logan periodically felt the boy’s glare and sighed. He abandoned hope for a pleasant ride once they left the stables.

Logan noticed after some time that Remy looked tired and his features were strained.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hurts,” he grimaced. Logan realized he meant his arm.

“Then we stop,” Logan said. He led his horse to a tall birch and dismounted, tethering it to a low branch. Victor followed suit, and he offered his help to Remy next. Etienne wasn’t cooperative.

“Papa, no! I don’t want to get down!”

“Let him help ya down. Papa needs a rest.” His son pouted again, to little effect. He allowed Victor to lift him off and set him down, gently as a feather. He assisted Remy next. Remy’s thighs and haunches were sore, and he limped slightly toward a low boulder. Logan’s first inclination was to help him, but he held back.

Etienne took the opportunity to stretch his legs as well, and he took off after a black squirrel. The creature clambered up a nearby tree. It’s chattering sounded almost angry.

Remy looked up from his musings at the light tap against his good arm. Logan stared down at him, holding out a canteen.

“Have a drink. Don’t dry yerself out.”

“Merci.” Logan began to move away. “Don’ be shy.”

“Eh?”

“Room fer two,” Remy pointed out. He moved over a bit, leaving a place for Logan to sit. Logan crouched and relaxed against the edge of the cold rock.

Remy’s proximity was uncommon over the past few days. Logan was more aware not of it than he’d like, his body heat and the scents of his hair and sweat. Beside him, Remy was pensive and equally tense.

“Logan?”

“Eh?”

“Jus’ wanted t’speak wit’ you. Had a few t’ings on m’mind.”

“All right.”

“I’m sorry.” They peered askance at each other by turns. Logan swallowed, surprised to find a lump in his throat.

“Why?”

“T’ink I forgot dat one of my duties in m’own kingdom is t’foster good relations wit’ my realm’s neighbors, but jus’ as important is t’be a gracious guest.” He handed Logan back the canteen. “Ya extended yer hospitality t’include my son.”

“It was the last I could do.”

“Non. It means the world t’me.”

Logan picked up a stick and peeled off bits of its bark. “It’s my pleasure.” His voice was earnest, and Remy was humbled.

“Ya don’ hafta say dat t’make-“

“I mean it.” Logan heard his stallion nicker at Victor as he curried his dark coat while they rested. “I’d do anything in my power to help you.”

Warmth spread through Remy’s chest. Logan was hunched with his elbows against his knees while he stripped the twig. The posture made him look so…unregal to Remy, even vulnerable.

His broad, hard back felt reassuringly solid beneath Remy’s palm. Victor watched them unnoticed, but his eyes were bright with curiosity.

Etienne ceased his shrieking, stomping chase of a flock of sparrows just in time to see his father giving Logan a soft smile, squeezing his shoulder companionably.

Jealousy reared its ugly green head.

“Papa, LOOK!” Etienne clambered up the saddle of Remy’s mare with some difficulty, before Victor or either prince could reach him.

“Etienne, no!” Remy roared. Panic gripped him at the sight of his son grasping the pommel with too little skill and too much confidence.

“Shit!” Victor hissed, dropping the brush in the scattered leaves as he hurried forward.

Etienne scrambled onto the mare’s back, but he didn’t have a strong purchase before he took the reins. The mare shied and whinnied, tossing her head in warning. Its tether around the branch strained, then snapped.

Etienne’s eyes went round with fear and the realization that he’s misjudged the mare’s temperament and his own horsemanship.

The horse sensed her rider’s uncertainty and reared up.

“NO!” Remy cried, stumbling to his feet. His hand was outstretched and his face went white as a sheet.

Logan was faster.

He charged toward the mare, instantly closing the gap between them, just as the mare sputtered and wailed her defiance, stomping and bucking in an attempt to rid herself of the child in her saddle.

“HOLD ON!” Logan ordered, hoping hell for leather that he could reach him, perhaps capture the mare’s reins, but it wasn’t to be. Her mouth was frothing around the bit and her dark eyes were wild, showing Logan the whites. He knew from his bond with wild creatures that she was just as frightened as Etienne.

He skirted around her and stretched out his arms, and Logan’s breath whooshed out of his chest as he caught Etienne before she could dash him to the ground. Logan staggered back beneath the impact, but he held fast to him, relieved to hear the boy’s sobs.

“Don’t let …hurt me,” he hiccupped. “Papa…” Logan turned to Remy and hastily handed Etienne off to him. Remy was trembling, and he swept his son into his arms with a grateful, choked cry.

But the mare hadn’t calmed yet.

“Easy,” Logan urged. Victor wasn’t as gentlemanly.

“Calm down, bitch!” he yelled, impatient and anxious to end her tantrum before she could stir up Logan’s mount, too. The dark stallion was already dancing and shying, straining at its tether.

Logan was short enough that he was no easy match for a horse that stood so many hands, particularly reared up on her hind legs. But he grasped her reins and jerked, dragging her down. She snorted and reared again, defiant and angry at his gall. Logan would have none of it.

“Mind me!” he demanded. Victor’s face was twisted in anger that his sovereign was placing himself in harm’s way.

Logan caught a glimpse of Remy holding a sobbing Etienne against his chest as he backed them away from the angry mare. That was all he needed to see.

There was no more time to think, only act. He caught the reins one more time.

She conveyed her feelings about this by bearing down on him and cuffing him neatly in the forehead with her front hoof.