Marie had passed the night with turbulent dreams, despite her worries set at ease. Instead of waking to feel rested, she felt jittery, uncomfortable, and most of all, antsy. It was akin to her time with the two bandits in the woods. She had been promised safety, and yet she was dissatisfied. She spent that day, the next, and the third with various persons. A full morning was set aside to fittings for her new clothing, of which there was many. Her uncle felt it important for her to dress as befit her station, and there was a plethora of beautiful cloth for Thyses to peruse, which she did so with great gusto. The woman had taken up the persona of an old retainer with Marie, which was sweet, and wholly endearing.

Aside from that, her mornings were usually taken by Robert – who wanted to impress her with various acts, knowledge, and trips. She must have gently rebuffed him a score of times to go to the market with him. Afternoons and early evenings were spent with Ema, or Maester Henri.

Both were extremely knowledgeable within their own venues, and Marie began to get an education from the worldly Marchioness, while the Maester made her mind soar with his earnest, slightly long-winded lectures. That he finally had an audience who cared for his topics had him in his element. He even let her look through the strange device he wore across his eyes. It allowed her to see close up the veining of a flower, or the strange denizens that lived in a drop of water – Maester Henri had sworn to her that all water carries these creatures, and so it must be safe to imbibe them since humanity could not live without water. She trusted the befurred man, he of such genteel nature at such odds with his formidable appearance.

Her evenings were taken up with her uncle. He encouraged her to visit with him, and to try to determine how her powers functioned. To her, it seemed futile and set her to a loss. After all, how could she practice when practice only brought pain to the volunteer? However, she spent long hours with Xavier, in deep meditative trances, as Xavier spoke to her about his own gift, and how he utilized it. Some of it made no sense to her; but some parts did. Afterall, she had independently learned over time how to wall away the ever-present voices in her head; though it did not always work.

He also made attempts to read her thoughts, especially as his quiet, cultured voice encouraged her to trust; trust him, trust herself. Trust that she was in a safe place and did not have to defend herself. Yet, no matter what, no matter how deeply she was within a trance-like state, could her walls be breeched.

"You are an enigma, my dear niece." Charles said on the fifth night of practicing. "I promise you, that we will find a way to give you the peace you seek."

Marie smiled warmly at her uncle, she had not known that family could be this…giving. She found herself wishing to remain like this, always. "I think I am more than on my way. Thank you." Carefully, but pointedly, she kissed his ring. To her surprise his hand came down atop her hair, smoothing it, and using it to cup her cheek. Her uncle was a brave man.

"Child." He said warmly, more love held in that word than either of her parents had ever expressed. Before the tears could come, she smiled once more then curtseyed, and took her leave.

Back in her own room, after dismissing Thyses for the night, Marie folded herself into her blankets, and tried to focus her mind. She was dedicated to building up her abilities…her Gift…as Uncle Charles said. Marie slowed her breathing, being aware of every inch of her body and what it was telling her, she tried to shut out the rest of the world and focus on only herself.

Thus, it was with total surprise when she was roughly pulled from her slumber to see nothing but blackness. The air was hot and heavy; a bag, she realized. A bag was tossed over her head, and her hands were being roughly gathered up by something. Immediately she kicked with both her legs, fighting as hard as she could. Her movements were ungainly and uncoordinated; the other person managed to dodge, or not be affected by her assault. Marie tried to cry out, but the hood over her head limited she noise to a wordless sound. It probably did not even travel out of the room.

The figure – whoever they were – grunted as one of her legs got in an angry kick. Her claws erupted from between her knuckles – skies above, how it hurt! – but any advantage was lost as the person reclaimed her arms. She felt heavy manacles again clamp down on her wrists – not again! Fighting with renewed vigor, she wished that she could call to her uncle as others could, according to his explanations. Her legs were bound too; she was outmatched, and whoever was trying to steal her away was stronger than she was. She couldn't stop them!

Panicked, she didn't know what to do as she was hoisted over her aggressor's shoulder. Bucking wildly, she tried to throw herself from her perch, but couldn't do more than wriggle impotently. Who could be driven to take her from her uncle's keep? Who could have infiltrated it so thoroughly?

The assailant took one step, another, and then another, before suddenly gasping, and falling to their knees. Their body thumped heavily on the floor, sending Marie to the ground as well. Twisting this way and that to get away, she stiffened when she felt a hand on her arm, holding her back.

"Shh, Marie." A voice said as the crudely woven bag was stripped away. That voice, she was shocked into stillness. It couldn't be. "It's going to be alright,"

Carefully, she was turned, and she saw what her ears had told her. Logan was kneeling over her, with an unreadable expression on his face. "You're alive?" Marie asked, blurting the first thought that came into her head.

Logan wanted to smile, but this wasn't the time for it. He had let his claws slide back into him when she fell, and now, kneeling over her, covered in the other man's blood, he looked far from reassuring. "Yes," was all he said as he extended one metal covered claw and deftly broke the manacles. They would trap no one ever again.

"…How?" she asked, shock keeping her from garrulity. Even the Logan within her had assumed that the act of reviving her had killed his original body.

"I'm good at killing, and harder to kill," he said as he finished his work on the cords that bound her ankles. "Are you…" he paused and cleared his throat. This sort of action was hard for him to complete. He really had only thought of the chase, and nothing of the after.

"Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? Are you? I took – That man, he –"

"He's dead. He doesn't matter anymore. Marie, we should talk. I – "

Before anything else could be said the room erupted into chaos. A throng of guards entered the room, while Robert, who only stood in the doorway surveyed the scene – a dead man in a pool of spreading blood, a living man with a plethora of dark hair, and "Marie!" he shouted, and his whole body flashed to ice immediately. He extended one hand and a flood of ice shot forward, hitting Logan in the head and knocking him away from her in a rush. The ice and snow continued, as if he were channeling a miniature avalanche, and it buried Logan under its deluge.

Henri leapt into the room and wrapped the bedding around Marie in an attempt to keep himself safe. "No, w-wait, Maester Henri" she pleaded as the befurred man drew her from her bedroom. "He was not the one who was attacking me. Please, you must call them off!" Marie begged desperately. Her parents sneered.

Henri looked at her in surprise, his head aperture missing. He seemed incomplete without it. Setting her down, he nodded slowly. "I have many questions," he stated before turning back to her bedroom chamber. "Sir Drake!" he bellowed. His barrel chest could hold a great deal of air, and he used it to good effect. "Stand down!"

Slowly, reluctantly, the stream of cold dwindled to nothing. The room was coated in a thick sheen of ice. Logan was nowhere to be seen. "Henri what do you speak of?!" Robert demanded angrily. "That northman entered the lady's room! He was going to take her from here!"

"The Lady Marie says otherwise, Sir." Quickly, efficiently, Henri reorganized the guards that entered the room, and with some convincing, managed to have Robert mend what he had done. Eventually, Logan was revealed under a pile of ice and snow. He gasped roughly and pulled himself up to his feet. A ring of guards surrounded him, in a very familiar scene.

Marie wasn't having it. Not again. "Sirs," she said, desperately. "Logan must be considered a guest; he saved me from abduction." It took only a few more moments to discover the body of her true assailant.

"Kazar," Robert said ominously, looking down on the dead man. "A savage mercenary, with a savage history. He is usually only interested in the most difficult, most impossible, most expensive jobs." His gaze turned to Marie, who was looking at Logan with an unreadable face. "Why?"

Marie kept her peace, and Logan, still dripping wet, still slightly blue and angry red from his time buried in the cold, also remained silent. The guards slowly relaxed their stance, and eventually, Robert sighed. "A woman of many secrets," he said, with no remorse, or anger. He seemed…intrigued. "A true member of the House of Xavier," Robert almost took her hand in his and instead changed his mind to bow low. "My lady, if you are ever in need of defense, I hope that this display proves to you the depth of my devotion." If looks could kill, the brief flash of fury that came across Logan's face was enough to level half the room in its ire.

After a bit of pleading to be left with Logan alone, and a few reminders that she could not be so easily harmed, she and Logan were finally left in the shambles of her bedroom. Thyses was roused and brought to the bedchamber, where she shooed the two Afflicted out to the antechamber with promises to have the room made hospitable once more. The guards carried out the dead body of the assailant, wrapped in bedsheets.

Marie and Logan were left alone, finally. There was a banked fire in the hearth, and with a little coaxing, Marie brought it to life. Logan was standing there, running a length of that strange material they called cantoon to wick away moisture from his face. Finally, at length, the two were unable to put it off any longer. They needed to discuss what had transpired between them, and where it left them.

Marie returned to the chair before the fire, while Logan opted to stand. She was aware of herself in a simple nightdress that left nothing to imagination, but there was little else to be done. Did it really matter? She asked herself as she shifted a bit uncomfortably. A part of her burned for him to do away with words, and sweep her into his arms –

Baseless fantasies are for the weak who lack the will to make their desires reality.

"You risked your life for me," she said quietly, figuring it would be best to get to the heart of the matter.

Logan stiffened, and he looked into the fire she had built. "Yes."

"Yet, you had come not to rescue me, but to end my life."

"Yes." The answer came without pause, without fear, but with a great deal of reluctant remorse filling the word.

"I know you had no personal wish to see me dead; you did this merely to repay the outlander. And then, once you enacted your plan, you chose instead to stay your hand. I know that you were being torn apart inside. The debt you owed was large enough for you to be unable to repay in more conventional matters."

Logan said nothing in response. He merely stared into the flames.

Silence filled the room. Marie screwed up all her courage and mentally dared herself to speak. "You could finish your work now."

Logan's head swiveled to her, and a dark expression overcame it. Forcing herself to stillness, she saw him take the few steps needed to stand before her. He was close enough that he was towering over her, his hands at a level with her heart. Marie blinked once, slowly, then again, before looking up at Logan, meeting his eyes.

He bent, slowly, keeping eyes locked with her. His dark gaze held her more assuredly than any chain or rope; and her heart beat a rapid staccato in anticipation. His hands gripped the armrests of the chair, just before her own hands, until his face was level with hers. "My work can go to the flames," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My debts can go with them." He was so close now, and Marie began to tremble.

"Forgive me, Marie…" Slowly, so slowly she wasn't certain it was really, truly happening, Logan's lips descended to hers, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He drew her from the chair, his kiss deepening, tongue hedging over her teeth and tasting her more deeply. He sighed in relief as she didn't resist him, and instead gripped his damp clothing with both hands as she hungrily returned his kiss. Knowledge of what to do was not hers, but she followed her instincts and pressed herself as tightly to him as he did to her.

She was trembling like a willow in a windstorm, unused to kissing, unused to expressing such emotion in such a bold, wanton way. Yet, his embrace made her feel safe, made her feel valued. His hand stroked her side and she shivered in anticipation and want. Tears began to spill from her; emotions now uncorked were falling freely. Too late, she suddenly realized something in shock. Pulling back from him, but not escaping the protection his arms gave her, she looked up at the rough northman.

"I…I am not taking…"

"No," Logan replied, his own voice and expression as dazed as if he were being taken by her Affliction. "You are not."

"I don't understand; even when I have touched a person, when I touch them again, it is always the same. Except for here, except for now."

Logan had no answers for her, and it was unlikely he would discover them in this moment, and so he did the only thing he did know to do in such a situation. He kissed her once more, deeper, and hungrier than his initially polite kiss.

His ardor for her pressed against her whole body, knowing that he was as taken as she was. She made small little noises as he poured his devotion, his want of her into yet another series of kisses. Finally, eventually, he drew back, and stared at her. Sleep rumpled, distressed, and in the throes of passion, she looked magnificent. The beast within him howled to rip her from that distracting frock and take her, now, on the rug before the blaze. His imagination treated him to the idea of the fire burnishing her pale skin a rosy gold as she writhed under him. He wanted her, and he wanted her now.

Thyses' entry to the room interrupted them. Logan pulled back just as the door opened, and Marie, at first too distracted to hear the noise, appeared confused, then turned away to compose herself. The serving woman made no voice to any suppositions she may have had but she did tuck the information away. Announcing that the bedroom was returned to a sense of normalcy, she bobbed a quick dip to Logan.

"Lord Xavier wishes me to take you to chambers of your own." As Marie's face flashed concern, Thyses was quick to assuage and give comfort. "They are freely given, you are no prisoner here, northman."

Logan nodded once, curtly and turned back to Marie, cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking it gently. "I will return," he said to her before following Thyses from the room. Marie was left behind, and she obeyed her unsteady knees, tumbling into the chair.

He held her, kissed her, and nothing happened.

The Logan within her was astonished to his very core by each revelation of the night, her parents as equally revolted, and Eirene…well…Eirene was smug.

No other answers came to her, and eventually, when Thyses returned Marie allowed herself to be led back to her bedchamber and sought a return to sleep.

The dawn came hours later, and Marie was still awake to see it.

Logan had spent days studying Greymalkin and the surrounding Westerly Rock before he had decided that infiltration up the side of the building would be the best way. Using his claws, he had scaled the tower, trusting the night to hide him from all prying eyes. He had even been fortunate in seeing Marie on a balcony his first day there. Relief had almost washed over him like an enormous wave; she was there, she was safe.

But she was not with him. Therefore, she was as not safe as she could be. As a man possessed might act, so did he. He had hardly realized that he was scaling the walls, using his enhanced senses to determine her location in the enormous pile of rock. As he located her room, he had suddenly sensed another.

Seeing her, struggling with her assailant made his vision awash in shades of red. It had felt far too pleasurable stabbing the scum that touched his mate. He had gored the man from behind; there was no fair play when Logan fought in a fair fight. There was no fair play, nor would there be a fair fight here. If he could have, he would have slit the man's throat and watched the light die in his eye. He wanted to ruin the man and break him down until the smallest part of him was erased from the earth. But Marie was there and when the man died, he mattered no more to Logan than a pile of cloth.

Seeing her dark eyes settle on him, he had felt a knot loosen in his chest. She didn't fear him. She even challenged him to finish his work while she sat there passively, refusing to defend herself. Logan had admired her bravery in that first encounter nights before Samhain in that small dark cell, and again now, when she looked her potential assassin in their face, almost daring him.

Those eyes, he mused as he paced the small chamber he had been given, so unlike the one she had received. It mattered not to him; this door would open for him at any time. He had been given promises to that. He was a freeman and would not have to worry about confinement. He barely noticed the items within the room as he sank onto the bed, his enhanced frame making the bed sink lower than one would expect. He was too focused on Marie, thinking of her face, of the touch of her lips, of her body pressed against him…

Logan expected that the lord of the keep would be calling upon him to explain his presence here. How to explain? What to give, and what to hide? In his experience, Lord Xavier was spoken of in awed whispers, and an inflated legacy. The truths known was that Lord Charles Xavier II was a man who had built upon a successful nation and made it one full of Afflicted peoples. A man whose power was superseded only by the newly created lands of the Summer King and his Phoenix Queen. Not even the Storm Empress rivaled their power, though they and their powerful navy were a close ally to Westerly Keep. Indeed, the man had acquired a great many allies; though there were many others who allied themselves to the Outlander, for fear or avarice, or other reasons.

The international stage was slowly being set, and all of that did not matter to Logan. He needed to find a way to protect Marie, as even with her uncle she was a target. This spoke of something bigger, something greater. As he sat in this room, as the hours went by, he thought as hard and as well as he ever had. There had to be some way to protect her.

She of the soft voice, soft scent, large eyes. He could feel her lips on his once more and grunted in frustration. He wanted her with him, now. If he tried…that little snowing man might try to come between them, hung up on proprieties. Logan snorted, momentarily distracted from the conundrum he and she were in to pause and spend a few selfish moments deriding the young suitor. His interest with Marie made Logan want to run him through, yet he knew that the stripling was a lord. Getting what he wanted would be highly complicated if he indulged in petty fantasies. Marie hadn't kissed the boy, after all. He remembered that with pride.

She wanted him.

When another servant came to get him an hour after first light, he found Logan where he had been that whole time. Sitting motionless on the bed, thinking of potential plans. He would not lose her again, and Nur would never lay a hand on his mate.

It was going to be as simple as that.