Highland Sparks: Logan and Gwyneth (Clan Grant Series Book 5) (2 page)

Moving her head, she caught sight of a large galley ship bobbing next to theirs. Thank God, someone would rescue them, for she had yet to find her bow. Squinting to see who was boarding the boat, she groaned and fell back against the rough hewn planks. More bad news. The boat was flying the raven banner of King Haakon, the king of the Norse, who was rumored to have brought thousands of his men to pillage and plunder Arran and Ayrshire in order to keep control of the Western Isles away from the Scots.

Lying in the corner of the ship’s deck, she attempted to stay as unobtrusive as possible as she worked to free her bindings while hiding under a slip of canvas. Hoots and hollers from the invaders sent the crew of her ship scrambling in different directions, and then a group of filthy Norsemen came aboard, pushing past the lasses in pursuit of the crew. Moments later, she heard fists pound against flesh, accompanied by the sound of breaking bones. Men yelled, begged, and threatened, but to no avail. Dissonant sounds rent the air—clashing metal, screams, and men falling overboard. Who survived, the crew or the Norse, she didn’t know. She feigned sleep in case they returned.

Moments later, relative quiet descended. Gwyneth opened one eye to see if she could determine who had won. She had to survive no matter what, for Rab, her only family member left, and to finish Duff. The Norse returned from the bow of the ship with shouts of exhilaration, each man grabbing a lass and tossing her on her back, sometimes two to one. She managed to struggle out of her bindings to locate her dagger inside her clothing, praying that Duff hadn’t removed it, and sighed when she found it. No one would get her without a fight.

A meaty hand gripped her by the front of her tunic. The warrior’s clothing she favored had not confused the man in front of her. The brute tossed her flat onto her back, then landed on top of her with a shout of jubilation. His hand reached down to fondle her breast, and she brought her head up with a snap, knocking her forehead against his hard enough to stun the lout for a moment. He slapped her twice before pinning her to the ground. Furious and fueled with new purpose, he continued by ripping through her clothes and fondling her private area. A jolt spread through her as a hard piece of flesh met her entrance. The last haze of the drug wore away instantly.

Naught could have brought a stronger reaction from her. A fierce growl wrenched from her gut as she reached into the fold of her clothing and pulled out her knife, aiming directly between the blackguard’s legs. When she connected with his flesh, he bellowed and screeched as blood spurted out before he could reach for his bollocks. She had found her mark. Swinging his fist, he caught the side of her head before she managed to roll away from him.

Another Norseman bellowed out a warning, and the fool she had speared glanced back to look at his comrade, who was pointing up the firth. More ships headed in their direction. She could tell from the expressions on their faces that they were worried. Norse or Scots? After a quick murmured conversation, the invaders scrambled back onto their longboat and rowed away. Gwyneth pulled herself into a sitting position, not even bothering to hold her ripped clothing together. She surveyed the deck, fighting to stay awake and think clearly. At least five other women were moving; two weren’t. Dead? Could they be dead already? Scanning the area again, she couldn’t find one male on board.

She put her hand on the nearest woman. “Are you unhurt? Can I help?”

The woman shook her head, pushing her hand away and sobbing. Gwyneth looked around the boat again, but her first impression had been correct. There were no men. A small sliver of hope sprung inside her. Perhaps they wouldn’t be sent to the East. The Norse had done them a small favor.

Every last member of Erskine’s crew had been thrown overboard.

Chapter Two

Logan Ramsay spurred his horse forward, ignoring the voice in his head.
You can stop now. You don’t need to protect everyone. Your niece and nephew are better now that Brenna Grant has healed them…

His brother Quade’s two children, Lily and Torrian, had both developed a sickness that had made them so ill they could not even get off their pallets. Torrian had barely been able to lift his head off his soft pillow, and he had been in too much pain to move. Logan, who loved the children as if they were his own, had been beside himself. Quade and his mother had stayed by the weans’ sides year after year. But he couldn’t handle it, choosing instead to wander whenever he felt overwhelmed by the failure of not being able to cure what ailed the wee ones.

Then he had kidnapped Brenna Grant, renowned as the best healer in the Highlands, and brought her to his home. She had not only healed both children, but also fallen in love with his brother and married him. Brenna, Quade’s wife, was quite simply the best thing to happen to his family. So he would now do anything for her. It was, he told himself, the reason he still rode.

Robbie Grant, the captain of the Grant warriors, was the reason he was on this journey. Robbie was Brenna’s brother, and he was determined to find him and bring him back to the Highlands. The Grant clan hadn’t heard from him since the Scots’ battle with the Norse at Largs, which had ended in a decisive victory for the Scots. Logan had taken it upon himself to ease the Grants’ minds, out of gratitude for all they had done for his own clan… And, perhaps, because Logan did not know what to do with himself when he was not on a mission.

Nudging his horse, Paz, he organized his plan in his head. Robbie Grant had just secured a powerful victory at Largs. There had been around four hundred Grant warriors in the field at one point. There had to be a group of them still in camp near Ayr. Even if Robbie had been sent south again after the battle, he must have left some clansmen in the royal burgh, close enough for Logan to discover more information.

King Alexander was unlikely to allow Logan into the royal castle, so he would have to dig up his information in the town of Ayr.

A couple more days and he should be close to Robbie Grant.

***

When he entered the royal burgh, Logan caught up with a couple of warriors dressed in the well-known Grant plaid. It didn’t take him long to determine Captain Robbie Grant’s location from them, though he wondered at their news. Robbie was apparently back at the royal castle, but word around the burgh was that the skirmish was over. The Scots had sent the Norse running home.

He sidled up to the castle gate and waited there for an hour or so, smiling as soon as his quarry exited the castle. “Grant, would you make haste?” he called out. “I need to speak to you.”

Robbie Grant squinted at him but didn’t speak. Hell, the man appeared dazed.

“Will you stop your staring? Can you not recognize one of your sister’s family members?”

Robbie peered at him before breaking out into a broad smile. “Logan? Logan Ramsay? What in hellfire brings you here, you hedge-born halfwit?” He hurried out of the gate with his friend Tomas fast behind him.

Logan grasped Robbie by both shoulders once they met on the cobblestones. “Halfwit, is it? We’ll see what your brothers call you when you get home. They’re vexed over your disappearance and sent me to find you.”

Robbie cocked his head at him. “Somehow, I doubt my brothers sent you to find me.”

Logan couldn’t contain his smirk. Grant knew him well enough to correctly assess the situation. Most people in his close circle were aware of his need to wander.

Robbie continued. “You couldn’t stay in one place, so you came here on your own. Dundonald informed my brother of what I was doing, and I already sent one group of warriors home. My brothers couldn’t have been overly concerned about my welfare. ”

Logan chuckled. “Middling bastard. Does it make a difference? Mayhap not your brothers, but the women are all worried about you, thinking you’ll never return. You broke too many hearts in the Grant clan.” The lasses’ broken hearts were not what worried him, but the happiness of his brother’s wife. If she had concerns, he would do aught that he could to settle them.

Robbie chuckled. “Now can we hear the truth? You just wanted to be in the thick of things, Ramsay. You just can’t settle for long.”

Logan laughed. “Och, aye, that, too. Enough about my reasons for coming, though. What are you still doing at the king’s castle, and where are you headed?”

Robbie paused. “You’re here at just the right time. I need a couple more warriors for my next assignment. Will you join me?”

“Of course, ‘twas my intention all along. Lead the way.”

***

Gwyneth bound her large breasts as best she could, cursing at the fact that all the binding she had done over the years hadn’t forced them to shrink. It wasn’t the most comfortable practice, but it did keep them out of the way when she was shooting. She hurried to finish before another boat reached theirs. When she was appropriately covered again, she wove her way through the prone bodies on the deck, assessing the women’s injuries and trying to find anyone who was well enough to assist her in rowing the ship toward shore in case enemies approached instead of friends. She offered kind words and encouragement, but was unable find any of the battered women equipped to help. Most of them were in far worse shape than she.

The sound of the advancing ship grew louder, so she did her best to stand and determine the identity of the vessel. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she searched for the raven banner of King Haakon’s ships and didn’t find one.

As the ship drew close, a Scotsman yelled at her. “Lass, is anyone alive but you?”

“Aye,” she yelled back, nodding.

“Where are you from and where were you sailing?”

“We came from near Glasgow. We were forced on the boat against our will and were being taken East. ‘Tis all I know.” Her hands settled on her hips as the longboat pulled up starboard.

“And your crew?”

“I was drugged and fuzzy, but I think the Norse threw them overboard.”

“Dead or alive when they were thrown?” The captain of the ship’s gaze searched the surrounding waters for survivors.

“I can’t answer that.” Gwyneth held tight on the side of the boat to keep from falling overboard as the other ship came close, sending waves through the water.

As soon as the two crafts were close enough, the captain jumped onto the deck, landing near her. Shock registered on his face. “Lass, the Norse do that or your captors?” He nodded toward her battered face.

“The Norse.”

The man tied a rope to their boat and signaled to his crew to head toward shore. He turned and announced to Gwyneth and the rest of the victims. “We’ll tow you back to South Ayrshire, the closest land from here. There’s a Kirk not far from the beach.”

Once she knew they were headed to shore, she sat next to the woman nearest her and placed her arm over her shoulder, rubbing her back to try to calm her. Gwyneth didn’t recognize her, but what the Norse had done to her and the others made her ill.

Their rescuer inclined his head toward the other women. “The rest look the same?”

“Worse.”

***

Logan heard sobs as they came near the Kirk south of the royal burgh. Robbie had informed him their mission wouldn’t be pleasant. Apparently, the Norse had attacked a ship full of women in the Firth of Clyde—women who’d been kidnapped and were being sent East to be sold as slaves. Logan had to admit he had trouble believing such a travesty would take place just outside the royal burgh.

Robbie had been told the women were not in good shape, so Logan prepared himself for the worst. He couldn’t handle seeing defenseless lassies beaten, though he knew it happened often enough. It didn’t happen in front of him.

He and Tomas hung back while Robbie knocked on the locked door of the Kirk, night having settled in around them. The door swung open just a touch and a man of the cloth stared out at them. “State your purpose.”

Once Robbie convinced the priest they had been sent by Dundonald, he beckoned to them and led them through the front door while the other Grant warriors waited out front. Robbie followed the priest into the back, and Logan and Tomas waited in the chapel, both pacing in anticipation of the job they had ahead of them. The two exchanged glances as the cries of women in pain reached their ears. He vowed to make it his business to search for the bastard who had kidnapped the young lassies.

Robbie stuck his head out of the back room and beckoned for them to come forward, so they followed. Inside the chamber, several women rested atop small pallets, groaning and crying. Logan had to struggle not to react as he wished, by pounding his fist into the wall.

Robbie turned to the priest, his expression a question. Logan knew what he wished to ask—he was concerned about how to transport women with injuries. Grant had been wise to bring more warriors to aid with the escort.

Father MacLaren spoke in a soft whisper. “Probably better to move them tonight, lads. There is naught more we can do for them here. They need to be tended by women, and we just don’t have the supplies for bandaging or the healers to set their broken bones to rights.”

Robbie frowned. “How shall we move them, Father?”

“There are two carts. I believe we can get them comfortable for the most part. There are several mounds of hay in the back. My fear is if you wait until daylight, you’ll draw more attention to the women. If you leave soon, you should be able to make it to the priory by morning. At least you’ll travel through the royal burgh in the dark.”

Logan peered around the room and froze when his gaze rested on a dark-haired lass with light blue eyes, a color he had never before seen except in the crystal clear skies of summer. She stared directly at him, her bronzed skin darker than most women’s, and everything about her was so beautiful he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

When he moved closer, he noticed the bruises that marred her beauty, and his mind created a satisfying fantasy of killing the bastard that had dared to touch her. He reminded himself of what the priest had told their group about the ordeal these women had faced, how they’d been attacked by foreigners after being taken captive by their own countrymen. Approaching her made the tragedy that much more real. Few women would survive such a thing with their spirit intact. The fire in this lass’s light eyes marked her as a fighter.