To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) (12 page)

He dropped the remaining bread on the table and pushed away. Gillean was ruthless, aye, and heartless for the most part, but would he have killed Lorna for no other reason than he had no use for her? Unease made his neck twinge, and he rubbed the scar.

He studied the group of men, sickness churning in his stomach, and without bidding them farewell, he took the steps two at a time until he reached fresh air. He paused and bent double to draw in air through his tight throat.

The Norsemen had made it clear. Lorna would be raped or killed. He might be without honour in her eyes and he had behaved little better than a savage these past seasons, but could he really stand by and let that happen?

Lorna avoided anyone for much of the day. Ivar appeared not to remember his attempt on her—mayhap he had been too deep in his cups—but he had taken a moment, late that evening, to brush past her and grab her rear. It left her in no doubt that if he did not try to force himself on her again this night, he would soon enough. Mayhap he would wait until she was his, and mayhap he would not.

At present, thoughts of her own welfare were far from her mind. Her heart ached for her son. She strode out onto the walls. No one stopped her. The gates were heavily guarded and in spite of the strange admiration she garnered, none of the men seemed inclined to help her. She peered down the length of the wall and then lifted her gaze to stare out into the night. Torches flickered on either side of her, casting wild shadows onto the stone, but they did not light much of the darkness. The horizon was an endless black and the cloudy sky did not allow the stars to break through, nor the moon to reveal herself.

Lorna smiled grimly. How appropriate the night echoed her thoughts. So grim and dark were they, she feared she might never find the light again. Only her son could do that. She tried to remember the scent of him or the soft touch of his skin against hers, but the memories were hazy. How must it be to have nothing though? To think back and have nothing? In spite of it all, she understood Logan’s distrust and anger.

She leaned over and eyed the length of the wall again. She’d break a leg probably. Or even die. She’d be confined to an eternity in hell for such an act but a life away from her son would be no better. Oh where was her strength when she needed it? Even after her back had been torn to shreds by her angry husband, her thoughts had never been so grim.

Shaking her head at herself, she went to turn away but a hand clamped around her mouth. She screamed against it. Her heart beat fiercely in her chest as she kicked back but her foot met only air.

“Hush.”

She relaxed marginally at the sound of Logan’s harsh voice. His chest pressed into her back, hard and unyielding. He eased his fingers away and she drew in a deep breath.

“What are ye doing?” she demanded.

The hand covered her mouth once more, and she squealed against it. She flailed her arm around to grip onto something to force him away, but she only succeeded in weakening her position. He grabbed her arm and drew it up behind her back. The grip did not hurt but it was enough to let her know she was at his mercy. One wrong move and her arm would snap. She stiffened. Ivar had done the same.

“For once in yer life, dinnae fight me, Lorna.”

Her mind reeled. Clouds of fear and confusion muddled her thoughts. The soapy scent of him washed over her, hard muscles warmed her body. Yet she did not know what he intended for her. Friend or foe? Once she had known exactly what Logan was thinking, but now she was lost. She wriggled in vain, succeeding in wrenching her arm.

“I dinnae wish to harm ye, Lorna.”

Why then was he holding her captive? She stilled and allowed herself to be dragged along the wall and down the inner steps. Logan paused in the shadows of the wall. Unable to see what he was doing, she took the time to concentrate on drawing breaths past the barrier of his hand. His own breaths whispered harshly across her hair. Heat rolled through her, as harsh and as unexpected as a sudden gale out at sea.

There had been a time when she’d relished that sound, when those rasping breaths had been from pleasure, not from injury. The moment she had given into her need for him had been the best night of her life. But she could never give herself fully to a man. Not then… and mayhap not even now. Had Logan not proved even the best of men could not be trusted? Logan had once deserved so much more than her. Now, she was not so sure. The hatred in him seemed too deep and raw. A woman like her had little power against such emotions.

They were moving again, her feet slipping on the mud. Her skirts tangled around her ankles and she nearly tumbled several times, but the painful hold on her arm kept her upright. Logan led her past the stables and to the rear door out of the keep. There, in the shadows, he released her arm and pushed her away.

She blinked at him, flexing her arm to relieve the ache.

“Go,” he hissed.

“What?” She scanned their surroundings and saw no guards, no one ready to grab her and take her back to her chambers or lock her in the donjon again.

“Go.”

She eyed the door and then the man in front of her. In the dark shadows and faint torchlight, his gaze glittered and the furrows on his brow increased. She stepped forward and paused. “Logan—”

“Leave, Lorna, before the men return.”

Emotion threatened to drown her. She’d said farewell to Logan once before, in this same spot. And he’d nearly been killed. Her throat throbbed painfully. “Logan, pray—”

“Go,” he barked.

Her eyes grew hot. Her heart reached out to her child. Being apart from him tore her in two, the notion of being forever separated from him ate into her soul, yet if she left, would she be condemning his father to death?

“Come with me, Logan,” she begged. “Leave this place, forget all that has happened.”

He shook his head. “I cannae. I dinnae belong with ye and ye know that as well as I do. This is where I belong.”

“But what will ye do?” Lorna closed the gap and gripped his arm. “Will Gillean no’ harm ye for releasing me?”

His lips quirked. “Ye are a canny lass. He knows that much. ‘Twill be no stretch of the imagination to believe ye escaped on yer own. Now, leave.” He drew away her hand and turned.

“And then what?”

Logan smirked. “Do what ye do best, Lorna. Yer a leader. Raise an army. Dinnae let Gillean break through the walls at Glencolum. Protect yer son.”

“And what shall ye do?”

“What I have always done.” He offered her a tilted smile. “Survive.”

Lorna stared at his back as he disappeared into the shadows. Her feet twitched with the need to run after him. What did he intend to do? Whose side was he on? He planned to stay on this side of the war. And from what she had heard, it left her in no doubt war would be upon them soon and few Scots would be left untouched by it.

Footsteps on the wall above made her heart bound. She turned and raced to the door. The heavy joist that stretched across it creaked as she lifted it from its iron mounts but determination gave her more strength than she knew she had. Lorna dropped it to the ground, pulled open the door and stepped out.

She was free. 

***

The next morning, Logan found the castle in an uproar. Servants hurried about, avoiding the laird at all costs and the men-at-arms made a fine attempt at appearing as busy as possible. When Logan came down for the morning meal, he found the laird indulging heavily in wine.

“Where is she?” he asked through gritted teeth as Logan approached.

Nonchalantly, Logan plucked a chunk of bread from the table and chewed on it. “Who?”

“Ye know very well who. Lorna.”

Logan straightened. “She is gone?”

“Aye, during the night. No one knows how.”

Turning away to mask the lie, Logan cursed aloud. “She was a canny lass.”

When he faced his laird once more, Gillean had narrowed his gaze at him and the laird’s lips twitched with annoyance. “Damnation, I should never have—” He paused and let his expression soften. “A canny lass indeed.”

“Still, she only brought ye grief. Yer better rid of her, my laird.”

“Ivar willnae be happy. He had taken quite a liking to her.”

As had half the castle, Logan thought bitterly. He rolled his eyes. “Vikings care little for lasses. He’ll find another bonny fair lass soon enough. Besides, we are close enough to battle now. He willnae withdraw his support because of a mere woman.”

“Aye, ye are right, I suppose.”

“Ye shall have yer island soon enough, my laird.”

“And ye.”

Logan faked a greedy smile but the thought of land of his own no longer filled him with anticipation. He only hoped Lorna’s family lands remained unscarred by the ensuing battle. A knot gathered in his throat at the thought of never seeing her again. But better that than handing her over to a bloodthirsty Viking.

Gillean’s expression grew calculating again so Logan busied himself pouring an ale. A thud at the top of the stairs told him Ivar had risen, and Logan threw back the drink, the bitter tang forcing its way past the tangle of anguish in his throat. He might have acted dismissive, but he doubted Ivar would be best pleased.

Gillean rose as the giant man reached the bottom step. “Will ye join me?”

The fair-haired man paused in front of the top table, arms folded. “Is it true?”

“What?”

Ivar pounded a fist to the table, rattling the platters and goblets and spilling ale onto the crisp white linen cloth. “The woman is gone!”

The laird sat casually enough though Logan saw tension in his posture. Logan placed a hand over the pommel of his sword.

“Aye, unfortunately so.”

“You are a careless man, Gillean.” Ivar jabbed a finger toward him. “Am I to expect you to be as careless in your battle plans too?”

“Certainly not. I have been planning this for four seasons. The woman was an unnecessary inconvenience and if she does not die on the journey home, her lands will fall to us soon enough. Mayhap we’ll capture her then and she can be a spoil of war.”

Logan flexed a hand on his sword and spun away. He could not listen to this.

“Logan?” Gillean called. “Where do ye go with such haste?”

“I must check on the defences,” he said tightly as he spun to face the men. “If she escaped easily, so too could some enter with ease.”

Gillean rocked his gaze between Ivar and himself before nodding, clearly assured the Viking would do nothing to harm him. Besides, there were men enough around. While Logan might be the strongest, the other men could take down one Norseman if needs be.

Logan took the steps to the stores first, intending to check on their supplies should anyone hear tell of their plans and decide to rise against them. This had been his daily routine and he knew well they were prepared enough. If news of the uprising reached the king, he might send his men to deal with them, though the king had already proved himself loath to get involved in clan warfare in the past. This, however, would be no mere dispute between clans.

He turned at the sound of footsteps and saw a young servant lad. “Gillean wants ye to send out riders, sir,” the redheaded boy spilled out. “To search for the lady.”

Logan cursed softly and waved the boy away. “Aye, I’ll do so in a moment.”

The journey to Glencolum was not far, not that he had done it himself—or he did not
think
he had—but it would take her less than a day to return home. However, men on horseback would easily catch up with her. And then what? Why did Gillean not just leave her be?  They could ill afford to release men to such a duty at a time like this. Three more days and they’d be marching to battle. The laird’s judgement appeared clouded when it came to that woman. Much like his own, he thought with a smirk.

He made his way up the stairs and paused as Ivar’s voice boomed through the hall. “He released her, I know it.”

“Logan is loyal to me,” Gillean spat.

Logan inched forward and strained to listen over the noise of the servants clearing away the morning meal. Anne swished past and gave him a bemused look. He merely pressed a finger to his lips and signalled for her to move on. She offered a tight, wary smile and carted the stack of beakers out of the hall.

If Gillean suspected he had betrayed him, Logan had to know.

“The men say he has no memory,” Ivar continued.

“That is true.”

“There are rumours he was once the enemy.”

“Have ye indeed? The men have been ordered never to speak on it.”

“Ye dinnae fear he shall hear tell of this rumour? Or that his memory will return?” Ivar asked.

Logan’s heart lodged in his throat. He had once been the enemy? This was nothing like the tale Gillean had told him. He’d worked for him since he was a young man—a mere peasant. Gillean had given him responsibility and power. He’d given him a life. At what point had he been the ‘enemy’?

He heard Gillean chuckle. “If his memory has not returned by now, it never will. There I have a strong, intelligent man and one who was highly trusted by my dear sister. What better way to wreak revenge than to take her strongest man and mould him in my image?”

Logan’s skin grew hot and dots swam in front of his vision. He peered around as Ivar laughed and clapped a hand to Gillean’s back.

“You are a crazy man, Gillean, but I like that. After all, it was those who were thought crazy who were the pioneers of our people. Without them, we would have not discovered your isles or any others.”

Gillean merely let his brows rise. “To nurture a strong, loyal warrior is not lunacy, Ivar. ‘Tis calculation. Though I’ll confess I never foresaw the lass returning. ‘Tis a fine thing she triggered no memories in him.”

“I hope we shall be able to get her back.”