To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) (15 page)

“Take me, Logan.”

“I will,” he assured her and kissed the top of a breast that peeked out above her gown.

“Now,” she demanded and reached down to cradle his shaft through the fabric of his garments.

He groaned. With his damaged voice, it came out an urgent, animalistic sound. “Can ye no’ see I’m trying to seduce ye here?”

“Ye dinnae need to seduce me. I’m yers. Just take me.”

He eyed her, his lips twisting into a smirk. Once that smirk might have annoyed her but now it only made her want to trace the line with her fingers and feel the heat of his tongue against her fingertips.

“I thought ye might...”

“What? Want ye to torture me until I explode?”

He chuckled. “Nay, I was trying to be...” He blew out a breath. “The way I handled ye angered ye many times, if ye remember?”

Ah. His words sank in. He was trying to prove to her he could be gentle. But she didn’t need proof. Any doubts she had about who this man was had been erased the moment she saw him holding their son.

“I dinnae know what the future holds for us, Logan. I dinnae know if yer memory will ever return, but I know yer a good man.”

“I treated ye—”

She laid a hand to his arm. “I know. But I treated ye abominably for years. I denied ye at every turn. We both made mistakes. Can we no’ forget them?”

His gaze searched hers. What would happen on the morrow still terrified her, and the years after—if they survived—held so much uncertainty, but with Logan at her side she felt stronger than ever. He did not sap her strength and make her vulnerable as she had always feared. He empowered her.

Logan nodded slowly and dropped an even slower kiss to her lips. She clasped his face as he moved his mouth over hers. Just as a sound of frustration threatened to break to the surface from her, he deepened the kiss and his tongue met hers. Fresh need rushed through her and made her knees tremble. He crushed her back against the stone, propping her up so that she barely needed to worry about the way he turned her to jelly.

She twisted her fingers in his hair so as to hold him as close as possible for fear he might break away again, but he did not. His tongue explored her mouth and their breaths grew frantic. Lorna moved mindlessly against him, heat rolling through her body. The wonderful rub of his hard chest against her aching breasts and his manhood against her tender flesh made her cry out against his mouth. His kisses drowned the sound but he answered with a moan of his own.

“Hell’s teeth,” he muttered and drew back to heft her skirts up.

A warm hand clasped her thigh and worked higher to grip her rear. The sensation of his fingers gripping her cool flesh made her head spin and when she glanced at the skies, the stars all seemed to blend into one. Only Logan’s face commanded her focus. He broke away for a moment but it gave her enough time to imprint his expression in her memory—his eyes hooded and intense, his mouth open slightly to draw in deep breaths, the dark dusting of hair across his jaw and the crease of his scar. His strong features and the way his brows dipped as if concentrating on marking her in his memory too.  It all imprinted in her mind.

When he brought his mouth down on hers in a possessive, passionate kiss, he lifted her leg and hooked it over his hip. It left her open to him and he slipped his fingers around her thigh to find her sex. With skilled fingers, he parted her folds and skimmed a thumb over her nub. Sizzling pleasure made her buck against the confines of his body and she gasped against his mouth.

“So wet,” he murmured. “God’s teeth.”

Without warning, he plunged his fingers into her. He was right. She was wet. and so ready. He slammed two fingers into her and her body took them easily, needing them so badly. She had to be filled, craved that sensation so badly that all she could do was remain pinned against that wall and take whatever he gave her.

He pumped his fingers in and out, and though she tried to work him deeper, the wall of stone behind and the wall of muscle in front constricted her movements. She scrabbled her nails across his back in a silent plea for more.

Logan answered it by withdrawing his hand, gripping her other leg and lifting her clean from the ground. Her back scraped across the stone until he found the dip in the wall and rested her on it. The drop behind her might have scared her, the thought of all the men somewhere in the darkness waiting for the moment to strike, should have horrified her, but nothing existed apart from Logan and this night.

One arm around her back, he lifted her skirts again. A rip sounded as his impatient movements rent one of the layers but all Lorna cared about was having Logan between her thighs. She urged him forward with her legs around his hips while he bundled the fabric as high as possible. She reached around to free him from his clothing and his solid heat filled her hand.

They both groaned and the hand on her back pressed up to support the back of her head while the other landed on her hip. He needed no encouragement. As soon as his arousal met her heat, he thrust—a swift, searing thrust that left her unsure where he ended and she began.

“Oh, Lord...”

She dug her heels into his rear and moved against him. His earlier attentions had left her coiled with need and each slide of him inside her increased the friction until nonsensical sounds slipped from her mouth. He kissed her urgently, clumsily and she felt the strain of his muscles. Lorna closed her eyes and concentrated on the pleasure each thrust brought.

Their movements grew erratic and the tightening inside increased. His beard scuffed her cheek as he gripped her tighter to him. She muffled a cry against his shoulder and a great shudder wracked her. The skies above appeared to explode in a scatter of stars, and pulsations rolled through her, over and over.

Sagging in his embrace, Lorna attempted to gather her breath but his desperate movements gave her little chance to relax. She found herself spellbound as she drew back to meet his gaze.

He locked his gaze on hers. His expression crumpled. Vulnerability flew across his face, the cords in his neck stood out, and every part of his powerful body shuddered. She closed her eyes briefly and relished the moment she made this strong warrior fall apart.

“I love ye,” she whispered against his chest when he bundled her into him.

He didn’t respond. She didn’t expect him to. But the kiss to the top of her head was enough for her. Lorna smiled against the rough material of his shirt. The great weight on her shoulders lifted. She was no longer afraid.

Had it been any other morning, waking up with a golden-haired lass snuggled into Logan’s side would have filled him with joy. It still did, he supposed. He gazed down at her, noting the way her freckled nose squashed against his chest and her arm curved around his waist. But even the beautiful scene she created did not subdue the heavy weight of dread that made his mouth dry and his pulse quicken as soon as he awoke.

He had so much to lose now.

Logan winced as he tried to flex his tingling arm and withdraw it from underneath Lorna without disturbing her. She murmured and tossed, flinging an arm across her face. In spite of himself, a smile tugged at his lips. The lass did not do mornings well. Who knew such a sight could soften his hard heart? Yet it did. Everything about her did. Mayhap he even...

Ach, but his head was still a muddle. His body knew what it wanted. Her. Every instinct told him this was the woman for him. He had a family now and he needed to be by her side more than anything, but a small part of him still held back. The black cloud haunting his mind refused to abate and he suspected it never would. In truth, it terrified him.

Sliding out of bed, he tiptoed over to the crib nearby. Ewan slept on, both arms raised above his head, his fists curled. Logan brushed a finger over his jaw. The babe only woke once during the night and from his limited experience of children, he thought Ewan had to be the most placid babe in all of Scotland. A testament to his mother—though with her fiery nature and his temper, it was a miracle they had been blessed with such a child. But mayhap he used to be calmer. He just didn’t know.

He risked touching a tiny curled fist and glanced over at the bed when Lorna released a muffled snore. It was not a bellowing snore like that of the men from the keep but a wee noise that yanked his bruised heart and drew him to her. He stood over her for several moments, watched the inhalation of each breath and the way her delicate body moved against the cotton of her shift. He did not know everything yet. Could not even be sure how he felt about everything he had learned. He had gained a family, friends and a new home within a matter of days. But he knew one thing.

He would fight to the death to protect them. To protect her.

He only prayed it did not come to that.

A crashing noise made him jerk his head up and Lorna bolted up to sitting. She shoved her curls away from her face and peered at him blearily. “What is it?”

“I dinnae know.”

She blinked and took in his naked state. A sultry smile curved her lips and he saw her gaze land on his arousal. Another crash and they both jolted. He snatched his plaid from the floor and fisted it around his waist before striding over to the shutters and pushing them open. Peering out, he saw the men crowding the hills around the castle. The army had drawn close and were preparing for battle. Far back, he noted the large tent that no doubt housed the laird. He dug his fingers into the stone ledge and imagined it was Gillean’s neck instead.

“Has it started?”

Logan turned, tempted to say nay. Nay, all would be well. Nay, they would never break through and slaughter them. Nay, he would not die protecting them this day. But he could not. As he fumbled for some reassuring words, something zipped by him and the wooden door made a cracking sound. He peered at the arrow for several moments as it bounced in position, embedded in the oak, before slamming the shutters and motioning for Lorna to get up.

“Get to the centre of the keep,” he barked.

Ewan chose this moment to let up a wail, and Lorna tumbled out of bed to grab the child.

Logan thrust his shirt over his head and punched his arms through the sleeves, then grabbed her gown. Somehow they juggled the child and her gown between them and got her dressed. He made a terrible lady-in-waiting, but she did not need to look presentable for this day. All that mattered was she stayed safe. He pressed her out of the room and slammed the door to see Morgann and Finn striding toward him down the dim corridor.

“It’s started,” Morgann confirmed before Logan had a chance to say anything. He looked to Lorna who was trying to shush Ewan as he clutched at his
màthair’s
clothing and screamed until his face was red. “The rest of the women are in the solar with my father. I suggest ye join them. ‘Tis the safest place in the keep.”

She nodded, her lips tight, and he saw she was holding back tears. He’d seen that expression several times during her confinement at Kilcree—that proud strength that made her lift her chin and eye the men boldly. Admiration made his heart stretch. The lass was more a warrior than many men he had met during his time as chieftain to Gillean.

He tugged her into him and pressed all too brief kisses to her lips and to Ewan’s head before releasing her. “Go now,” he ordered softly.

She nodded, gave him a lingering look and hurried away to the chamber above. His heart pounded with every tiny footstep until he could hear them no longer. He turned his attention back to the two men.

“Archers are on the roof,” Morgann continued. “We need to hold them off as long as we can. If they look to be breaking through, we’ll go out and meet them. I dinnae wish to do battle in the confines of the keep.”

“Nor I,” Finn confirmed with a severe nod. “Nor do I want the enemy near the womenfolk. Gillean tried to kill us all once. I wouldnae expect any mercy from him, not even toward a lass carrying a babe.”

Logan saw the concern etched into Finn’s face, the fear that haunted his eyes. They were all strong men and from what little he knew of these two, fierce warriors, but the women they fought for had the ability to bring them all to their knees. Mayhap that would give them the edge. They fought for more than land or power. They fought for their families.

“How badly are we outnumbered?” Logan asked.

The dark-haired man plunged a hand through the strands. “Three to one, I suspect. He has many unskilled men, however. We have some fine fighters from the villages.”

The grim line of Morgann’s mouth belied the hope behind his words. Many of their men were simply part-time warriors. Called upon to fight when needed. Only the castle’s men-at-arms trained daily to battle in such circumstances. Should they need to do battle, they could be walking into a massacre.

Finn grinned and slapped a hand to Logan’s back. “Let us get some food before we fight. Ye never did fight well on an empty stomach.”

Logan felt a grin tug his lips in response. His stomach grumbled, affirming Finn’s declaration. He followed them down to the Great Hall and noted the heavily armed men at every corner. The hall was not as grand as that of Kilcree. The tapestries were well looked after but the woodwork was rustic and the furniture simple. It appealed to Logan, somehow. He had no need to be seated on carved chairs or to dine by huge candelabras.

After a visit to the garderobes, they sat and ate quickly, shoving down large chunks of bread and sliced pork, before draining a cup of ale each. Morgann stood and motioned for Logan to follow him to the recess at one side of the keep. They ducked into the armoury, lit only by a few tallow candles. The tang of metal and oil hung heavily in the air and Logan filled his lungs with it. Here, surrounded by steel, a sense of familiarity washed over him. He didn’t believe it was the room itself, but the notion of being on the right side for once. This was where he belonged. Fighting for his family and friends.

Morgann lifted his blade and gave a few swings. Logan nodded. “A fine weapon.”

“Aye, ‘twill see me right.”

Logan fixed his gaze on Morgann. “I didnae wish to ask in front of Lorna but should the enemy break through, do ye have any way of the lasses escaping?”

Morgann shook his head grimly. “This keep was designed a hundred year ago. ‘Tis no’ a fancy castle. The defences are minimal. We’ve always fought our battles out on the hills, never in front of the walls. ‘Twas no’ designed to withstand a siege.”

“Aye, I thought as much.” He slipped his own blade into his belt and patted the pommel. “Gillean doesnae fight like other men. But there we have the advantage. I know his plans and how he fights.”

“And how does he fight?”

“He’ll use his weakest fighters first.”

“He’ll send them to slaughter.”

“Aye, but he doesnae care.”

Morgann shook his head in disgust. Logan understood that disgust now. Before, he’d understood the logic behind the laird’s plans. Why use up your finest resources early in battle? But he also understood now that the weaker men—the ones sent up for slaughter—would not fight hard or with passion, unlike the clansmen who were fighting for more than a laird’s greed.

“He’ll send the Norse in last. Likely once he has broken through,” Logan continued.

“They are strong fighters.”

“Aye, but the longer we hold them off, the longer they’ll be fatigued.”

“As will we.”

Logan let loose a grin. “We have a fine keep to rest in. They dinnae. I think we should do all we can to make their stay as uncomfortable as possible.”

Teeth flashed and a wicked glint entered Morgann’s eyes. “That sounds like a fine idea indeed. What did ye have in mind?”

***

Tèile listened in on their plans. She liked the way they thought. Rubbing her hands together, she saw how she could take a role in this battle. To use much magic was too risky, but so too was this battle. She greatly feared all her work would be for nothing. But creating some disruption would be easy enough. By the stars, the greedy laird deserved no less.

She took the opportunity to fly out of the armoury and high above the keep. They were indeed outnumbered by a vast amount. Scores of men dotted the hills, and Tèile had to fly high to avoid the arrows zinging around the castle. She had seen battle before and knew this was only the start. While most of the arrows pinged harmlessly off the stone or landed futilely by the enemies’ feet, soon they’d turn their attention to gaining access to the keep—by any means necessary. She had seen whole castles burned to the ground in her time in the human realm.

Once past the archers, she glided down to the scattered tents. Warm vegetables scented the air, and she followed that scent to the large pot of boiling broth. A man diligently stirred it and messily ladled some into proffered bowls when soldiers approached. Tèile hovered for a moment, tilting her head in contemplation. Men could not fight on empty stomachs Finn had said.

She dropped to the ground. The long grass nearly swallowed her, but it shielded her enough from the heat of the fire beneath the pot. Hands held out, she focused on the fire. It would take a minor amount of magic, but not enough to cause any long-term damage to the fabric of fate. She grinned. Fire was a favourite tool of hers. So beautiful, yet dangerous.

The flames grew, marginally at first so the man did not notice, but soon the heat made her skin prick. She stepped back as they continued to rise. The cook let out an exclamation and jumped back when flames licked the side of the pot and engulfed it. Startled onlookers shouted and gaped. Tèile urged the flames higher still until the pot was barely visible. A few men tried to beat at it with their plaids and blankets, but they failed to douse the flames. Only when a hulking Viking stormed over and threw a pot of...
something
over the fire, did it fizzle out.

Tèile fluttered back. She’d have grinned if it hadn’t been for the pungent smell drifting from the charred wood. When she rose above the pot, she saw that plenty of the broth had boiled away but best of all, the Norseman had thrown the contents of a chamber pot over the meal. She chuckled to herself as the other men took note and a fight broke out. Mayhap she had not foreseen that, but her plot could not have gone any better. Now there would be no morning meal for them.

Moving away from the stench, she took the time to survey the encampment... what else could she do to weaken the enemy?

***

The sound of arrows skittering across the stone made Lorna wince. She glanced at her friends and saw their pale faces, riddled with just as much concern. Catriona appeared particularly ashen, but having once been nearly ravished and killed by a Norseman, she understood why. None of them would say it, but they all feared what would happen should they succeed in breaking through.

She stood and peered through the gap in the shutters, shushing Ewan as he wriggled and stretched in her arms. Her body ached all over from having been confined in the solar with nothing to do but pace and hold the babe. Ewan wanted the comfort of his bed, as did she.

Outside, only the spatter of golden torches was visible, reminding her of Gillean’s presence outside their walls. The men had spent much of the day planning and readying the keep for battle. The fight may have started but this constant shower of arrows was a mere prelude. On the morrow she knew the stakes would be raised.

As did they all if the heavy breaths and anxious twisting hands were anything to go by. The old laird sat in bed now, unable to stay awake any longer, and a long snore sounded from him as his head slipped to the side. Alana came to her feet and moved the old man into a more comfortable position. The snoring ceased and Lorna offered her a grateful smile.

She was fond of the laird, but he would do no good should the enemy enter the castle. Years of illness had drained him and though he was quick-witted, his physical strength had been sapped and would likely never return. It would be up to them, should anyone enter the solar, to fend off the enemy—a heavily pregnant woman, a feisty, yet delicate lass and herself, a short woman with a babe in her arm. She didn’t doubt she could do some damage if needed but to fight off a whole army?