To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) (16 page)

Lorna was about to sit again when the men stomped into the room. Having not seen Logan since midday, she immediately went to his side and he wrapped her into an embrace. She inhaled the musky scent of him. He needed to bathe, but the scent only comforted her right now. With her nose tucked against his firm body, the sense of helplessness that had followed her about all day trickled away.

“How goes it?”

“We’ve been fighting them with fire. We’ve caused some damage I think,” he said against her hair as he held her tight. Almost like he did not wish to let her go.

“The archers can fire that far?”

“Only a few. We’ve scorched some tents and made their accommodations less comfortable. There appeared to be a great blaze this morning though it looked to be an accident. Either way, we will have wearied them greatly.”

“And yerselves.” She drew away to look at her cousin and brother who had taken the opportunity to see to their wives.

“We have a strong stone keep to sleep in.” He cupped Ewan’s head in a large palm, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “And fine women for company. We are waging war on their minds,” he explained. “They shall be demoralised and weary on the morrow. Their greater numbers will mean nothing.”

His confidence almost defeated the tension coiling her belly tight, but not quite. However, his sure expression and the way he spoke—so steadily and with such conviction—made her smile. She remembered this man. He had caught her attention the first time she met him, even though she was but a young married lass. For a peasant boy, he had carried himself so well, with such assurance, that she had known then he was meant for more. Upon the death of her husband, she had raised him through the ranks to be her most trusted man. She’d never regretted it.

The rest of the evening was spent huddled in the solar, eating a simple meal of bread and fruit. They had already begun rationing their food supplies but it was pointless. Lorna doubted the castle would hold out long enough for them to run short. Still, she understood they had to be cautious.

Catriona tugged Lorna aside before they settled on pallets on the floor for the night. “Put the babe in the coffer.” She motioned to the large chest at the end of the bed.

Lorna tried not to laugh. “I cannae put him in there!”

“Ye’ve been holding him all day and ye must be weary. Take off the lid and ‘twill be no smaller than his crib. There’s many blankets in there. He’ll be far warmer and more comfortable than on the floor with ye.”

Lorna sighed. Her arms did ache, but part of her was reluctant to release him. She’d spent long enough away from him already. She very nearly hadn’t returned to him. Catriona removed the lid and put it to one side before fussing with the blankets.

“See? He’ll sleep better and Lord knows, ye need yer rest.”

Nodding wearily, she lowered Ewan into the oak chest and conceded it really was no different to his crib and far more comfortable-looking than the straw pallets on the floor. Finn shoved one over to her so she could settle next to the babe, and Logan joined her.

When all were settled, Morgann snuffed out the candles and they were plunged into darkness. Even the clatter of arrows had ceased and only faint whispers and the whistle of wind through the shutters accompanied them. Logan slid close and wrapped her into the cradle of his arms, her bottom nestled against his thighs. The pounding of her pulse became the reigning sound as she absorbed the heat and strength of him. He swept aside her hair and kissed the back of her neck. Much like the previous night. And much like the previous night, tingles raced through her and their memory of the decadent, daring lovemaking seared her mind.

To think she had lost so much and now it had returned to her. Lorna savoured his breath on her neck and his protective touch around her. It was hard to believe they had been at odds not so long ago and yet in the space of days—now the truth had been revealed—they were closer than they had ever been. Were it not for the events of last year, would this have ever happened? She regretted much of what had occurred and her stubbornness, but she could only be grateful for all she had learned and for having Logan back in her life.

Now all they had to do was survive the coming days.

Chapter Nineteen

The following morning they were up well before any stray arrows could startle them. Lorna groaned and stretched before reaching for Ewan who had begun to grumble for food. The babe nuzzled into her—a brief moment of blissful happiness before the truth behind their situation flooded back.

The enemy was at their gate and by all accounts could likely break it down this day.

While everyone ate and she saw to her son, tension clouded the air like a thick, sticky web. She saw tension in the grim expressions, nervousness in the occasional shaking hand. Finn, particularly, tried to jest to keep the atmosphere light but even his ready smile appeared forced. When he leaned into Catriona, a hand to her rounded belly, and whispered something she assumed was intended to be reassuring to her, tears burned her eyes.

She sniffed and held them back but not before Logan caught her eye and strode over to take Ewan in his arms. She paused to take in the sight—one she never dreamed of seeing not so long ago—and fervently wished the circumstances were different. His large, sun-kissed hands covered Ewan’s dark head and engulfed his body, but she saw tenderness behind every movement. This huge, powerful warrior had a gentle side that assured her even if he had changed in some aspects, the man she had fallen in love with—and had probably always loved—was still there.

“Dinnae be afeared.” His gruff tone washed over her like lemon balm, soothing and cooling.

“I am no’ afeared,” she replied in a calm tone, aware they repeated their conversation from the night atop the battlements.

Logan’s lips twisted. He saw through her. Her boldness was no use in front of him, yet he understood her well enough to let the comment slide and allow her disguise to remain. An arm looped around her shoulder, he pressed a fierce kiss to her forehead and held her there for a moment.

“I willnae let anything happen to ye. Trust me on that.”

She peered up at him and swallowed the aching knot in her throat. “I do trust ye.” The words came out harsh and whispered but they were there, floating in the air, and she could not help but release a tiny triumphant smile.

Mayhap he still did not understand what that had cost her. He didn’t remember her past or the way she had pushed him away for so many years. Men had used and hurt her, and forced her to close herself off from people. But this warm, expanding feeling in her chest did not frighten her. She had given him her trust—something she gave no less easily than her love. An odd sense of freedom washed over her.

Lorna stroked a finger over the scar that had nearly cost him his life and felt his pulse beat against her fingertip. He swallowed and his gaze grew intense. If she looked long enough, she could probably lose herself to that gaze and forget all that was happening around them. Logan used his thumb to skim the ridge of her nose and press against her bottom lip.

“I shall die before they touch ye,” he promised gruffly. The thick grittiness to his voice had increased. Was it emotion that caused the change? “With my last breath, I shall ensure ye and my son are safe.”

“Dinnae speak of yer last breath,” she begged.

He let his thumb rest on her chin and used his hand to keep her from dropping her gaze. “I cannae recall the moment I fought for ye before or how I came by this scar, but I do know one thing...”

“What?”

“I did it gladly because of my love for ye. As do I go gladly into battle now.”

The air vanished from her lungs. She froze—waiting, hoping.

“I love ye, Lorna.”

The words whirled through her mind and eased every aching, lonely part of her. Any lingering doubt about what they meant to one another, about this man who had been lost to her but somehow found his way back, was swept away with those four small words.

“I—” For some reason her throat refused to obey her command and return the words. It was too clogged and aching.

“I know.”

He kissed her again before he left and she tasted the desperation on his tongue, the fear they may not repeat it ever again. His tongue tangled with hers, his lips moved hard and demanding. They were not alone, yet the others were too concerned with their own farewells to notice their frantic embrace. It took all her will not to collapse to the ground when he kissed their son on his cheek. A dark gaze locked briefly onto hers before he left, twisting her stomach into knots at all the unspoken sentiments hanging between them. But words were not needed, not after that kiss.

Her brother paused to speak with her, his brow set with concern. “We have little intention of being defeated,” he murmured and glanced at his wife, “but should the worst happen, ye are the most capable of handling a blade.” He nodded toward the top of the spiral stairs where two men-at-arms stood guard. “Do whatever ye have to do to ensure ye are all safe. These men have been instructed to do the same.”

“What of Alana?” Lorna glanced at her cousin’s wife, who had one of the fieriest temperaments of all of them. She could not see her standing aside and letting her fate be dictated.

“She is with child,” Finn whispered. “’Tis very early.”

Lorna almost groaned. Two pregnant lasses and herself. What chance did they have? Still, it gave them all that extra incentive to fight on and triumph.

“It shall not come to that,” Finn assured her, “but—”

“I shall do whatever I must do, brother. Godspeed.”

He nodded and kissed the top of her head. Finn ducked into the shadows and they were alone with the exception of some of the household staff and the two men guarding them. Now all they could do was wait.

And wait they did.

They waited until a thudding sound echoed through the castle. Until it felt as though the walls would shake and crumble to pieces, until every knot of wood in the castle would splinter and fall.

“What was that?” Alana jumped to her feet.

They were attempting to break through the portcullis, she realised. And once they had done that, they would start on the door. Lorna pressed her eye to the slit on the shutters and could make out scores of men on the hill, shielded by a shelter of hardened leather to protect them from the arrows raining from above.

“They are trying to break through.”

Should she have spoken with more care? She glanced at the women’s ashen faces but saw the same fire in their eyes as she felt in her belly. Neither of them were fools who wished to be lied to. And neither would surrender easily.

“The men shall go out and meet them,” Catriona said quietly. “They shall defeat them.”

“Aye,” Alana agreed with a grin. “We have the finest warriors in all o’ Scotland here. Gillean and his Vikings shallnae prevail.”

Lorna found herself unable to smile, not when her heart thudded like a galloping horse, but it gladdened her that she was surrounded with such courageous women. Only a few of the serving maids uttered whimpers with each pound at the door. Sweat trickled down her spine under her gown while they waited for what felt like an eternity for the sound to stop.

And when it did, Lorna was certain her insides had twisted so hard, they would never untangle. For the cessation of that sound meant one thing. They were opening the door and going to battle.

The noise of battle had become almost forgettable until that moment. Now she was aware of every shout, every clang of swords. It echoed around them, surrounding them in a painful dissonance. The two men at the top of the stairs readied themselves for anyone who might break through.

Her fate was in another’s hands. In Logan’s hands. And she trusted him to see to her safety. Nevertheless, if she needed to raise a blade, she would. She passed Ewan over to the nursemaid and bade them to tuck themselves in the corner by the bed. The large oak frame might offer some protection from swinging steel. Even the elderly laird had risen from his bed and was ready to fight.

Lorna paused in front of the two women she had come to think of as sisters. “The men shall prevail.”

“Of course they will,” Alana said confidently.

“Some invaders may slip by them,” Lorna warned.

Catriona nodded, a hand to her belly. She had seen Catriona’s bravery in the face of adversity before and had witnessed her overcoming the horrors of siege warfare. She only hoped the worry in her gaze was for her husband and unborn child and not her slipping back into her nightmares.

Lorna grabbed her hand. The woman’s fingers were cold against hers. “All will be well.”

“I know.” Catriona nodded again, a little boldness seeping back into her gaze. “I do know that, Lorna.”

Lorna puffed out a breath and turned to face the two men. “Pass me a blade.”

Neither of them argued with her and one handed over a sword. She clasped the handle. The blade wasn’t heavy but the metal in her hand reassured her, the gentle weight hanging from her hand empowered her.

It didn’t stop her heart from thudding against her chest with each noise drifting up the stairs. Grunts of pain, steel against stone. Footsteps.

She dragged in a breath and it rasped against her throat. Her skin felt hot and itchy as if someone had lit a fire too close. She didn’t glance at the other women or the nursemaid holding the one thing most precious to her. She couldn’t. Gaze set on the entrance to the room, she waited.

They entered swiftly and ready to battle. Three Vikings. She immediately recognised the largest. Ivar. Had he come searching for her? And where were Logan and her kin? She gulped down the tension in her chest. He would not fail her.

The Highlanders guarding the room had little chance. They fought valiantly, even injuring one of the Vikings but in such close confines, it was only a matter of time. Lorna lifted the sword and stood her ground as one was thrown back, mayhap dead, she could not tell. The other man suffered a swipe across the chest and continued to fight until all three men turned on him. His gaze locked briefly with hers—regret written in his expression—before Ivar delivered the death blow.

Lorna longed to tell him that he’d done his duty before he passed, but it was too late. Ivar lowered his dripping axe and let slip a grin as he approached. Here was when her front would be useful. She adopted the pose she had become accustomed too. The one that radiated confidence and power, and icy calm. Her husband had not beaten her into submission and nor would this man.

“My lady.” The Norseman dipped his head as if he had not just spilled the blood of her clansmen across the wooden floor, as if it was not now dripping between the floorboards and scenting the air.

“Leave while ye still can,” she commanded. “There is no one important here. Yer army is being defeated as we speak.” She hoped that was true. “Ye’d be better returning to the battle.”

He thrust a dirty finger at her. “You are here.” He peered around her at the grey-haired laird who had put himself between the women and the Norsemen. “And the laird.”

“Ye would cut down an old man?”

He appeared to debate this, his lips twisting in consideration. “Come with me and I’ll leave the womenfolk be.”

“And the laird,” she prompted.

“Aye, and the laird.”

Shoulders rigid, she eyed him. Dare she trust such a man? But what other choice did she have? She lowered the sword cautiously. She had little intention of going with him, but she’d do anything to get them out of this room and away from her son and the other women.

“Lorna, dinnae—” Alana called out, but Catriona tugged her back and nodded her understanding.

Ivar took the blade from her and flung it aside. It crashed against the wall and made her wince. However, when his hand wrapped painfully around one arm, she kept her expression stoic. Lorna had every confidence she could manage this situation. And every hope she would not have to handle it on her own.

***

Logan swung his blade and felt the give of flesh. Blood, hot and sticky, splattered him but he had no time to consider that many of these men were people he had come to know. Before he had withdrawn his sword, steel flashed and bore down upon him. He ducked and whirled to bring his pommel into the man’s face.

Most of the enemy were Norse, he vaguely realised through the red haze misting in front of his eyes. As soon as they had opened the doors, hoping to surprise the enemy and take advantage, they had been staggered by how much their opponent’s numbers had dwindled. Mayhap their plans to make their overnight stay as uncomfortable as possible had worked and many had deserted. And mayhap the realisation they’d be going up against their countrymen by joining with the Norse had plagued some. Either way, Logan was grateful for their increased chance at victory. The fighting was vicious enough as it was.

He had lost track of Morgann and Finn. He dove into the mass of men trying to fight their way into the keep with a fire in his belly that he hardly recognised. All this time, he’d been fighting for something—land, power, his memory returned—but nothing had filled that empty ache until now. Even without his memory, he felt whole again. He had something to fight for.

Lorna.

Pain rang through his back, juddering his spine and skull, and he spun, acknowledging the kick from an especially large Viking. The man’s hair was tinged red at the ends and it whirled as he swung at Logan. This mass of hair and blood moved slowly to his eyes. Sounds dimmed and his skin heated. He would have laughed if he had a moment. He felt invincible.