To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) (4 page)

A bubble of anguish threatened to break free. Did he not know how torturous his words were? How she had dreamed of such an end for them? Once, she had been too scared to give herself to him, but now, even with him being the half-man that stood before her, she would do anything to have him back.

“Aye. We would,” she replied huskily.

He smirked again. “A tempting proposition indeed.” Slowly, he lowered his head and skimmed his lips over hers.

Unable to hold back a gasp, she braced herself for more, but he retreated and her stomach grew heavy, as thought weighed by stones.

“But no’ tempting enough, I’m afraid, my lady. As I said, I willnae fall for yer tricks.”

She broke away from his hold, unable to believe the mirth in his eyes, the mockery on his lips. Where was the man she had once known? How was it possible for him to change so much?

But instead of giving into despair, she thrust up her chin. “Ye shallnae break my courage. Ye will see I am right soon enough.”

Lorna did not know how, but somehow she would make him see. She had survived battles, sieges and an abusive husband. She would survive this too.

“That sounds like a challenge, Lorna.”

“Mayhap it is.”

He grinned but it was a bitter one. “Good. Hold onto yer courage. Ye shall need it.”

Without allowing her a response, he pivoted away. As he closed the door, he gave her a brief look and a warning. “Dinnae try anything else. Next time ye may not be so lucky to have me rescue ye from the danger of yer own making.”

Lorna wrapped her arms about herself and sank to the bed. His ominous tone ate into any warmth that kiss had created. Whoever he had become, it appeared he was almost as cold-hearted as the laird himself. She resigned herself to the fact she would find no ally in him.

But that did not mean she would give up on him. Not yet.

Tèile’s wings nearly gave out when she spotted the dark-haired man by the well. She flew down and floated in front of him for a while. Sure enough, her eyesight had not deceived her. By the stars! She lowered herself to the cold stone and gaped up at him.

So he was alive. The woodland nymph she had questioned on her journey back to the human world had been right. But he was meant to be dead! The Fae Council had to have known he was still alive, so why did they not tell her?

Mayhap because they knew she’d return. They were hopeful that after her previous matchmaking successes, they could keep her busy in the land of the fae. And they had.

She smiled. She’d enjoyed many fun times. Her friends esteemed her as one of the greatest matchmakers of their time now, yet the council still feared her meddling. The Green Faery snorted. As if she’d make a mess of things again. Had she not proved them wrong? Had she not brought about two happy endings and righted all the wrongs she
may
have created the first time around?

However, it had always been her intention to return to Lorna and help her. She rubbed a spindly finger to her scalp and watched the man draw up water. It was certainly him. He was a mess, she thought grimly, but there was no doubting it was Logan. They had always been intended for each other, so why had the council not sent her to fix things?

She had to admit; a lost memory would not be easy to deal with, but had she not already battled many obstacles? Poisoning, arranged marriages, Vikings! Conquering a little memory loss would surely be as easy as persuading a faery to indulge in drink.

Stretching out her wings, she pondered how to force them together. Using magic was a last resort. She’d already messed with fate before and too much magic threw things out of line. The human world was in such a delicate balance. Unfortunately that meant more hard work for her.

She’d check on Lorna first. See if there was not some way of forcing her into his arms. A little stumble and she’d have her pressed against him. He couldn’t ignore her then, could he?

The shutters on Lorna’s window were shut, so Tèile flew past the men scurrying about the bailey. She dodged a man carrying a large barrel and another herding some sheep out of the gate before flitting through the front doors. The faery stilled when she heard the lady’s name mentioned. She lowered herself onto the shoulder of the serving girl, who scowled and nearly swept her from her shoulder.

Tèile jolted back. Few humans felt her unless she really wanted them too. The lass must have better instinct than others. So Tèile settled for fluttering nearby.

“Take this up to the lady,” the young woman ordered a serving girl with bright red hair sneaking from her coif. “She’s no’ well and needs food.”

“Is it true, Anne? She used to be the lady here.”

Anne nodded. “Aye and married to the laird’s brother. So we should treat her well, even if Logan doesnae think we should.”

“The laird willnae care about her welfare.”

“He’ll want her alive. Dinnae fear, Logan willnae want to deny her food.”

“Ye’d better be right,” the red-haired girl said. “I dinnae want to be shouted at. He scares me.”

“Ye’d be scary too if ye’d lost yer memory.”

“I dinnae trust him,” the girl confided and Tèile listened with interest. How Gillean had persuaded Logan he was one of his men, she knew not, and why had no one drawn attention to the fact he used to work for Lorna? “Some say he used to be the enemy.”

Anne gave her a warning look. “They may, but ye wouldnae wish to be caught gossiping would ye. The laird trusts him and should he get wind of ye tattling, ye’ll be in more than a wee bit o’ trouble.”

“Surely ye must know something.”

“I know nothing. ‘Twas before my time here and I’ll no’ lose my job for the sake of a rumour.” She handed her a tray of food. “Now take this to the lady. With haste.”

Tèile thought of the man outside and the woman trapped in her chamber. She needed to get them together again. Surely if he spent time with her, he’d see the truth? Tèile released a high-pitched whistle the two scruffy hounds lying in the corner of the hall perked up. She swiftly issued a quiet command, one only the animal would hear, and watched with glee as they made a great show of chasing one another. As they circled the table legs, they knocked into one, sending the table crashing over. Silver platters clattered to the ground and ale sloshed across the floor.

Anne muttered a curse. “Wretched dogs. Come, we’ll have to get this cleaned up with haste.” She shooed the animals out of the hall, and the serving girl placed the tray of food on the side table to help clear up.

Tèile released a triumphant grin. Now she had to ensure no one else took the food up.

***

Logan propped the bucket on the side of the well and scooped up a handful of cold water. Splashing his face and neck, he ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced. Not even a loch’s worth of frigid water could wash away his fatigue, nor his frustration.

A certain fair haired woman had plagued him for what was left of the night. Not that she hadn’t been running through his mind before, but now the feel of her soft cheek and pouted lips was burned into his memory. What had he been thinking?

He shoved his fingers into his hair again. In truth, he hadn’t. Could there be any fragment of truth in her lies? Surely he would remember loving a woman like that? Or recall touching her? Aye, the feel of her so close had made his skin prick and his blood fire like that of the flames. He had wondered briefly if they had not put it all out. But there had been cunning in her gaze.

Logan strongly suspected the woman’s veins—unlike his at the moment—ran with ice and it had all been an act.

Crooking his neck, he finger-combed his damp hair and took a moment to draw in a breath. He supposed he ought to check on her. He’d given up his night-time vigil shortly before dawn and assigned two other men to watch over her.

Stepping swiftly, he made his way across the muddy bailey and pressed open the heavy oak doors. The familiar sight of the hall, busy with the bustle of servants preparing for the morning meal, released some of the tension in his muscles. Familiarity. It had helped him through the past few months as he began to accept his memory might never return. Now it was up to him to forge a new life for himself and Gillean could help with that.

And he refused to let Lorna’s manipulations hinder him.

Intending to visit the armoury to sharpen his blade before he checked on her, Logan paused at the sight of a lone tray on the table, lining the edge of the hall. He scowled and glanced around. Someone had neglected to take the lady’s food to her. He could think of no other reason a tray of food should be left lying around. The prisoner was still frail and he could not see her succumb to illness.

For strategic reasons only, of course. Why should he care for the scheming woman’s health? But as Anne had pointed out, it would not do to draw unnecessary wrath their way—at least until Gillean returned and decided what to do with her.

Blowing out a heavy sigh, he snatched up the tray and traipsed up the stairs. In the light of day, the damage to the wooden banister was unsightly. Blackened wood and the bitter smell of smoke. Logan shook his head. Gillean would not be pleased. Logan was still unable to fathom how that slip of a woman had got the better of three men.

He paused outside her door and listened for several moments. Nothing. But a prickling sensation warned him to be cautious. For all he knew, she could be waiting behind the door, ready to strike. The tumultuous sensation in his stomach could surely be attributed to that and not to the brief kiss they had shared.

Logan opened the door gingerly and stepped into the gloomy room. The air left his lungs when he found her sprawled across the red blankets, a vision of white linen and golden hair. Her curls had come loose from the braid it had been in the previous night, and they spilled down the side of the bed. On her front, one arm hanging off the edge, he had a good view of the curve of her bottom pressing against the thin fabric and she had one leg lifted at an angle. The effect was strangely endearing and far too appealing. There was too much soft, pale flesh on view. With her face relaxed and scattered with strands of hair, the innocence of her appearance made his heart flex.

He shook his head. This was no innocent. A seductress, aye. A cunning, clever woman, certainly. Innocent? Nay.

Striding over to the window, he placed the tray down noisily and flung open the windows. A groan echoed against the stone and cold air drifted into the room, washing away the heat gathering inside of him. He took a moment to draw a long breath before facing her again.

Lorna shoved her hair out of her face and peered at him blearily. It seemed to take a while for her to remember him or at least recollect where she was. Now he had a better view of her face, he saw shadows under her eyes and that ghostly cast to her skin remained. The woman was still not well.

“I brought ye some food,” he said gruffly.

“Go away,” she grumbled. She slumped back onto her front and covered her face.

He had the strangest urge to smile. His lips twitched and he fought to control them. Her mood could be attributed to her illness or her status as his prisoner, but he knew with worrisome certainty that the woman did not rise easily in the morning. How he knew that, he knew not. Her farfetched claims could not be believed.

“Ye need to eat,” he said again, prompting another groan.

“Not hungry.”

“If ye dinnae get up and eat, I shall force it down yer throat.”

She jerked upright at this and glared at him. He failed to quash a triumphant smile. He was beginning to understand what drove this woman and a challenge always got a rise from her.

“Ye wouldnae.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Shall we see about that?”

She mimicked him, folding her arms and lifting her nose. “Ye couldnae.”

Jaw tight, he eyed her for several moments. Did he really wish to manhandle her into eating?

“Ye shall ail further if ye dinnae eat.”

“Why should ye care? Ye dinnae know me remember. Ye dinnae even care for me. Leave me be, Logan.”

“So ye can plot yer escape? I think not. Eat or I shall force ye.”

He gestured to the tray of fish, bread and sliced meat. Anger made his skin hot. How she thought he would believe he loved her once was beyond him. She was the most aggravating woman he had ever met. Not that he had met many—or at least he did not
remember
meeting many. The women in the keep were docile, obedient creatures. Some had taken a liking to him and while he occasionally enjoyed their company, he did not find any of them summoned more than indifference.

Unlike this woman. He could not deny her pursed lips and fiery expression held great appeal.

Lorna made a show of clamping her mouth shut and glared at him. He had his doubts that he could physically force the food down her mouth but... He smirked to himself. He could humiliate her into eating.

Her eyes widened, big blue pools that struck him in the chest again as he stepped over. He brushed aside any doubt and grabbed her arm. “If ye shallnae eat here, mayhap ye shall do better in company.”

“What?”

She let out a cry of protest as he dragged her to her feet. Grip firm, he tugged her out of the room and onto the balcony.

“Ye cannae do this,” she hissed, trying to pry his fingers from her arm. “Yer hurting me. Logan, let me go.”

“’Tis for yer own good,” he muttered and, undaunted, he dragged her down the stairs and into the busy hall.

Servants and household members alike turned to stare. Lorna’s cries of protest had silenced and even her struggles ceased. Her soft flesh giving way under his fingers sent a mild stab of remorse through him, but he shoved the sensation away. This was for her own good—and his. He did not wish to be known as the man who let this noblewoman die.

Cheeks filled with colour, she sank meekly onto the carved oak chair at the top of the table. He propped himself against the table and motioned to one of the servants to bring some food over. He poured her an ale and pushed it toward her.

Eyes narrow, she wrapped an arm around herself—a feeble attempt to cover her scandalous state—and reached for the goblet. Lorna drained it in several gulps and Logan let a victorious smirk play on his lips.

A young lad brought over a platter of food and an eating knife, which Logan promptly snatched away. He picked up a discarded spoon and handed her that instead.

She eyed the platter as if it were a writhing mass of maggots rather than heavily salted pork and thick, white bread slathered in butter.

“Once ye have eaten, ye may return to yer room.”

“Ye mean for me to sit here—
in this state
—and eat?” she hissed. “Ye have lost more than yer memory. Ye’ve lost yer honour too.”

He snorted. As far he knew he had none. Did she not realise that he was not a nobleman? He had not been tutored in honour and chivalry. A man like himself had to do what he must to survive. And at the moment, all he needed to do was ensure she lived long enough to face the laird when he returned.