To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) (8 page)

Rain pummelled the shutters, a deafening cacophony, as Logan led her into her chamber. The clouds had finally broken. A single candle remained lit, the rest likely blown out by the wind that blustered through the window coverings.

“Ye shouldnae aggravate the laird,” he warned.

Lorna rounded on him with a derisive snort. “I dinnae need to aggravate him. He does a fine job himself.”

He pushed the door shut with his foot and closed the gap between them. Why did she insist on making her position more dangerous than it already was? “If ye simply behaved yerself, ye would surely be ransomed off and ye could return home to yer family. But with ye behaving as such, ye’ll be lucky if he doesnae—”

“Kill me?”

He tightened his jaw. He did not want it to come to that—could not comprehend the courageous woman’s death—but he had seen the fury in Gillean’s eyes.

“Aye.”

“He shall ask for my death soon enough, when he discerns my reason for coming...” She paused and shut her mouth.

“To kill him ye mean?”

Shoulders straight, she eyed him coolly. “Aye.”

“Why would ye try such madness?” he asked, frustration making his voice more gravelly than usual—if that was possible. Why could she not have stayed in her fine castle, surrounded by fine folk, and away from danger?

“I had to avenge...” Her voice fragmented and she dropped her gaze, before lifting it. Whatever emotion had broken her voice had vanished. “He stole my dowry, tried to kill me and my family. I
thought
he had killed ye.”

Logan failed to hide a smirk, yet disbelief made his brows rise. “Ye wished for vengeance?”

This petite, pale woman sought revenge like some bold warrior? Though he had to admit, every part of her bearing, from her proud stance to her steady gaze made her seem more a warrior than some of the young lads under his command.

“I wished for many things, but it looks likely none of those wishes shall transpire.”

“Yer a damn fool,” he whispered and inched closer. Some invisible force drew him in. It even felt as though she not only pulled him to her but something or someone was coaxing him from behind.

Her eyes flashed. “I dinnae see how having the courage to take action is foolish.”

“A damn fool,” he muttered again, ignoring her words and seeing how she tilted her face up to his.

He skimmed his gaze across her lips, pale and pink and tight with annoyance. Hot impatience burned through him and he clasped a hand around the back of her neck to pull her into a fierce kiss. Lorna gasped and shoved him back, but her strength was no match for his.

“Cease!”

He jerked back at the feel of something jabbing his chest. Astonished, he peered down at the small eating knife pressed against his upper chest. Then he noted her panting breaths and parted lips, the colour in her cheeks and the way her eyes had darkened. This time amusement tugged his lips into a lopsided grin. He gripped the handle of the blade and flattened his hips to her so the point of the blade just pricked through his garments.

“Shall ye kill me, Lorna? Is that what ye wish?

A flash of lightning lit the room briefly. It was long enough to highlight her overly pale skin and wide eyes. Logan noted the shudder that wracked her. She swung her gaze between him and the blade.

“I couldnae think of a better way to go,” he prompted.

Her chin wobbled, her composure fell. He thought he heard it shatter to the ground but he realised it was the knife. Logan stared at her, frustrated at his inability to tire of such an act. It did not matter how many times he eyed the curve of her cheeks or the pale lashes, or the sweet figure. She plagued his every waking hour. In truth, she plagued his dreams too.

A rumble rolled over the castle. He flexed a hand. She remained frozen. Another flash and he saw her jump. His feet twitched. “The storm scares ye.”

“Nay,” she whispered but the tremble to her voice gave away her lie. She backed away.

“I scare ye?”

“Nay.” This time the word came clearly and it gratified him.

Logan clenched his jaw and the roar of the storm sounded closer. He had to leave yet his feet refused to move. Why stay? Why torture himself further? His heart pounded against his chest. In the next flash, he was close once more. Within touching distance. He saw her features more clearly now. The distress in her eyes, the golden strands of hair curling around her pointed chin. The fan of her lashes lowered and lifted in one slow sweep until her gaze locked onto his. 

“Logan,” she whispered, voice tremulous, but he did not know if that was a plea for him to leave or come closer.

“Logan,” she tried again.

The shaky quality of her voice pulled at his gut. His gaze traced the curl that flowed over one shoulder and down, caressing her gentle curves like a lover—like he once had apparently. His palms tingled with the need to feel the soft give of her flesh beneath him.

The next flash highlighted her trembling form. The fragile hollow of her neck fluttered with her pulse and his mouth grew dry with the need to press his lips to it. 

Damn her. Like a siren, she lured him in.

He almost backed away. How long they had been standing like that he knew not. It may have been moments—a mere few flashes of lightening—but the thickening of the air between them seemed to slow time.

The tremble of her lips gripped his heart, squeezed it hard and painfully. An aggravating need to take care of her ate into him, softened him to her.

Logan closed the gap. The next rumble lined up with him gripping her upper arms and pushing her back against the wall. She gasped, the sound clear to him even as the skies crashed about them. Hot anger mingled with need. It burned through him and set his nerve endings alight. How dare she have such a hold over him, how dare she make him want her?

Soft, delicate breasts pressed against him. Slim thighs quaked against his. With a hiss of breath, he lowered his mouth to hers as she stared up at him. Before his lips met hers, her eyes flashed with a plea, but was she begging him to kiss her or leave her be? He couldn’t decide what he wanted either, but she left him with little choice.

The first touch made him wonder if he had not indeed been struck by lightning. Frissons shot through him, curled into his blood and fired his fury and lust. Lorna released a tiny sound and he pressed his lips hard to hers this time. She whimpered. Her lips felt hot beneath his. Her taste threatened to drown him.

Satisfaction settled in his gut when she arched into him. He kept hold of her arms, allowing little movement but that up thrust of breasts and hips into him made him hiss and press harder. He coaxed her lips apart, and she gasped when he invaded the heated recesses of her mouth. Logan kissed her deeply, with little apology. He needed this, needed her.

The realisation made him soften his grip, and he released her arms to thrust his hands into her hair. Desperate noises came from her, fused with tiny sobs. Each sound burrowed deep into his heart. Her tongue met his. A painful ache made him thrust against her in a bid to relieve it.

Grip strong in her hair, he used his other hand to trail impatiently down her side. He bunched up her skirts, dragging them up bit by bit until the smooth skin of her thigh met his fingertips. He groaned and shifted his lips to her ear. Sealing his teeth around her lobe, she shuddered and he used her weakness to his advantage, bringing his fingers up between her legs.

Damp heat and supple flesh greeted him. If he was not so consumed with kissing every part of her neck, he might have smirked. She wanted him as badly. He wasted no time in plunging his fingers into her. She stiffened and tilted her head back on a cry.

Logan used the opportunity to continue his attentions to her neck, kissing along the creamy column while working his fingers in and out of her. Nails scrabbled across his back, fingers tugged his hair. The painful pulls and scrapes could not eat through the fog of desire consuming him. He pressed harder, deeper, and drew back, needing to see her pleasure as it broke through the storm. The quake of her thighs told him she was close and he supported her head to watch it roll through her, like the rumble of thunder. Her body tightened and it seemed to last an interminable amount of time, but he treasured every moment.

When she sagged, her forehead flopping forward to his chest, he withdrew his fingers and adjusted her skirts. The ache in his groin had not receded but somewhere in that powerful climax, he’d lost his need to bed her. Mayhap because it would be a selfish act, though he could not deny he found much pleasure in watching her. He scowled at himself. This woman drew him far deeper than he thought possible. Had it all been another manipulation?

Lorna lifted her head slowly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed. A crack and a flash of lightening shattered the satisfied haze and she squeaked and clutched his arms. He swallowed. This was no act. When had the lass ever revealed fear? She was more likely to want to conceal it.

Logan drew her back from the wall and eased her into his hold. If he listened closely, he suspected he’d hear the crack of his heart as she destroyed another fragment of all his beliefs. With such a connection, could any of what she told him be true?

“Why did ye no’ like storms? They cannae harm ye.”

“I am no’ afeared.”

He chuckled but let the lie slip. Drawing in a heavy breath, he resigned himself to comforting the woman until the storm passed. If Gillean asked, he would simply say he had been interrogating her.

He said nothing more. While the storm whirled around them, he stroked her hair and the silk of her gown. The expensive fabric reminded him of the divide between them. How could he believe he had ever made love to such a woman? Did he not know well of his rank as a lowly peasant? And even she had confirmed that much.

The lass’s breaths slowed and against his chest, her racing heart eased to a steady thump. She flinched whenever lightning lit the room but she trembled no more. The tempest inside him would not be as easily quelled. Staring over her head at a gap in the shutters, he drew in a breath and resolved not to touch her again after this. He could ill afford to let her get in the way of his plans.

Lorna’s knees ached and her hands itched from the basic soap. She curled up her nose in disgust as she scrubbed the wooden kitchen floor on her hands and knees. Rat droppings crowded one corner and created a disgusting smell. The kitchen had never been this poorly looked after when she had been lady of the keep.

Still, at least the fire was unlit and the usual heat of the kitchen had dissipated. The rest of the household were likely retreating to bed while she slaved away. Footsteps sounded on the steps into the kitchen, and she froze.

A prickle danced along her arms and she didn’t need to turn to see who it was. The memory of his kiss and touch still burned in her mind. Once the storm had passed, he’d left her without a word, as if it had never happened. In spite of his cold behaviour since, heated desire kindled low in her belly at the mere thought of him being close by.

And he had comforted her... did that mean anything?

The crack of thunder would forever remind her of a beating. The snap of a whip. Her husband had once timed it perfectly with a particularly savage storm and now any time she heard that sound, she became a quivering mass of fear. Her scars itched and burned as if she had only received the beating yesterday.

Not that she’d admit that much to Logan. No one knew of her fears and no one would. Strength was her friend, weakness an enemy. Being a lass in such a world was hard enough without anyone thinking her weaker than she already was.

Lorna’s breaths grew thick. Only the heavy sound of each inhalation and the slop of the wet cloth resounded through the empty kitchen. She peered over her shoulder and snapped her head around when she spied him eyeing her rear. Heat near blistered her face.

He stepped closer and slapped something down on the table in the centre of the kitchen. She raised her head and saw he had laid down a tray of food for her.

“Ye’ve not eaten all day,” he stated gruffly.

She didn’t bother to glance at him and continued scrubbing. “And I suppose ye expect me to be grateful to ye for no’ letting me starve.”

“I expect ye to eat,” he snapped.

“Did ye no’ hear? I am to have this floor cleaned before I am to retreat to bed. I have no time for food.”

She winced when she remembered Gillean’s smug expression as he’d taunted her with a list of chores for the day. All the while, Ivar looked on, his expression growing more interested by the moment. He had even stopped by the kitchen to admire her on her hands and knees. She needed to be wary of that Viking. If he caught her alone, as Logan had, she could be in trouble.

A hand curled around her arm and hauled her back. “Get off yer knees and eat.”

Lorna tore her arm from his. Blood rushed through her ears and pounded into her temples. She was exhausted, humiliated, battered and bruised.

“Will ye cease handling me so? I am no’ a slave. I am no’ yer chattel.” To her dismay, her voice broke on the last syllable and a sob bubbled out of her chest.

Lorna collapsed as the first burst of tears sprung free. She sank to her knees, the agony consuming her and forcing her to double over. Barely able to take breaths, sorrow forced stuttered sounds of distress from her throat. No matter how she tried to cover her face or force them back, they spilled forth. Her chest grew raw and the noise echoed against the stone walls.

She didn’t need to glance up to know Logan hovered nearby. She pried a finger away from her eyes so she could see his boot close by. Tension simmered in the air, yet the tears refused to abate. Her foolishness ate into her. She had abandoned her son, for what? A father who didn’t know he existed, a stupid dream of revenge that would go unfulfilled.

She had the man she had loved in front of her, the man she thought dead, the father of her child, yet she was powerless. Trying to force back the sobs, she swiped her face and clenched her arms around her waist. Raw anguish tore at her chest. She cried for her son and for herself. For the times she had been beaten and braved the torment with nothing but a hiss of pain.

And still Logan did nothing. The man who once claimed he would never stop loving her did nothing.

Would he ever return? Whatever had happened to him had taken away almost every part of that man and left him cold and bitter.

Warm hands clasped her arms and she braced herself to be hauled to her feet, for his fingers to press into the bruises already on her skin, but instead he sank down beside her and drew her against his chest. Unable to do anything apart from sink into him, another cry bubbled out of her and tears trickled down her nose. The rough fabric of his shirt absorbed some of them and his heavy heart thudded against her ear. Swallowing down the ache in her throat, Lorna concentrated on that thud. There, the heart of Logan beat, the man she once knew, but how could she reach him and persuade him to help her out of her predicament?

Logan rubbed her back, the movement awkward and jerky. Tension turned his muscles to stone around her but the heat of his skin provided enough comfort. How many times had she dreamed of being in his arms once more?

“Cease yer crying, lass,” he said gruffly. “No need for tears.”

His words—so clumsy and roughly spoken—made her smile and she swiped her nose. “Cease grabbing me and I might be more willing to play the meek captive.”

“I dinnae think ye have ever been meek in yer life.”

She heard his amused tone. Nay, she had not. Growing up with strong men taught her to stand her ground and she would certainly never be chattel to another man again. And he would know that if he remembered her.

“Will ye eat?”

“Aye, in a moment.”

He drew back. She missed the warmth of him and felt the walls rise between them once more. A chill wrapped around her like an icy mantle. She sucked in a breath and forced her own defences back in place.

Logan pushed to standing. His jaw twitched, his hands curled at his sides, and he eyed her for several moments. Inside, her mind screamed at her to beg him to come back to her, to hold her again. Grief and frustration threatened to force its way through the boulders surrounding her heart. It seeped into the cracks but she held firm and stared him out.

“Shall I leave ye to eat then?” he asked softly.

“Aye,” she whispered, unable to give anything other than her usual proud response with her chin lifted.

Hands lifted in surrender, he shook his head. “Fine.” He rolled his eyes and took the steps two at a time. She watched his legs disappear and waited for the inevitable slam of the door but it never came. The lock of the door rattled, a curse sounded and eventually more footsteps. She drew in a breath and held it when he paced back down the steps and stopped in front of her.

“We’re locked in.”

“Dinnae be foolish,” she spluttered and stumbled to her feet. The thought of being locked in a room with this man sent a tumult of emotions through her. She did not even want to think about the reigning emotion—desire. “The servants know I’m down here.”

“’Tis locked. Some damned fool has locked it for the night.”

“Can ye no’ push it open?”

A dark brow rose. “This was yer keep once, was it not? Ye should know how thick those doors are.”

Lorna dropped back against the table. Aye, she knew well. The thick oak was intended to repel invasion. “We could shout?” she suggested quietly.

“None shall hear.”

She sighed. No one would be along until the morning. The kitchens were entered from the outside and were down in the lowest part of the castle. Likely most of the household had already taken to their bed. Once being in a small space with Logan would have excited her though she always feared him—but previously that had been for the sake of self preservation. If she didn’t get close to a man, one could never harm her again.

Now trepidation remained locked in her chest. She did not know how he would behave toward her from one moment to the next. Would he kiss her or shout at her? Manhandle her or offer some charitable sentiment?

“I suppose we are trapped here then.”

He nodded. “For the night, aye.”

Ignoring the darkness of his expression, she drew out a chair and sat. Lorna tugged over the tray and picked up the chunk of coarse bread. “Are ye intending to stand there for the rest of the evening?” she asked without looking at him.

Viciously tearing apart the bread, she stuffed a piece into her mouth. It was stale but her stomach grumbled in appreciation. She ate quickly, avoiding his gaze as he settled onto a chair and propped his feet on the table. Lorna rolled her eyes at the sight of his muddy boots.

“Yer traipsing mud everywhere.”

Logan slid his feet from the table and leaned forward to place his elbows on the table. “If we are to be trapped together all eve, would it no’ make sense for us to try to be civil?”

“I am no’ the one being uncivil.”

“Ye can hardly claim to be behaving like a lady.”

Lorna bit back an even more unladylike response. Why did he rile her so? Was it simply his refusal to believe her or the vast change in him? Logan had always worked under her skin. Always. Her attraction to him plagued her as much as her need for him as a friend. He’d been her most trusted warrior and the closest thing to a friend she’d ever had. But never had he drawn such emotions to the surface.

Control. That was what she thrived on, what she needed. Her life had been out of her hands too many times. But Logan made her feel out of control.

She shuddered, mayhap from the powerlessness of the situation or mayhap from the way he stared at her from under his brow.

“Are ye cold?”

Another tremor wracked her and she nodded. Aye, that was it. She was merely cold. The fire had been put out long ago.

Logan came to his feet and set about relighting the fire from the candles. The warm glow did not take long to fill the room and soon the soothing scent of wood smoke filled the space while the crackle broke the silence and some of Lorna’s discomfort.

When he settled opposite her again, Lorna’s courage had returned. This was her chance to persuade him to release her, or at least to get him to question Gillean. His lies could fall apart easily enough, surely? Someone in the castle would know the truth. She doubted all of them were ignorant to the deception.

“How are yer Viking guests?” she asked.

“I would stay away from them, Lorna.”

“I had no plans to go near them. But I can hardly avoid them. Will more be joining ye soon?”

“Aye.”

“And then ye go to war?”

She heard a barely suppressed huff. “Aye.”

“And what do ye gain from betraying yer country?”

His jaw worked and he fisted a hand on the table. They both watched his fingers curl and uncurl for several moments.

“How can a man betray his country when his country has done naught for him?”

“Very well, what do ye gain from betraying yer friends?”

That fist snapped shut and his knuckles whitened. “I have no friends.”

“Ye do. Ye have many at Glencolum. Ye had many here when it was my keep.
We
were friends.”

Logan peered at her. “Ye say these things and yet I see no evidence of friendship. I find it hard to believe a fine noble woman would sink so low as to friend a man like me.” His lips twisted. “A mercenary did ye no’ call me?”

“I didnae know who ye were.” Frustration made her voice rise and she forced her emotions under control. Had she not already humiliated herself in front of him already?

Fatigue swamped her once more so she rested her head against her palm, her elbow on the table and dropped her gaze. How much longer could she tolerate his changes in temperament? The brief flashes of the old Logan being subdued by the cold, angry man he was now? Each hint of softness made hope burst in her chest and each cold look crushed it.

She shoved in a few more morsels but weariness stole her appetite. When she lifted her lashes, she found him looking at her, his expression soft. The grim lips were not pulled tight or even smirking. A tiny smile sat on them. It was barely noticeable under the dark hair surrounding his mouth but, of course, she noticed. She noticed everything about him. The creases around his eyes for example, highlighted by the flickering fire. The way he pressed a hand to his neck as if to conceal his scar from her.

As if a mere scar could make him appear any less beautiful. Logan had always been wickedly attractive, and now he was probably more so. Jealousy spiked her gut. Did the women here think so too? Did they slip into his bed at night and experience the blissful pleasure she knew he could still deliver?

Lorna rubbed a hand across her eyes to banish such thoughts. They only drained her further.

“Ye must get some rest,” he declared.

“I am no’ tired,” she retorted automatically even though her voice sounded as weak as a kitten’s mewl.

He stood and dragged several blankets from the wooden rack in front of the fire before pushing it aside and laying the blankets down. “Must ye always argue with me?”

She stumbled over her next answer. “Ay—nay.”

The amused grin made her scowl. If only she understood this man. He held out a hand, motioning for her to come to him. Incapable of doing anything but obey in her confused state, she stood and took his hand. He coaxed her to lie on the blanket before tucking her in. The warmth of the scratchy wool enveloped her and made her lids feel heavy. With the prickling heat of the fire on her skin, she barely noticed the hard floor separated from her body by only a thin layer. She fought to keep her eyes open as Logan stood, watched her for a moment and finally moved to the table. He sat, put his hands behind his head and propped his boots on the table. Had she been awake enough, she might have scolded him. The last image she had of him before her body gave itself up to sleep was that of his dirty boots and puzzled expression as he eyed her.