To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) (9 page)

Logan scraped a hand over his face and fought a yawn. He’d had entirely too little sleep since this woman had come to the castle. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and put a hand to the back of his neck to work out the aches developing in his muscles. He could sleep anywhere. It’s what warriors did. He’d been known to prop himself up against a stone wall and drift off with ease on long journeys, or even lie down amongst the heather and get a good few hours of rest.

But the sound of that damned lass’s breaths kept filtering into his mind. His fingertips tingled and he recalled her slick heat trapping them and how her breaths had grown heavy and erratic when he’d brought her to the peak. His blood boiled just thinking on it.

Ach, he was clearly not going to get any sleep this night.

The fire had died down so he eased to standing, wincing as his body pulled and tugged in protest. Quietly snatching up a couple of logs, he added them to the fire and thrust the poker into it before placing it down next to the fireplace. Naturally his gaze fell onto Lorna.

With a hand tucked beneath her head, curled on her side, that dangerous mouth shut, she appeared soft and innocent. No hint of the proud, maddening woman here. She seemed smaller too. He was aware she wasn’t the tallest of women, but the way she drew herself up made a man forget.

Logan noted the slight tremble of her lips. The rest of her was covered with the blanket but he made out the tremor of her body.

“Curses,” he muttered to himself.

Groaning inwardly, he lifted his gaze to the roof and released a resigned sigh. What was it about this woman that ate through his defences? He eased down next to her and lifted the blanket. Warmth and the lemon fragrance of her washed over him. Once settled next to her, he covered them both and nestled her against him. He didn’t place an arm around her—he didn’t trust himself to. If he did that, his hand might stray to the tempting curve of her waist or higher...

Still, she’d be warm enough with his body next to her. Lord knows, he was giving off enough heat to warm the entire keep. That soft rear pressed near him made him feel as though sparks had jumped from the fire and set him alight.

Inexplicably his lids grew heavy as he listened to her breaths and felt the tiny tremors subside. He couldn’t help himself. She eased that ache inside him somehow—the empty one that he’d been left with when he’d awoken with no idea as to who he was. Darkness inched into his mind, his pulse slowed. Her heat and scent cocooned him and lured him into slumber.

When he awoke, he couldn’t be sure how long he’d slept. He woke as he often did, jerking to and covered in sweat. For several moments, his mind fumbled around, searching for facts to cling onto. His heart thudded like a battering ram while his eyes took their time to focus. The room was dark. No windows. The donjon? Was he still shackled? Something pinned down one wrist. Panic rushed through him and agony tore at his neck. It took him several more breaths to realise he was in the kitchen and, nay, though he did not have his full memory back, he did know some facts, unlike the time he’d awoken in the dark, dank donjon with no clue as to how he got there and agony coursing through his entire body.

Logan pressed the scar and waited for the pain to cease. There was no earthly reason it should be so painful but most mornings it plagued him, as if his body recalled being nearly sliced in two. He rolled and saw his arm was trapped under Lorna. She had turned into him and was now nuzzling into his side.

For certain, this was far from the moment he’d awoken from his crazed state. Gillean often reminded him of how he had been driven to the edge of madness by the injury he’d received. What he must have done to himself in that state, he knew not, but if the scars and marks on his body had been anything to go by, the laird had been right to confine him. Some of that damage had not been received in battle.

Lorna pressed her nose into his side then lifted her head. Though the room was gloomy, his eyes had adjusted enough to see the perfect bow shape of her mouth. Her eyes remained shut as she pressed her cheek into him and she wrapped an arm around his waist. He stiffened.

That hand snuck down and he felt his eyes go wide. Gulping, he kept still while her fingers explored the ridges of his stomach through his garments and crept lower still. Ach, but he could not help himself. His body had responded to her presence long before he had awoken and he lifted his hips toward those fingers. Mayhap that would awaken her.

But, alas, it did not.

Instead, her hand found his arousal under the layers of clothing and curled around it. He hissed at the sensation of cool, smooth fingers against his hot flesh. Then she began working her fingers up and down him. Logan glanced at her innocent face briefly, shock reeling through his veins, before giving himself up to the sensation and dropping his head back.

He thrust his hips in time with her movements. His mind shut down and his blood pounded through him. Only the feeling of a feminine body pressed to his side and the remembrance of musk and wet desire remained with him.

“Dinnae stop,” he ground out as his body tightened.

So. Damn. Close.

He groaned. The hand around him stilled, and he groaned again. He slapped his own hand around hers and held it there. When she twisted her head, he saw she’d come awake and her eyes were rounded in horror. But for the life of him, he could not relinquish the feel of her wee hand curled around him.

Logan heard her gulp then... then she leaned into him, kissed his neck and ear, and she began to work her hand up and down him once more. Unable to believe his good fortune, he capitulated once more and closed his eyes. She burrowed her face against his neck, her breaths tickling the hair on his jaw, and worked vigorously to bring him to the edge. He clutched the blanket in one hand and his other found her hip. Fingers digging into her, pleasure rushed through him and with a long shuddering release of breath, he came.

Lorna withdrew her hand and Logan concentrated on drawing in air. She remained tucked into him and even pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“Logan...” she said softly.

Even his name on her tongue made him want to roll her over and see if he couldn’t go again.

“Come with me,” she said. “Let us go from here.”

He tensed. Had it been some game to her? A seduction mayhap? Had she even been asleep? By God, he was a fool. He pushed her away, regretting his roughness when she let out a cry. But when he came to standing his annoyance returned. This lass would do anything she could to use him. Mayhap she believed he was that idiotic, he would do anything after a brief moment of pleasure. But he was not.

Words burned his tongue as she stared up at him. But what was the point? They would argue and she would beg and plead, and try to convince him with her feminine wiles.

No more, he decided. “No more,” he said aloud, and turned to stomp up the stairs. The sticky reminder of his pleasure aggravated him further and he adjusted his garments with a grimace. Damn the lass and damn his weakness.

“Logan!” she called, her voice thin.

He ignored her and went to pull open the door, only to recall it was still locked. However, this time it opened. He didn’t wait. He had to escape her.

“No more,” he declared to himself once more as he stepped out.

He was done with that woman. He had awoken with nothing. No memory, no life, no name. Gillean had given him something and he would gain more if he played this game carefully. Only a fool would give it up for a woman with eyes the colour of the pale morning sky and a body so beautiful, he wanted to lose himself in it forever.

***

The floor grew cold under her palms. Lorna stared at her hands for a while as a chasm opened in her chest. Her arms trembled and the desire to collapse to the floor again struck. She had been as shocked as he to find herself—her cheeks warmed at the thought—touching him so intimately, yet once she had seen the need in his expression, the way he had reacted to her, she had been convinced she was touching Logan—the
real
Logan—and she could reach him, persuade him to let her go and come with her.

Drawing in a breath, she used it to rebuild her defences. She had conquered worse and she had more to lose this time. Her son. Their son. She drew her shoulders up, pushed the blanket from her lap and rose to her feet with all the dignity of a queen at her coronation. Grimacing at how stiff her muscles were, Lorna made her way to the bucket of water in the corner and dipped her hands in them, washing away any evidence of his passion.

Before she could escape the dark confines of the kitchen, the door at the top of the stairs squeaked open. Lorna’s heart fluttered briefly against her chest, hopeful Logan had returned, but the gentle footsteps told her it had to be a maid. Anne came into view, her eyes rounded.

“Milady, what are ye doing down here?” She glanced at the blankets. “Ye’ve no’ been sleeping down here, have ye? Did the laird punish ye?”

“Nay, nay.” Lorna smoothed a hand down her crumpled skirts. “I was working down here late yesterday eve and someone locked the door.”

A furrow appeared between Anne’s brows. “Surely not? Why should they lock ye in? The whole keep knew ye were down here, working away.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I couldnae get out. But ‘tis no matter. I slept well enough in front of the fire.” Lorna began clearing away the blankets and re-hanging them.

Anne moved forward to help. “Ye are crumpled and filthy.” She shook her head sadly. “What can ye have done to deserve such treatment?”

“Naught, save from try to protect myself and my friend’s life. Gillean hates that I stopped him from forcing himself upon my brother’s wife.”

“Aye, and ruining his plans for more power, no doubt.”

“If Gillean wages war, ‘twill leave none of us unaffected. My family could be in grave danger.”

Anne wrung her hands together. “I have a younger sister working in the castle at Drummanaig. I fear greatly he will attack there, should the other clans rise against him.”

Lorna took her hand. The battles between Norse and Scots over a year ago had claimed many lives. Now it looked as though it would happen again, but this time they had the aid of a powerful laird. Many would be affected by it. Even innocent women like Anne and her sister.

“Milady...” Anne began, “will yer clan be able to stop him? If they hear tell of the battle, can they raise an army enough to prevent this war?”

“I would hope so, aye.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Ye must go to them then. Warn them of the army headed their way. Have them send messengers to the king.”

“But how? The walls are heavily guarded.”

“Aye, Gillean is fearful the king will catch wind of the Norse’s presence here and lay siege to the castle. ‘Twas why he brought the Norse here rather than his other keep. ‘Tis more easily defended.”

“All I need is a few moments to slip out of the rear gate. A distraction mayhap?” Lorna saw the uncertainty and fear in the woman’s eyes and let her shoulders sag. “Ye dinnae need to do this.”

The dark-haired woman lifted her chin. “I must, milady. If I can help ye in any way, I will, I swear it,” the maid continued solemnly.

Footsteps sounded outside and Lorna darted her gaze to the stairs. “We shall talk on this later.” Lorna swallowed and gave the maid’s hand a squeeze.

“Come, let us return ye to yer chamber and get ye cleaned up.”

Nodding, Lorna trailed Anne up the stairs and out into the murky light of the morning. Her eyes ached at the sight of dusky blue skies, tinged with dappled streaks of pink. The storms had cleared the air and left it scented with heather and wet grass. The ground underfoot remained damp and muddy so she lifted her wrinkled skirts and made to follow the maid. 

A wide chest blocked her path and she had to school herself not to show shock. She’d been aware of this Viking’s amusement at her presence, of the way his gaze followed her. At present his gaze was tracking down her body and back up again leisurely.

A half smile sat on Ivar’s lips. “You have been working hard, it seems. You are filthy.”

She bristled. “I have no’ had time to bathe.”

He inched forward, and she nearly stumbled back down the steps. Her heart picked up while she took the time to study him properly.
Barbarian
. The word rang through her mind again. Every part of him screamed
savage
from his meaty fists, to his lecherous gaze, to his roughly sewn garments. Even the clear blue of his eyes and the attractive set of his nose could do nothing to cover the intention behind those features.

“If you were mine, I would not see you working so. Instead, I would install you in my bed and use you at my leisure.”

“’Tis a fine thing I am no’ yers then, for I would rather scrub a thousand floors.”

“I have many slaves, but none quite like you.” He reached out and fingered a lock of hair.

Lorna had to prevent herself from recoiling, lest she tumble backward down the stairs and cause herself harm. Instead she drew in a breath. “I am no’ a slave. Just a prisoner. But before long I shall be free and ye shall regret ever laying a hand on me.”

His lips quirked in amusement and he brought his hand up to stroke her head, as if patting an animal or small child. “I like your spirit and you are
vakker
, in a small, sweet sort of way. You would look fine atop my furs.”