To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) (13 page)

“Aye, Ivar, we will,” Gillean assured him. “As soon as yer men have joined us, we’ll march on Glencolum and take everything—including the bonny lass.”

Jaw tight, Logan curled his hands into fists. Had Lorna been right? Was it all true? He was her lover? And he had a son... Logan nearly staggered back down the stairs as it all hit. He pressed himself against the wall and searched his memory frantically.

Black. Nothingness. Yet his body had remembered her. His body wanted her since he first saw her.

He had to know.

He waited until they finished their meal and Ivar departed the hall. Gillean made his way upstairs and Logan listened for him to shut the door to the solar. With haste, he marched into the hall, shoving past several men who were loitering around the tables and nearly tripping over the dogs.

“Damn dogs. Get to work,” he snapped at the men and stomped up the stairs.

Breath held, he pushed open the door, stepped in and pressed it shut. Gillean lifted his gaze from the papers at his desk and clasped his hands in front of him.

“Aye?”

“The riders will be ready to go in a moment,” Logan said.

“Well dinnae wait.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Get them after her. I dinnae wish for Glencolum to be aware of our plans if I can help it.”

Logan took a step forward, then another and another until he stood in front of the laird’s desk. Molten heat pummelled through him. It rushed through his veins and made his temples throb. He wanted nothing more than to pound this man into submission but he needed answers first.

“Ye know... Lady Lorna told me a few things during her stay here.”

Gillean’s expression remained composed. Logan searched for some sign of nervousness, but hell, he knew better than most how cold the laird was.

“Aye, well, she always was a teller of fine tales. I never trusted her when my brother married her and I wouldnae trust her now. A little she devil, that lass.” He pushed a missive aside. He huffed and scowled at him. “Logan, did ye need something?”

“Aye, the truth.”

“The truth?”

The arrogance in the laird’s expression was the undoing of him. Those arched brows, thin smile and straight shoulders tore through his composure, and he rounded the desk to grasp Gillean by the neck of his shirt. Gillean struggled against his grip and tried to tear his hand away but while he might have been in shape for an old man, he was no match for Logan’s strength.

“I heard ye,” Logan spat as he pressed the laird back. The chair toppled to one side and Gillean thrashed against his hold.

Pressed against the tapestry lining the wall, Gillean’s face began to match the deep red of the fabric. Logan loosened his grip marginally.

“What did ye do to me? Why do I have no memory?” he demanded. “I was yer enemy, was I not?”

“Ye’d believe that
ban-aibhistear
? Did I no’ save yer life? Did I no’ give ye great power? How many other peasant lads could claim to be so highly regarded by their laird?”

Logan clutched his shirt tighter and put the pressure on his neck again. He brought his face close. “Enough lies. What did ye do?”

Gillean shook his head. “Yer a fool. Dinnae throw all ye have away over that woman.”

Teeth clenched, Logan squeezed his neck until he thought the laird would pass out. He should have realised the laird would not give up the truth easily. He dropped the man, leaving him panting on the floor.

“What lies did ye tell me?”

Gillean put a hand to his neck and drew in a rasping breath. “I saved yer life. That whore left ye for dead.”

Fury reeled through him in a fresh wave. He kicked out with his boot. The cry of pain from Gillean did little to appease him, so he kicked again and again until Gillean threw up his hands in surrender.

Kneeling, Logan grasped his shirt and drew him close again. “Tell me everything.”

“Ye were at the battle,” he panted. “Ye were one of Lorna’s men. Ye helped her escape and joined the fight that broke out. I didnae see what happened but after we found ye, barely alive in the bailey, I ordered ye to be put in the donjon. Lord knows I should have killed ye then and there, but ye knew stuff I didnae about the Glencolum clan. I had hoped ye would be useful.”

Logan let out a shuddery breath. So it had all been true. Lorna had been speaking the truth and he had treated her... by God, what a fool he was.

“What happened then? Why all these lies?”

“After...”

“After what?” Logan raised a fist in threat.

“After we couldnae find out what we wanted, ye were...” Gillean glanced down, “ye were tortured. At some point, ye passed out and we didnae think ye would awaken.”

“But I did.”

“Aye, and with no memory of anything that happened.”

“So ye decided to lie to me? Why? Why take the risk?”

“I recognised yer worth, Logan. Remember that.” Gillean’s expression grew imploring. “I knew ye’d be a good man to have by my side.”

“Ye played a risky game, my laird,” he said bitterly.

“Aye, I’m aware o’ that now. But this is what we do. We take risks and we triumph. This doesnae need to mean anything, Logan. Join with me in this battle and ye can gain more than ye ever dreamed of.”

“Ye’d let me stay by yer side after what I’ve done to ye? Ye think I’d want to aid the man who took my life from me?”

He shrugged. “This war. I will do whatever I must.”

“As will I.”

“And what is that? Ye shallnae win. Do ye think ye will get away with this?” Gillean’s voice rose with each word. “Do ye think ye willnae be cut down for harming me? I shall see that ye pay for it. Mark my words.”

“As will I,” he repeated calmly. Somewhere inside everything had fallen into place. Anger had been replaced with anticipation. Everything he knew had been wrong yet here was his chance to make it right again. Lorna was his chance.

“Yer going to go after her, aren’t ye?”

Logan nodded and released the man.

Gillean struggled to get to his feet and gave up. “Yer a fool. Why would ye choose that whore over this life?”

Mayhap all his anger wasn’t quite gone. He slammed his fist into Gillean’s face and released a grim smile of satisfaction as he slumped over. Now he needed to catch up with Lorna. Logan raced down into the hall and past the stables. Gillean might awaken at any time so he did not have time to have a mount saddled. If any of the men thought it odd he stepped outside the castle walls without his horse, none mentioned it. Once he was out onto the open hills, he paused and glanced back at the castle.

He’d thought mayhap anguish and regret would fill him, but it didn’t. He’d never truly belonged in that role. But did he belong anywhere else?

He was tiring when he caught up with her. Logan spied her perched on a rock, resting it seemed, her back to him. It had taken him two hours to catch up with her and he’d sprinted most of the way. She must have been walking slowly and likely stopped to shelter while it was dark. A wise move with wolves around but there was risk in that too. She was still too close to Kilcree.

He paused and drew in a breath before continuing up the hill. Foolish woman could be spotted from miles around. Her golden hair and blue gown stood out against the yellow and green hills. He squeezed his clammy palms together and told himself to keep moving. How would she greet him? With disgust? Delight? He would not blame her for the former. Who knew how he’d make up for his barbaric behaviour?

Far off, a sound carried in the wind. He turned in the direction of the noise. “Hell fire.” Gillean’s riders. They’d spot her with ease once they reached the valley beneath.

He raced up the hill, his legs burning in protest and pulled her from the rock as the men entered the valley. When he grabbed her and clapped a hand over her mouth, she screamed against his palm. Her feet slipped from beneath her and her weight against him made him lose his footing. They tumbled together down the gentle slope and when they came to a standstill, he was on top of her. She wriggled against him, her knee barely missing his groin while she cried out against his hand.

“Hush, there are riders about,” he hissed.

She softened and fell quiet. He grew aware of her curves against him, of her pink parted lips and wide blue eyes. The confusion fell away, his annoyance melted. He felt her chest rise against his in a staggered breath and he hooked a hand under her head. In one swift swoop, he brought his mouth down upon hers. Lorna’s nails grappled at his back and she opened her mouth to him eagerly. Days of frustration and desperation were poured into that kiss, as though now the barrier of lies had dropped away, he could no longer hold back.

He kissed her aggressively, urgently, barely having the time to savour her taste but relishing the warm recess of her mouth. His body grew tight, his breaths rapid. He tore away, panting, and eyed her.

“Ye bore me a son,” he stated gruffly.

She nodded.

Tears misted in her eyes and all the lies dropped away. He saw only truth. She’d been right. Gillean had lied to him and kept him from his son... and the woman he loved? He could not be sure. He admired her courage, found her beautiful, but did he love her?

He eased himself off her, eyed her muddy gown and scratched face and grimaced. Taking her hand, he led her back up the slope and they crouched behind the rock. He peered over to see the riders had taken off to the North. Thank the Lord, for he had all but forgotten them once her body had touched his. He hoped they would not see them again.

He turned to her. “Ye damn fool lass. They were nearly upon ye.” She flinched at his words and he knelt beside her. “Why did ye no’ tell me sooner?”

“Would it have made any difference? Ye didnae believe me then, would ye have believed me sooner? Besides I couldnae risk Gillean finding out about him. I couldnae trust ye. Ewan is heir to my dowry—the dowry Gillean keeps from me.”

“Ewan,” he murmured experimentally.

“He looks like ye,” she said with a sad smile.

“Aye, ye said.” A noose-like knot tightened his throat. He had missed the birth of his son. He curled a fist and shook his head. “Gillean lied to me.”

“Gillean lies to many people.”

“I treated ye poorly.”

“Aye, ye did.”

How like her not to lie to soften the blow. “I have much to make up for.”

“Like locking me up?”

“Aye, that.”

Her lips curled upwards. “And for not believing me? And for dragging me around? And for—”

Logan silenced her with a swift kiss and tugged her hand. “Aye, all of that.” He paused to study the area, and confirm the riders were nowhere to be seen. “Come, let us go to our son.”

***

Lorna was wearying, though she did not complain. He saw it in her slowing steps and the way her shoulders dropped. He peered sideways at her and moved closer to take her arm. It was the first time he’d touched her since that kiss. They had been walking for several hours, mostly in silence, with only a few questions punctuating it. He had much to process, he hardly knew what to say.

“Come, there is a stream there. Let us get a drink and rest for a few moments. We’ll be hidden from the main path.” He pointed to where a thin trail of water broke the mountains and had carved a jagged path in it.

They made their way down the slope to where the stream levelled and Logan peered at the mountain looming over them, its beautiful shades of green and yellow failing to make it any less dramatic . Horses wouldn’t be able to traverse it so they’d be safe here for the moment.

Lorna knelt by the stream and lifted her skirts to wash away the grime from her legs. Logan eyed the pale length of her calves and closed his eyes as he scrubbed a hand over his jaw.

“We are no’ far,” she said. “Another ten miles or so.”

Another ten miles and he’d see the son he hadn’t known he had. He’d meet people he didn’t remember. He did not even know how he was meant to feel. What he thought he’d known was a lie, and now he had a son and a woman who he’d once loved scrubbing her creamy skin in front of him.

She lifted her hair away from her neck and splashed water over her skin. Trickles spilled down to the loose, slightly torn laces. Such expensive gowns were not intended for trekking across the Highlands, yet he had to admit, even in a torn, grimy gown, she looked stunning. The sight arrested him and made his heart want to beat out of his chest.

Then his heart froze and he scowled. Kneeling down next to her, he touched the top of her spine. “What is this?”

She dropped her hair and stiffened. “Naught.”

She didn’t fight him when he pushed aside her golden curls and found the top of a scar. He eased open the laces and forced down her chemise to find the scar travelled down her back and was met by others, all in the same criss-crossing fashion.

“What are these?” He touched the lines and felt her muscles tighten.

“Naught. Pray cease,” she begged huskily.

“These are from a whip,” he said.

“Aye.”

“Who did this to ye?” For one awful moment, he wondered if it could have been him. He still had little idea who he was. What if the man he was now was really him? Or what if he was worse? But Lorna had said she saw pieces of the old Logan in him. And she had said that in his softer moments.

“My husband.”

Relief coursed through him and he eased open her gown further. The lack of fight in her disturbed him but he could not stop himself. How could a man do this to a woman? To mar someone so beautiful? The pain he must have caused... Logan gritted his jaw. It was a good thing the man was dead or Logan might have to exact some revenge. Maybe see how he liked being flogged.

In spite of her obvious tension, he studied the marks and touched them. “He beat ye often?”

“Aye.”

“What could ye have possibly done to deserve such a beating?”

Lorna shrugged. “Ye know I dinnae hold my tongue well. And lack of sons always angered him.”

“Did I know about this?”

“Nay.”

“But what about—”

“We have but one night together and... well, we didnae undress.”

“If I had known...”

“If ye had known, ye would have killed him and ye would have ended up hanged, for that was the kind of man ye were. None except my maid knew of Walter’s actions. I wouldnae have anyone fighting my battles.”

“I still would kill him if he were alive. By God, I’d have taken great pleasure in it,” he said through gritted teeth.

She shrugged away from him. “See? Ye are no’ so different to the man ye used to be. But pray, dinnae look, they are unsightly.”

“They are no’ unsightly.” He splayed a hand across her back. “Ye are beautiful. Every part of ye is beautiful. Ye are too lovely for me, to be sure.”

He saw her eyes flutter closed while he rubbed his hand up and down her back. This lass was the strongest person he had ever met. She had endured so much yet she had still been willing to fight for him.

The draw was too powerful. He could fight it no longer. Whoever this woman had been to him in the past, he needed her now. As the mother of his child, mayhap she was his future. He eased around behind her, his hands splayed over her shoulders and pressed aside the fabric of her gown and chemise. Then he brought his lips to her marred skin and kissed the streaks that told him so much of her buried pain. He did not know who he had been. He did not know who he was now. But he knew he would have—and would still—done anything to save her from more pain.

“Beautiful,” he murmured.

His lips tingled at the feel of her soft skin, and sweet gratification warmed his chest when she gasped and trembled. He pushed her garments all the way down until they pooled at her waist. Lips to her neck, he reached around and found her warm, heavy breasts waiting for him. Her nipples were hard against his palms and if it bothered her being bared to the wilderness of the Highlands, she did not show it.

Lorna tilted her head back into his kisses and he kissed a path to the side of her neck. Nipping lightly at the crook of her shoulder, he relished how her nipples tightened further and her every gentle sigh.

How he had resisted her for so long he knew not.

Even after a day in the hills, her lemon fragrance filled his senses. The taste of her skin was finer than any dessert. He found himself hungry suddenly. A deep ache had opened up inside of him. He recognised the ache as one that had been following him around since he’d woken in Gillean’s castle with a slash across his neck and a bruised and battered body. But this time the ache could be fulfilled. Mayhap this whole time he had been hungering for her.

Logan crooked an arm and drew her into it so she ended up gazing up at him. He eased himself onto his side to lower her to the ground, her head supported on his arm. Surrounded by purple heather, her pale skin made a stark contrast. She appeared like a nymph, her luxurious skirts blending with the scenery, making her look as though she were born from the very ground they lay upon.

Under the sunlight, each of her freckles winked up at him, begged for him to press his lips to them. Her eyes were clear, though tiny streaks of damp in the corner of them told him some tears had escaped while he had been kissing her. Golden curls spilled about her, some grazing her breast, others tangling with the heather like wild vines.

Breathing grew difficult yet when he cupped a breast, air filled his lungs. How had he lived these past seasons without her? To touch her was to live, it seemed. He lowered his head to a pale pink nipple and the tautness against his tongue made his arousal tighten further.

Caution forced him to move slowly but every fibre of him screamed to take her—to slake his lust and claim her. However, the boneless way she laid in his arms, the way she stared up at him wide-eyed and curled her hands around his shoulders in a silent plea forced him to remain gentle and slow. He had never seen her so vulnerable. That she was sharing that part of her with him made his chest swell with pride.

In his short time as Gillean’s chieftain when had he ever felt pride in his actions? Indeed, his most noble act had been letting her go. Damnation, he had a lot to make up for. Here he had been treating her as a liar and a criminal. Handling her no better than Walter had. He recalled her spat words, how she loathed being hauled around. Had he reminded her of her husband?

His stomach grew heavy but his principles were not as strong as his need. He could not let her go. Instead, he kissed along her arm, down to the crease on the inside of it, and took her hand. Logan flattened her palm against his mouth.

“Ye must forgive—”

“Shhh.” Lorna reached up and cupped his face. “Mayhap none of this would have happened if I never denied ye in the first place.”

“Ye cannae blame yerself for my loss of memory.” He tangled his fingers with hers, struck by how perfectly they fit. “Ye cannae blame yerself for any of this. I can, however, blame myself for my behaviour towards ye.”

“Ye never were an easy man to get on with, Logan.” She let slip a tender smile. “Ye could often be bad-tempered and grumpy, but... I still see parts of ye, ye know.”

“I fear I cannae be the man ye want me to be, but I cannae fight ye, Lorna. I need ye too badly.”

“Dinnae fight me. We’ve spent too long fighting.”

She urged him down on top of her with a hand to his neck. When their lips met, his thread of restraint snapped. He had little idea what this meant for them. Did she still love him, even if he was a different man? Yet all that mattered now was that he made love to her and brought her such pleasure that neither of them could fear they’d forget one another again.

He took her mouth aggressively and she bucked into him. Her hands fumbled at his plaid and he heard the pin pop open and the fabric drop. Soft flesh pressed, hot and delicate, at the linen of his shirt. His own shaky hands worked to push her gown from her hips, and she lifted her rear and helped him kick all the material aside.