To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) (17 page)

Their blades clashed once, sending a shock down his arm, but Logan recovered quickly and scored a slice across the man’s arm. As his enemy yowled in pain and retaliated by driving his sword forward, Logan stepped aside and brought his steel across the man’s back. He fell, face forward into the mud that had been churned up by the feet of men fighting for their lives.

Before Logan could choose his next target, a familiar head of golden hair caught his eye. Finn carved a path through the brawling men to his side.

“Norse,” he panted, “in the keep. They broke through.”

Hell fire. Logan didn’t acknowledge the words, and didn’t wait to see if Finn followed. Agony clamped about his heart. He savoured that pain as he pushed through the fight, cutting down anyone who dared impede his progress. He nurtured the hurt while his mind reeled with possibilities. That pain steeled his determination. Lorna would not be harmed this day. She would live a long and happy life by his side.

A sting tore through his arm but the door was in sight, so he didn’t bother returning the glancing blow to his biceps. Sprinting up the few short steps, he dodged the bodies of several Norse and pushed aside another. The Glencolum men were doing a fine job of seeing off the rest of the enemy, but they were too busy trying to keep any more from entering to withdraw inside. He glanced behind to see Finn had become lost in the seething mass of men.

Lorna had placed her trust in him and it looked as though she would depend on him to protect her now. His last breath, he had promised. With his last breath he would protect her. Those same breaths seared his lungs as he raced up the spiral stairs, his blade thrust forward, to the solar. When he spilled out into the dimly lit room, two men spun at the sound of his boots on the floorboards.

Swords held aloft, both came at him. In the distance he heard Lorna’s scream and saw her pull from Ivar. The other women huddled back and Logan was aware of the close confines of the room. One wrong move and they’d all end up sliced to ribbons. Most of all, the pounding in his chest reminded him his son lay in the arms of a nursemaid mere feet from a ruthless enemy and his love was held against the Viking’s chest.

He had to move swift and sure.

His brawling style of fighting gave him an advantage here, and he ducked the first swing to cut at the man’s legs. He fell but Logan had no time to finish him before the other was upon him, blade aimed at his gut. Logan gripped the tang of the sword and drew it past him, bringing him face to face with the enemy. He saw the sweat on his brow, smelled his sour breath and noted the widening of his pale blue eyes as Logan thrust his steel into his gut.

The weapon slid easily from the man as he collapsed. Sweeping his wild hair from his face, Logan lifted his blade to the other man crawling on the floor. He was only mildly wounded and still posed a threat, but a shout prevented him from acting further.

“Logan!” Ivar bellowed.

Jaw twitching, muscles tense, Logan faced the man who held Lorna. Ivar held his blade to her throat. Logan’s heart and stomach switched places. Would the Norseman really kill her? He wanted her badly enough to break into the castle and go directly to her, and he had not killed her—yet.

He glanced at Lorna, impressed by the way she held her body so still. Not even a whimper spilled from her lips. He knew of her courage but still, it amazed him such a woman loved him. This daring, passionate woman had spent so much time fighting for him to return to her, and now he had, he would not fail her. He too would fight.

“Release her and let us fight,” Logan barked. Tension made his voice grittier than usual and his scar created a tight ache in his neck.

“I do not think so.” Ivar pressed Lorna closer and sniffed her hair. “You fight like a Viking. I am impressed. But I am not so foolish as to go up against a man like you. A man with much to lose.”

“I fight like a Highlander,” he declared, eyeing the large Norseman and edging forward.

Ivar, as he had hoped, backed up, still clutching Lorna.

“If you step away, Logan, mayhap I shall let your lady live.”

He took another step forward. “And if ye let her go, mayhap I’ll let ye live.” Logan resisted the desire to grin. He had the man backed into the corner, away from the others. The only life he had to worry for was Lorna’s. Even his was inconsequential.

He locked gazes with Lorna and sent a silent plea to her. A plea to trust him and an urgent plea to understand his plan. He shifted his weapon to his other hand and caught Ivar’s slight scowl.

“Keep still,” Ivar ordered.

Lorna fidgeted against his hold. It made Logan’s throat constrict further to see her body so close to that sharp axe, but he was grateful for the distraction. While Ivar shifted her into a tighter hold, Logan reached beneath his plaid. Lorna must have caught the movement as understanding flashed in her eyes and she wriggled again, sending Ivar stumbling back a few more steps.

He felt the reassuring smooth wood against his palm and curled his hand around the dagger handle. He had one shot, one chance to save Lorna. Time slowed once more. Ivar’s threats were lost to him, his growls of frustration at Lorna’s uncooperativeness drowned by the rush of blood in his ears.

Breath held, he yanked out the blade and threw it. Ivar howled. Lorna shoved the Viking’s arm away and spilled across the bed in her attempt to get away. Logan reached for her while Ivar clutched his arm, and dragged her from the tangle of blankets and into his side.

The Viking lifted his pain-stricken gaze to Logan’s and yanked the blade from his bicep. Logan did not give him a chance to react. With his weak arm, he lunged forward. Ivar’s eyes bulged, the nursemaid in the corner screamed and even Ewan decided to make his presence known the moment Logan’s blade met flesh.

His blade slid from Ivar’s gut when the man fell to his knees with a thud, kicking up dust. Lorna pressed her face into Logan’s neck to hide herself from the man’s gurgling noises and strangled expression. Logan watched coldly. This man had tried to take everything he treasured from him. He had no sympathy for him.

Ivar’s eyes fluttered shut and he slumped forward. Logan turned away and drew Lorna from the scene. He held her head against him, grateful for her trust and bravery, and kissed her soft hair.

“I must return to battle. Ye’ll be safe now.” Her body trembled against him, and he realised how much her courage had cost her. He couldn’t be prouder of his wee Highland lass.

Before he released her, Alana cried out, “They’re retreating.”

Logan released Lorna to ease open the shutter on one of the windows and peer out. Sure enough, what remained of Gillean’s army were scattering to the hills. A triumphant roar echoed across the vast Highland landscape. Logan narrowed his eyes at the grey shapes that appeared to be chasing some of the men away. Wolves? Why were wolves so close to the castle and at this time of the day? He blinked. Mayhap he had been knocked on the head during battle. He motioned to Lorna, who approached with Ewan in her arms. “Do ye see them?”

She peeked past him and scowled. “Wolves? What are they doing?”

They watched the men race across the purple and green knolls before disappearing over the edge. When the last were run off, the wolves too slunk away. Logan could only shake his head in disbelief. Aye, they attacked humans sometimes but rarely during the day, and most packs would never dare attempt an attack on so many.

He looped an arm over Lorna’s neck, turned and faced her. She softened into him, her eyes lit with hope and love. It filled his chest and he stroked a hand over Ewan’s face before kissing his mother. He kissed her gently, aware of the tiny child between them, but her sweet lips moving against his fired his passion. He’d have to take her to the battlements again soon, he decided. She must have seen his wicked intentions as desire flashed in those pale eyes, darkening them. A tiny smile slid across her lips telling him... soon. Soon they’d start their life together properly.

Properly.

“Ye’ll be marrying me after this, lass.”

“I will?” The tilt to her lips grew in amusement.

“Aye, ye will. No arguments. For once in yer life, do as yer told.”

“No man can command me,” she told him, raising that adorable freckled nose, “but my heart can. I cannae think of anything I’d like more.”

He shook his head and kissed her again until they both grew breathless. Alana clapped her hands and squealed, dragging his attention away. He nodded toward the women and the laird. “Ye should stay here until we’ve ensured the keep is secure.”

Catriona shook her head. “Nay. Finn is down there and who knows who might need our help.”

Alana nodded and he glanced at Lorna to see arguing would do no good. He could understand their need to check on the casualties. There was a chance their husbands had been killed in battle. He prayed not. If he survived and they did not, fate was indeed cruel, but after witnessing the strange behaviour of the wolves, he could not conceive it. Someone, or something, wanted them to be triumphant. He felt it in his bones.

Hand to his sword, he led the women down the spiral stairs, aware the two people who held his heart were behind him. When he stepped into the hall, he heard Lorna’s gasp and reached for her free hand to clasp it. The hall was littered with debris—tables were broken, candelabras knocked to the ground. The tapestry on one wall had a slice through it. Several injured men were being brought in from outside but he saw no sign of Finn or Morgann yet.

“We must see to the injured,” Lorna whispered. “My brother is likely still outside, securing the keep.”

He heard the tremble in her voice and when he glanced back at the other two women, he saw their ashen complexions. Though they too held their composure and he marvelled at these lasses.

“Stay here while I check outside,” he ordered.

The three women hurried over to check on the men by the rear of the keep. Logan grimaced as he spied some of the bloody injuries. The battle for the keep might be over but the battle for these men’s lives was not. He could almost smell the acrid scent of singed flesh and his scar ached. Mayhap they would deal with their injuries with better grace than he had.

Spinning on his heel, he clutched his sword. They may have seen off the majority of the enemy but there could be some lingering, hoping for a fight. An odd clunking sound registered and he heard Lorna scream. Before he turned, pain blasted through his shoulder and the force knocked him to the ground. His vision blurred and he rolled onto his side. Gaze narrow, he pushed a breath through his teeth and saw a familiar figure step out from behind the door.

Though his shoulder burned, his blood ran cold. He blinked to clear the grey edge encroaching on his vision. Gillean held a crossbow. He had it directed at Lorna and the babe. She froze for only a second before twisting to shield the baby. Everyone else in the room stilled.

Gillean stepped past him, bringing the deadly point closer to Logan’s family. The laird’s footsteps rattled his head and he concentrated on squeezing his eyes shut and pulling them open to clear his vision and to draw his mind away from the agony.

“Ye,” Gillean said, jerking the crossbow in Lorna’s direction, “have been a blight on my plans for too long.”

Logan’s vision cleared suddenly. Blood rushed through his ears. Masking a groan, he reached behind him and snapped the bolt embedded in his shoulder. A fresh jolt of pain tore through him, and sticky blood spilled over his hand.

Lorna backed away from the laird, keeping Ewan hidden behind her arm, acting as a shield. Her mouth moved as if wanting to say something, mayhap to beg for her son’s life, but from her expression and the hatred singeing Gillean’s words, she had to know the truth just as Logan did. Gillean intended to kill her and probably their child.

He dragged in a burning breath and tensed. He wouldn’t have much time. His movements would be slow. Mayhap that breath would be his last.

Logan snatched his sword from where it had clattered to the ground and came to standing in one swift move. The weight on his arm felt like it might tear his back apart where it had been split by the arrow. It mattered not.

He leaped forward, saw Gillean turn. Saw the surprise in his eyes and the tip of the arrow coming into view. With a roar, he swung. The ping of the crossbow reverberated through the vast room. Metal clattered and someone cried out. His blade struck flesh and bone.

Logan collapsed to his knees, panting, his strength gone. Gillean fell onto his back, Logan’s blade still embedded in the side of his neck. His blood spilled onto the stone floor in a crimson puddle and his eyes fluttered shut.

As the stone floor came up to greet Logan, gentle arms wrapped around him and a soft body pressed against him. He peered up at her. Sunlight streamed in through the windows and surrounded her in a fuzzy halo. He smiled and reached up to touch her beautiful face. If this was to be his last breath, he was grateful to breathe it in her arms.

“Lorna...” he struggled to get the word out.

“Yer no’ going anywhere,” she told him sternly, though her voice lost its strength on the last word.

He tried to grin. He almost believed her.

From her vantage point high in the rafters, Tèile had a fine view of the newlyweds. Theirs hadn’t been a huge celebration like the other couples she’d united and that meant no feasting—a shame in the faery’s opinion as she’d have enjoyed a drop of wine and some good food. Surely she deserved as much after helping the clan win the battle? But still, her heart warmed at the sight of Lorna slipping into bed next to Logan.

He winced.

“Forgive me,” Lorna whispered.

Logan chuckled. “I’ll forgive ye anything if ye keep pressing yerself against me like that.”

“Shhh, ye’ll wake the babe.”

He peered over at the crib. “He sleeps heavier than I do.”

Tèile fluttered down and perched on the edge of the crib. The dark-haired babe did indeed sleep heavily. She eyed the pudgy cheeks and tiny fingers and had to admit, human babies were quite endearing.

“How is yer wound?” Lorna asked.

“Well enough.” He released a wicked grin and wrapped his arms about her. “’Twill no’ prevent me from doing what I wish with ye, if that is what concerns ye.”

“I never thought it would.” Lorna began kissing along his jaw.

Tèile sighed and propped her chin on her hand. She always liked these moments.

“We shall move into our own cottage when ye are healed fully,” Lorna murmured against his jaw. “Then we shall be all alone.”

“I am healed well enough now. I think mayhap we should move on the morrow. That way” —he pressed down the shoulder of her chemise and skimmed his fingers over her skin —“I shall have ye all to myself and I shall be able to do what I wish with ye.” Logan lifted up and pressed her back against the bed. “I shall be able to take ye on the table.” Leaning over her, he lowered himself to kiss her bare shoulder. “At the morning meal.” Then her collarbone. “When ye bathe.” He finally kissed the rise of her breasts. “I have a great deal of years to make up for.”

Tèile saw the colour rise in Lorna’s cheeks. “A great deal of memories to create too.” She smoothed her hands through his hair and drew his head back to meet her gaze. “If yer memory never comes back, will it bother ye?”

He shook his head. “I have everything I need here. I dinnae need to know the past to know my future.”

“And ye dinnae regret that ye will never own land? Or a great keep?”

He pressed a finger under her chin. “What is this? Dinnae doubt me now, lass. What more does a man need than a beautiful lass in his bed and a handsome young son to carry on his name?”

Lorna gave a smile and her eyes glinted. “Oh... I dinnae know. Mayhap a few more sons?”

Logan laughed and kissed her firmly. “Aye, many, many more sons.”

Tèile couldn’t help but grin as they embraced. All was well once more and she had yet again made another good match. Soon they would be telling tales of her, of how she saved a clan by summoning the wolves to help, of how she prevented a war that would tear a country apart. Why, she even drove off the Vikings! Tèile the Great, they would call her.

She fluttered her wings, flew down from her perch, pausing only briefly to view the couple. After flying out the window, she stopped by the two other chambers to check on her other matches. Satisfied all was well with those couples, she settled herself on the ramparts and stared up at the sky. Stars glinted above, sparkling like faery wings. The human world had once seemed so harsh and cold yet somehow humans managed to make it beautiful.

She turned when she felt a tap on her shoulder. The purple faery, her gossamer wings more beautiful than the night sky, motioned for her to follow. “’Tis time to return now.”

Tèile shook her head. Return to what? Daily feasts? Regaling the fae folk with her tales until she got bored and had no choice but to create some mischief? It wearied her just thinking on it.

The faery gave her an indulgent smile and nodded before fluttering off. Tèile watched her go and a smile slipped across her face. She would not regret not returning. There was much more fun to be had in the human world. Not to mention, Logan had promised Lorna many more sons and there were two other babes on the way. No doubt, watching over all those children would keep her busy for many more years to come.

THE END

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To Dream of a Highlander (Book 2 of the Highland Fae Chronicles)

Alrek (Viking Romance)

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