Outside Kristiana’s door, on a low stool, sat a guard. A torch beamed on the wall opposite the man. By its light, golden eyes noted the guard’s head was bowed, his chin touching his chest. Confident the man dozed, Logan moved on quiet feet toward his prey. When he reached the guard’s side, a great snort blew from the man’s nostrils; his head jerked upward. Blinking, he looked at the Raven. His mouth opened to speak, but the words died in his throat as a swift blade found his heart. His head bowing anew, he slept forever.
Relieving the guard of the key tucked into his belt, Logan reached for the torch. Abruptly a door opened somewhere along the corridor, then it closed. The flaming head was thrust into a bucket of water sitting at the juncture of floor and wall. With a sizzle the light was doused.
As he pressed himself flat against the wall rapid footsteps came his way. Eyes searching through the darkness, he saw three shadowy figures pass by. Garbed in black, he imagined they had not seen him. Otherwise one was bound to have cried out in fright. The women disappeared into the alcove. The hidden door opened and closed anew, and Logan was relieved the three were now safe.
Only Kristiana remained, and he stepped to her door, the key finding the lock. As it was slipped he prayed that somehow, once she’d discovered who the Raven truly was, she’d find it in her heart to forgive him.
A pair of hot lips brushed lightly over Kristiana’s mouth; she moaned softly. “Logan?” she whispered through her dreams.
“Yes, sweet, it is I.”
A gentle smile crossed her face. “You’ve come back to me.”
“Aye, and I shall never leave you again.”
A sigh slipped through Kristiana’s lips. Her hands rose, desiring to touch again his wealth of black hair. Instead her fingers met leather. This is no dream! her mind shrieked. At once her eyes flew wide. Seeing the shadowy figure hovering above her, Kristiana thought to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth. Driven by fear, she struck out. Balled fists pummeled the leather-clad head.
“Don’t fight me, sweet,” Logan said, dodging her blows. Several connected with force. One hand still covered her mouth, the other snared her wrists. “Kristiana—stop.”
What madness was this? she wondered, eyes frantically searching the darkness. The voice said it was Logan, but the leather mask told her it was the Raven. Dear God! her mind cried wildly. He’d gotten what he wanted. He’d driven her insane!
At that thought, she went limp. Logan edged himself fully onto her bed to lie next to her. “Goddess, listen to me carefully. I’ve come to take you from the castle. We haven’t much time. Mala, Penelope, and Letitia await us. Now, when I remove my hand, you must not scream. If you do, we are doomed.” Slowly his hand moved away, ready to descend again. No sound came forth.
Trapped in her thoughts, Kristiana’s mind raced. “Logan?” she questioned anew.
“Yes, sweet,” he replied.
“But you’re the Raven,” she said, more than a little confused. “No.” Her head shook on her pillow. “It’s not possible.”
His fingers found the leather strings binding his mask. In a few seconds the thing slipped over his head. “We are one and the same.”
In the darkness Kristiana could not fully see his face. “Mala and Richard said the Raven was badly scarred.”
“Touch me and see for yourself.”
Fingers rose to trace his cheeks, his nose, his lips; then they found his thick, rich hair and trailed it to his shoulders. “It is you,” she said on a joyous sob. At first her heart sang, knowing he was alive. Then the remembrance of what had transpired between them over these last weeks swept through her like a great wave; her fury rose. “You have deceived me yet again,” she accused between clenched teeth, fire dancing in her eyes. “You bas—”
Logan’s mouth immediately claimed hers, blotting out the disparagement. With a hunger he could barely control he kissed her soundly. At the hot press of his foraging lips Kristiana’s mind went blank; her anger fled. On a whimper of want her arms encircled his neck, pulling him ever closer. Oh, how she had wanted to hold him again, never to let him go. Magically her dream had come true.
Fire scorched Logan’s veins as Kristiana’s mouth opened fully beneath his. Her tongue darted and teased along his lips; with an agonized groan he drew it into his mouth, where it mated wildly with his own. His hand raked the cover from her nude body and tracked the silken skin along her spine, then slipped forward and found one perfect breast. As he touched it a rush of liquid flowed into his palm.
At the realization of what it was, Logan’s lips tore free of Kristiana’s. They traced down her neck, across a short span, then moved to the mound’s peak. There he suckled like a babe. Lightning exploded deep in her belly, and Kristiana arched back against the bed. Her hand found his and guided it to her secret place. “Love me,” she whispered on a small cry. “Love me like you did before.”
Engorged, Logan’s manhood throbbed unmercifully. His mind shouted: Stop! There’s no time. But as his fingers met her silken folds, her words floating up to him, a silent curse rolled through his head. To hell with time! he thought, knowing this might be all they ever had.
By the feel of her, she was ready. Freeing himself, he slipped between her thighs. “Open to me, sweet. Guide me.” Soft fingers found him, and he was inside, filling her completely.
Smooth leather encountered satin flesh as he leaned fully against her. Hot and desirous, their eager lips met, tongues playing in wild abandon. Sweet tenderness escaped them as fiery passion claimed their souls. They melted together, becoming one. Nothing could separate them now. Never again.
His hand slipped beneath her rounded bottom, lifting her to him. There was no thrust, only a smooth grinding of his hips. In a breath of time rapture rushed through their veins, both crying out in unison. Hearts racing beyond eternity, they spun back to earth, to the here and now.
Amazed by the brevity of their encounter, Logan stared down at Kristiana. It had been so long since they’d lain thus. Starved for each other’s love, they had found ecstasy in seconds. Drained of his strength, he rolled from her. Dear God! he thought, never having felt so satiated in all his life. Would he now be able to face Edward and win? Drawing a deep breath, he gazed at Kristiana. “Sweet, there is no time to linger. Dress yourself. We need be on our way.”
Faced with reality again, Kristiana lay there, a thousand questions spinning through her mind. Her mouth opened, but a finger met her lips.
“There will be time for questions and answers later. Come.” Logan urged her from the bed. “The others await us.”
Her dress donned and fastened, Kristiana slipped into her shoes. Shaking her tumbled hair away from her shoulders, she draped a wool mantle over herself.
His own clothes straightened, his mask tied into place, Logan took Kristiana’s hand. At the door he stopped and pulled her into his arms once again. His lips sought hers in a fiery kiss; Kristiana almost melted at his feet. Then he pulled away. His long fingers found the latch, and he opened the panel. “Let’s go, sweet.” Together they traversed the corridor, silent feet carrying them to the alcove. Once inside, Logan found the lion’s head. Twisting it, the hidden door slid open.
Upon seeing her cousin and the Raven, Letitia stiffened. “What’s this?” she asked shrewishly. “What’s going on? Why am I here?”
To Logan, her voice could have awakened the dead. Pulling Kristiana inside, his hand hit the lever, then he turned on Letitia. “Should you raise your voice again, you’ll not leave this place alive. Do you understand?”
Letitia’s eyes widened. “Your voice—”
“Do you understand?” he asked again, stalking her. Letitia blinked, and she stepped back. In doing so she nearly toppled down the steps. Swift of hand, Logan caught her. “Take charge of your daughter,” he said to Penelope. “Keep her quiet, lest we all die.”
Securing the torch in one hand, he guided Kristiana down the steps; the others followed. At the sound of Letitia’s whine a hard slap e
choed through the passageway. Abruptly the girl fell silent; Logan smiled. “Your cousin is not very quick-witted, is she?” he asked in a whisper, looking over his shoulder at Kristiana.
Glad to see her aunt was at long last taking control of the peevish Letitia, Kristiana whispered in return: “No, she’s not. And I suspect she’ll feel the sting of her mother’s hand several more times before she learns.”
Ducking through the tunnel, Letitia shrieked loudly as a rat scampered across her foot. Another slap sounded, and the group continued onward. Then, at the bottom of the stairs, Logan passed the torch to Kristiana. His hands on the ring, he pulled at the door. The thing opened to reveal the Fox squashed behind the overgrown bush. He nearly fell inside, Logan’s claymore and armor coming with him.
“Thank God! I thought the thing would eat me alive,” he said, rubbing at the scratches on his face. “Ladies,” he said, bowing, “Sebastian Doyle, at yer service.”
“But I thought he was the Fox,” Letitia chimed.
The loud squeal of her voice sent a chill down everyone’s spine. Penelope’s hand met the girl’s face yet a third time. “Are you so slow of wit that you cannot learn to keep your tongue stilled?” her mother asked in a harsh whisper. Her hand covering her cheek, Letitia could only blink. “If you say one more word, daughter, I shall take a knife and remove the offensive thing from your head myself.”
“And I’ll hold you down,” Mala said harshly, “while she does it.”
After his armor was in place Logan took hold of his claymore. “Stand away,” he said. With a wide swing he felled part of the bush. “Douse the torch, Sebastian.”
“Aye, milord.”
“Milord!”
All at once five sets of eyes bored into Letitia; wisely she clamped her jaw shut.
The torch was dunked into the bucket of slimy water set there several weeks back, and one by one the group slid past the hewn bush, out into the open. “Come,” Logan said, taking Kristiana’s hand. “We are headed for those trees.” He nodded toward the copse several hundred feet beyond the base of the hill upon which they stood. The group slowly, silently made the winding descent.
Inside the walls of Muircairn Castle five men led by Edward MacHugh moved furtively along the torch-lit corridor.
“They have not budged, sire,” one whispered, referring to the Raven and the Fox, whom he’d been sent to watch.
His blue eyes narrowed, Edward looked to Richard Black. “Be done with it,” he ordered.
Black nodded. Then, with swords drawn, he and three other men faced the door. “Now!” Black commanded, and two shoulders hit the scarred wood.
At the force the unlocked panel easily gave way. Startled, the men at the fore fell into the small room atop their knees. Already rushing forward, Richard, along with the man at his side, tripped over the pair.
Steel blades struck the stone floor, sparks scattering through the darkness. Standing in the hallway, Edward gritted his teeth and shook his head. So much for secrecy, he thought, angered by the group’s ineptness.
Uttering a curse Richard righted himself; a chair was kicked from his path. Aided by the dim torchlight, his eyes caught sight of the covered forms. With a swift jab his sword first met the center of one bed, then plunged into the other.
Drawing a torch from its holder, Edward stepped over his dazed men and strode to Richard’s side. At his nod Black threw back the cover on one bed. Confusion marked his brow as Richard turned to the other cot; his hand jerked aside the second cover.
“It seems, Richard, you’ve managed to slay a pair of rolled mattresses,” Edward said. He turned toward his men. Having finally picked themselves up from the floor, they now brushed themselves off. “Find your swords. We’ll search the grounds.” Edward leading the way, his men followed.
Once outside, MacHugh called up at the guards along the wall walk. Not a sound came forth. Looking to Richard, he waved him to the battlements. Black, followed by two men, ran the stone steps to the top of the castle wall. Striding toward one motionless guard, Richard pulled him away from crenel where he slumped. The man crumpled at his feet. Moving to the next guard, he discovered the man’s throat was cut, the same as the first. “They’re dead,” he called down to Edward, only to see MacHugh rush the multitude of steps toward him.
Once Edward reached the top he gazed at his fallen men. A curse rolled from his lips. “What treachery is this?” he asked, only to hear a cry from one of his soldiers.
Edward, along with Richard, stepped to the battlement. There, far below the north wall, he saw six shadowy figures—two men and four women—running toward a stand of trees. The Raven, Edward decided, eyeing the man’s silhouette closely. And the one by the brigand’s side was none other than Edward’s own traitorous wife. “Call the men to arms,” he instructed Richard. “It is time we end his life—all their lives!”
As the fleeing group rushed toward the cover of the trees a shout sounded above them. “Hurry,” Logan commanded. They all sped into the copse. A small cart sat among the birches, an old mare at its fore; at once Kristiana recognized it as Alain’s. As the other women were settled into the conveyance Logan led his wife to the stallion tethered to a tree. “Up with you,” he said, his hands spanning her waist. Exerting little effort he placed her on the saddle. Seated behind her, he urged the beast out into the open; the cart followed, Sebastian at the reins.
“Where do we go?” Kristiana asked above the sound of the galloping hooves.
“To that hillside.”
Kristiana’s gaze followed the slant of his head. Her heart twisted in her breast. “But that is where our babe is buried.”
“Hush, sweet,” he replied. “My men await us in the wood on the other side.”
With the stallion at the lead and the cart bumping along not far behind, the group sped across a wide field. As they started up the hill Letitia called out: “They follow!”
This time no one reprimanded the girl, for her words were considered serious. Reining the great horse to a halt, Logan turned the beast to see Edward and at least sixty of his warriors only a few hundred yards behind. “Get the cart to the top,” he ordered Sebastian, slinging Kristiana into its bed.
On a cry she fell between the women. His claymore ready, he lagged behind. Noting he’d done so, Kristiana felt her heart lurch in her breast. No matter what he’d done, no matter what he’d said, she could not lose him again. Dear God! she cried silently. Keep him safe.
As soon as the cart topped the knoll Logan set his heels to the stallion’s flanks. What sounded like a Highland war cry erupted from his throat, its wavering pitch filling the valleys and sweeping the hills. At once the beast beneath him bounded to the crest of the hill. The cart rolled to a halt, and Sebastian leapt from its seat. Stopping at its side, Logan looked to Mala. “Get her into the wood and hide there. Make certain you keep her in the shadows,” he said in Romani. “Should I die, take her and the babe to our king. Once the true story is told, James will see my son is made heir to Muircairn.” He looked to his wife. “Go—follow Mala.”
Green eyes gazed at him through the darkness. “But—”
“Go!” he ordered. Taking one last look at his beloved Kristiana he urged the stallion to the front of the hill, where he stood ready.
As ordered, the women fled toward the trees. While Mala guided her mistress, her hand locked with Kristiana’s, the younger woman gazed over her shoulder. As she viewed Logan, fear for his safety clearly written in her eyes, her foot struck a raised stone; she tripped and fell hard on her belly. Coming to her knees, she studied the object. “Oh, God—Mala,” she whispered, her shaking hand touching the stone. “It is his wee grave.”
“Come,” Mala said, trying to lift Kristiana from the ground, but the younger woman shook her off. “That is not your son’s grave,” she said. “Now rise and let us go.”
“What are you saying?” she asked. “I saw him buried here.”
Mala decided it was time for the truth. No so
oner had she opened her mouth than Letitia let forth a scream. Both Mala and Kristiana looked to the girl, who had been but a few yards from the wood but was now running back toward the cart. A bevy of men—some on foot, some on horseback—had come streaming from the trees. They overtook her, then passed her by. Spinning round and round, Letitia didn’t know where to go.
“Imbecile!” Penelope yelled at her daughter. “They are on our side. Now get back down here to the wood.”
Before anyone could react Edward and his men topped the hill. With a violent cry the two forces clashed. Her hand gripping the stone, Kristiana could do naught but sit there and watch. Eyes searching frantically, she sought Logan, but he was lost in the crush of bodies and the press of horses. Then she was lifted from the ground, and Mala pushed her toward the wood. Once in the trees, Kristiana refused to go any farther. Clinging to the trunk of an oak, she watched the battle atop the hill.
Five of Edward’s men quickly fell under Logan’s skilled claymore. Noting his nemesis held back, he worked his way toward him, weapon swinging as he went.
Having skewered a charging warrior, Sebastian claimed his steed. He sprang atop its back and whirled his great sword above his head. Four combatants were promptly felled, heads toppling to the ground. Spotting Richard Black at MacHugh’s side, Sebastian then set his sights on him.
Swords, poleaxes, spears, and maces collided with steel and flesh alike. Edward’s men fell, as did Logan’s. The hillside was littered with bodies. Death was everywhere. His eyes on Edward, Logan forged forward, fallen men in his wake. Sebastian did the same with Black.
Spotting the Raven headed his way, Edward urged his horse toward him. On this night the legend would die, Edward promised in silence. Then the two met.
The collision of their powerful swords struck great sparks. The unyielding force nearly unseated both men from their mounts. Turning their steeds, they came together again. Blades clashed mightily, neither gaining the advantage. Then Logan’s blade hit hard; Edward quaked under its potency. Fearing the Raven might defeat him, he blocked the descending blade with his shield and thrust his own sword into the opposing steed’s neck.
Deeper Than Roses Page 30
