To Avenge Her Highland Warrior

by Samantha Holt

  A hand curled around her arm, fairly burning through the linen. She squealed and flailed against Logan’s hold. He spun her so she landed flat against his chest. In the torchlight, his expression grew menacing. The shadows and dip of his brow appeared deeper. Her chest tightened in response and it occurred to her how far removed from the man she had known he was. Were her plans to rescue him and return him home simply folly?

  Lorna jerked away but was no match for his strength. Logan had always been one of the most powerful men she knew, with wide shoulders and thick arms. It seemed even injury had not diminished him.

  “Let me go,” she begged. “Ye cannae keep me here. I am of no use to ye.”

  Behind him, the two guards straightened and grasped their swords. Steel glinted with golden flames.

  The torches. She had no weapons but...

  Wriggling in his hold, she forced Logan to stumble back, and freeing a hand, she swiped a torch from the wall. It fell with a clatter and sputtered before flaring across the light dusting of reeds that she knew always lingered. When this had been her keep, reeds were always traipsed up the stairs from the hall and Gillean’s staff was not so efficient.

  She grinned triumphantly as the flames grew and danced their way across the floor toward the guards. They stomped on the fire but to no avail. The wood had already caught. A cry went up from someone but Lorna could not be sure who. Preoccupied with fighting Logan’s hold, as he too fought to keep hold of her and put out the flames with his boot, smoke quickly filled her lungs and seared her eyes.

  “Damnation.” Logan released her and she slipped away, victory beating in her chest. But it was for nothing. Several men raced up the stairs with buckets of water and blocked her escape.

  Strong hands grabbed her once again and she thought he meant to fling her into the flames for a moment. Instead he pressed her against the wall, shielded her from the encroaching flames and allowed the men with buckets past. It did not take much water to put out the fire that had only scorched the floor and damaged the intricate banisters. Lorna recalled commissioning that woodwork and eyed it sorrowfully as she peered around Logan.

  He kept her pinned until everyone had dispersed and he whipped his head around to glare at the two guards. “Go to the guard room and get some sleep. Ye’ll need it as ye’ll be paying dearly for yer idleness on the morrow.”

  Heads lowered, the men slunk past.

  “I’ll be watching ye tonight, my lady. Dinnae think ye’ll be able to slip past me so easily.”

  She stared up at him, acutely aware of his muscled chest pressing into hers. She did not know what he had been doing in the stairwell but he appeared tired, as though he had been unable to sleep. Did some part of him remember her? Could she dare hope there was still a possibility she could persuade him to come with her?

  With a resigned sigh, she waited for him to move back. Instead of darting away as her instincts screamed at her to, she kept herself pressed against the wall and lifted her head to view him. “Ye couldnae sleep?” she asked.

  He scowled. “I suggest ye return to yer chambers, Lorna, or I shall be forced to manhandle ye once more and whatever ye might think, I dinnae relish being rough with a lass.”

  She lifted her chin. “I willnae go willingly, so ye must manhandle me. But I think ye dinnae want to because ye know ‘tis not in yer nature.”

  “What would ye know of my nature?” he spat, closing the gap again.

  “I know everything. I know ye better than anyone.”

  Logan shook his head and she saw his jaw twitch. A hand sealed itself around her arm, and she was led back into the room. Logan slammed the door shut behind him and flung her onto the bed.

  “Ye know naught and I willnae fall for yer trickery. Ye must think me a fool indeed to fall for such lies.”

  “Ye have always been far from a fool, Logan,” she whispered, lifting herself up and brushing her hair from her face.

  She winced as her muscles protested her movements. No doubt her body was now riddled with bruises from their scuffle, and such behaviour brought back flashes of her husband but she could not reconcile the memory of Walter with the man standing in front of her. This was Logan. He did not harm those weaker than him. He had always been so tender with her. That man had to exist, even if he was buried deep and forgotten.

  Though any remaining energy had deserted her, leaving her body cold and shaky, she got to her feet. She might have little strength, but she still had fight left in her. Disconcertion brushed his expression as she approached.

  “I willnae fall for yer tricks,” he said stiffly when she inched closer.

  Breath held, she reached for his hand and took it. Mayhap curiosity prevented him from doing anything. He did not fight her as she lifted his warm hand to her cheek and pressed her face against his palm. The coarseness sent a well of need and sorrow into her belly and tears pricked her eyes. How many times had she imagined him touching her again? Wishing he had not died? Wishing she had made the most of their time together?

  Now she had the chance to rectify that and she would do all she could in her power to have Logan back in her life—whether he remembered her or not. She owed that much to her son at least.

  He stared down at her and his gaze flicked to her hand. A crease appeared between his brows, as if he could not comprehend the situation.

  “Do ye no’ remember?” she whispered. “Ye loved me, Logan. We made love once. Surely ye must remember that?”

  His brows almost knitted and cautiously he brushed a thumb across her cheek. Lorna fought to keep from closing her eyes and savouring the touch. Her heart throbbed painfully.

  “Ye must remember.” She inched closer until her breasts pressed into his chest, then she coaxed his other hand to grip her waist. “Do ye no’ recall touching me? Loving me?”

  He audibly gulped. In the dim moonlight drifting through the room, his gaze grew intense and... softer? She sucked in a staggered breath and held it—held onto her hope.

  “Ye mean to seduce me?” he said finally, the words shattering the air and bursting that hope.

  “Nay. I mean for ye to know the truth.”

  His lips twitched into a wry smile. “A woman who uses her beauty to overcome her captor? I dinnae think I could trust such a woman to know the meaning of the word truth.”

  “How can ye believe the word of that man and not mine?” Frustration burned her throat. She released his hands but to her dismay, they remained upon her. When she went to pull back, he yanked her into him.

  “If we were lovers,” he said in a low voice, “where were ye when I was cut down? Where were ye while I recovered from my injuries?”

  “I had no choice but to leave. Gillean wanted me dead.”

  “And with good reason, I suspect. Ye are as manipulative as he has said.”

  “Ye shall learn the truth soon enough. Yer memory shall return or all shall become clear and ye will regret yer every action here. Pray, come with me and ye will see I am no’ lying.”

  “And I suppose ye would take me back into yer bed and we shall live happily for the rest of our days.”

  A bubble of anguish threatened to break free. Did he not know how torturous his words were? How she had dreamed of such an end for them? Once, she had been too scared to give herself to him, but now, even with him being the half-man that stood before her, she would do anything to have him back.

  “Aye. We would,” she replied huskily.

  He smirked again. “A tempting proposition indeed.” Slowly, he lowered his head and skimmed his lips over hers.

  Unable to hold back a gasp, she braced herself for more, but he retreated and her stomach grew heavy, as thought weighed by stones.

  “But no’ tempting enough, I’m afraid, my lady. As I said, I willnae fall for yer tricks.”

  She broke away from his hold, unable to believe the mirth in his eyes, the mockery on his lips. Where was the man she had once known? How was it possible for him to change so much?

&nb
sp; But instead of giving into despair, she thrust up her chin. “Ye shallnae break my courage. Ye will see I am right soon enough.”

  Lorna did not know how, but somehow she would make him see. She had survived battles, sieges and an abusive husband. She would survive this too.

  “That sounds like a challenge, Lorna.”

  “Mayhap it is.”

  He grinned but it was a bitter one. “Good. Hold onto yer courage. Ye shall need it.”

  Without allowing her a response, he pivoted away. As he closed the door, he gave her a brief look and a warning. “Dinnae try anything else. Next time ye may not be so lucky to have me rescue ye from the danger of yer own making.”

  Lorna wrapped her arms about herself and sank to the bed. His ominous tone ate into any warmth that kiss had created. Whoever he had become, it appeared he was almost as cold-hearted as the laird himself. She resigned herself to the fact she would find no ally in him.

  But that did not mean she would give up on him. Not yet.

  Chapter Five

  Tèile’s wings nearly gave out when she spotted the dark-haired man by the well. She flew down and floated in front of him for a while. Sure enough, her eyesight had not deceived her. By the stars! She lowered herself to the cold stone and gaped up at him.

  So he was alive. The woodland nymph she had questioned on her journey back to the human world had been right. But he was meant to be dead! The Fae Council had to have known he was still alive, so why did they not tell her?

  Mayhap because they knew she’d return. They were hopeful that after her previous matchmaking successes, they could keep her busy in the land of the fae. And they had.

  She smiled. She’d enjoyed many fun times. Her friends esteemed her as one of the greatest matchmakers of their time now, yet the council still feared her meddling. The Green Faery snorted. As if she’d make a mess of things again. Had she not proved them wrong? Had she not brought about two happy endings and righted all the wrongs she may have created the first time around?

  However, it had always been her intention to return to Lorna and help her. She rubbed a spindly finger over her scalp and watched the man draw up water. It was certainly him. He was a mess, she thought grimly, but there was no doubting it was Logan. They had always been intended for each other, so why had the council not sent her to fix things?

  She had to admit; a lost memory would not be easy to deal with, but had she not already battled many obstacles? Poisoning, arranged marriages, Vikings! Conquering a little memory loss would surely be as easy as persuading a faery to indulge in drink.

  Stretching out her wings, she pondered how to force them together. Using magic was a last resort. She’d already messed with fate before and too much magic threw things out of line. The human world was in such a delicate balance. Unfortunately that meant more hard work for her.

  She’d check on Lorna first. See if there was not some way of forcing her into his arms. A little stumble and she’d have her pressed against him. He couldn’t ignore her then, could he?

  The shutters on Lorna’s window were shut, so Tèile flew past the men scurrying about the bailey. She dodged a man carrying a large barrel and another herding some sheep out of the gate before flitting through the front doors. The faery stilled when she heard the lady’s name mentioned. She lowered herself onto the shoulder of the serving girl, who scowled and nearly swept her from her shoulder.

  Tèile jolted back. Few humans felt her unless she really wanted them too. The lass must have better instinct than others. So Tèile settled for fluttering nearby.

  “Take this up to the lady,” the young woman ordered a serving girl with bright red hair sneaking from her coif. “She’s no’ well and needs food.”

  “Is it true, Anne? She used to be the lady here.”

  Anne nodded. “Aye and married to the laird’s brother. So we should treat her well, even if Logan doesnae think we should.”

  “The laird willnae care about her welfare.”

  “He’ll want her alive. Dinnae fear, Logan willnae want to deny her food.”

  “Ye’d better be right,” the red-haired girl said. “I dinnae want to be shouted at. He scares me.”

  “Ye’d be scary too if ye’d lost yer memory.”

  “I dinnae trust him,” the girl confided and Tèile listened with interest. How Gillean had persuaded Logan he was one of his men, she knew not, and why had no one drawn attention to the fact he used to work for Lorna? “Some say he used to be the enemy.”

  Anne gave her a warning look. “They may, but ye wouldnae wish to be caught gossiping would ye. The laird trusts him and should he get wind of ye tattling, ye’ll be in more than a wee bit o’ trouble.”

  “Surely ye must know something.”

  “I know nothing. ‘Twas before my time here and I’ll no’ lose my job for the sake of a rumour.” She handed her a tray of food. “Now take this to the lady. With haste.”

  Tèile thought of the man outside and the woman trapped in her chamber. She needed to get them together again. Surely if he spent time with her, he’d see the truth? Tèile released a high-pitched whistle and the two scruffy hounds lying in the corner of the hall perked up. She swiftly issued a quiet command, one only the animal would hear, and watched with glee as they made a great show of chasing one another. As they circled the table legs, they knocked into one, sending the table crashing over. Silver platters clattered to the ground and ale sloshed across the floor.

  Anne muttered a curse. “Wretched dogs. Come, we’ll have to get this cleaned up with haste.” She shooed the animals out of the hall, and the serving girl placed the tray of food on the side table to help clear up.

  Tèile released a triumphant grin. Now she had to ensure no one else took the food up.

  ***

  Logan propped the bucket on the side of the well and scooped up a handful of cold water. Splashing his face and neck, he ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced. Not even a loch’s worth of frigid water could wash away his fatigue, nor his frustration.

  A certain fair haired woman had plagued him for what was left of the night. Not that she hadn’t been running through his mind before, but now the feel of her soft cheek and pouted lips was burned into his memory. What had he been thinking?

  He shoved his fingers into his hair again. In truth, he hadn’t. Could there be any fragment of truth in her lies? Surely he would remember loving a woman like that? Or recall touching her? Aye, the feel of her so close had made his skin prick and his blood fire like that of the flames. He had wondered briefly if they had not put it all out. But there had been cunning in her gaze.

  Logan strongly suspected the woman’s veins—unlike his at the moment—ran with ice and it had all been an act.

  Crooking his neck, he finger-combed his damp hair and took a moment to draw in a breath. He supposed he ought to check on her. He’d given up his night-time vigil shortly before dawn and assigned two other men to watch over her.

  Stepping swiftly, he made his way across the muddy bailey and pressed open the heavy oak doors. The familiar sight of the hall, busy with the bustle of servants preparing for the morning meal, released some of the tension in his muscles. Familiarity. It had helped him through the past few months as he began to accept his memory might never return. Now it was up to him to forge a new life for himself and Gillean could help with that.

  And he refused to let Lorna’s manipulations hinder him.

  Intending to visit the armoury to sharpen his blade before he checked on her, Logan paused at the sight of a lone tray on the table, lining the edge of the hall. He scowled and glanced around. Someone had neglected to take the lady’s food to her. He could think of no other reason a tray of food should be left lying around. The prisoner was still frail and he could not see her succumb to illness.

  For strategic reasons only, of course. Why should he care for the scheming woman’s health? But as Anne had pointed out, it would not do to draw unnecessary wrath their way—at least until Gillean
returned and decided what to do with her.

  Blowing out a heavy sigh, he snatched up the tray and traipsed up the stairs. In the light of day, the damage to the wooden banister was unsightly. Blackened wood and the bitter smell of smoke. Logan shook his head. Gillean would not be pleased. Logan was still unable to fathom how that slip of a woman had got the better of three men.

  He paused outside her door and listened for several moments. Nothing. But a prickling sensation warned him to be cautious. For all he knew, she could be waiting behind the door, ready to strike. The tumultuous sensation in his stomach could surely be attributed to that and not to the brief kiss they had shared.

  Logan opened the door gingerly and stepped into the gloomy room. The air left his lungs when he found her sprawled across the red blankets, a vision of white linen and golden hair. Her curls had come loose from the braid it had been in the previous night, and they spilled down the side of the bed. On her front, one arm hanging off the edge, he had a good view of the curve of her bottom pressing against the thin fabric and she had one leg lifted at an angle. The effect was strangely endearing and far too appealing. There was too much soft, pale flesh on view. With her face relaxed and scattered with strands of hair, the innocence of her appearance made his heart flex.

  He shook his head. This was no innocent. A seductress, aye. A cunning, clever woman, certainly. Innocent? Nay.

  Striding over to the window, he placed the tray down noisily and flung open the windows. A groan echoed against the stone and cold air drifted into the room, washing away the heat gathering inside of him. He took a moment to draw a long breath before facing her again.

  Lorna shoved her hair out of her face and peered at him blearily. It seemed to take a while for her to remember him or at least recollect where she was. Now he had a better view of her face, he saw shadows under her eyes and that ghostly cast to her skin remained. The woman was still not well.

  “I brought ye some food,” he said gruffly.