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.
The desire to move away and admire her was strong but he had been needing her for so long, he
feared it would be the end of him, so he remained on top of her as they fought to remove the rest of his garments. Once they were both naked, he grasped her face and kissed her until she squirmed beneath him. Her nails raked his back and buttocks and her kisses were greedy.
When he reached down between them to pleasure her, he found her wet and wanting. She shook her head. “Just take me, Logan. It has been too long.”
Powerless to do anything but comply, he used his hand to spread her legs and eased himself fully on top of her, palms on either side of her head. For several breaths, they stared at one another. Her heart throbbed against his chest and he swallowed heavily. Then taking her mouth, he took her body too.
Logan swallowed her cry as he plunged into her. Nails dug into his skin, the sting a reminder of the strength of this woman. More sounds emanated from her when he rocked into her tight heat. The world became a blur of colours, and he closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of her body around him. Flashes of something struck him—a feeling so powerful he might have reeled back if she had not been clasping him so tightly. Though he could not force his mind to concentrate, his body seemed to remember her. When she clasped her legs around his hips, he used a hand to cup her rear and pound mindlessly into her. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he had done this before, but the fog refused to clear, so he concentrated on new memories. He opened his eyes and watched her expression change with each thrust.
“Oh God,” she cried out as he pressed furiously into her.
Her gaze locked onto his and it hit him again, like waves crashing against rocks—the sensation that he knew this woman better than he knew himself. Unable to take any more, he burrowed his head into the crook of her neck and moved inside her until sweat pricked on his spine and blistering pleasure burned through his body.
She convulsed, once, twice, several more times and shattered around him. Teeth gritted, he followed her, urged on by her small cries and panting breaths. Her hands smoothed up and down his back when he spilled into her. Mayhap he had once experienced the very same sensation but, for now, he swore nothing had ever felt like that. His climax seared him, branded him, ate into his soul and told him he’d never find a woman like this ever again. It seeped into his mind and wound her around his heart. He could not be sure it was love, but he strongly suspected she was right—that he had once loved her and his body remembered as much.
Logan sagged to one side, and wrapped an arm around her. Fumbling for his plaid, he draped it over her nude body and skimmed a finger down her profile. She rolled over to face him, and he admired the way her skin glistened and her hair had tangled around her head. She looked like a wild little nymph now.
He felt as if he’d been waiting for an eternity for her but he still did not comprehend his own feelings. Words begged to tumble from his mouth yet jammed on his tongue. How could he confess love when he knew so little of her and even less of himself?
She gave him a gentle smile of understanding and leaned up to kiss his forehead. “Come, we must make haste. We are on the verge of war and yer son awaits.”
He nodded, apprehension snarling in his gut. Could he be a good father? A good... husband? Would she take him—a lowly peasant and a man with no memory? His planned future had vanished before him, mired in a web of lies and confusion and now he was at her mercy.
Nevertheless, he could not help but grin and kiss her firmly. If he had to have his future in anyone’s hands, he was grateful it was hers.
***
The proud jut of Glencolum castle above the hills made Lorna smile. She gripped Logan’s hand, aware of the tension in his body. Things were not yet settled. She still could not be quite sure who this man was but when he had made love to her, he looked at her like Logan had in the past. That, and the threat of war, sent coils of nervousness into her belly, but the knowledge her son was behind those thick, grey walls almost washed them away. They climbed the slope to the keep and found several men patrolling the castle. One caught sight of her and he dashed back into the building.
With her hand firmly clasped in Logan’s, she paused and drew in a breath as she eyed the tall mass of the castle and her gaze fell on the window of her chambers. Many months she had sat in that room and cried for Logan and then for the father her son would never know. But now Ewan had his father back. She glanced at the dark-haired man beside her, his features grim and wary, and wondered what it must be like to not know who you were.
Two women dashed down the short steps leading from the entrance door and she heard their exclamations as they hurried toward her. Alana, her cousin’s wife was the first to embrace her. The petite woman with her fiery golden hair and a lively manner did not surprise her but the warmth of Catriona, her brother’s wife, did. They had been close but both struggled with physical affection after what men had inflicted upon them. The elegant raven-haired woman only revealed her tender side with her husband.
“Where have ye been?” Alana queried, her voice breathless.
Catriona’s pale skin had grown ashen when her gaze fell on Logan. Alana had never met him, but Catriona knew him well. Lorna took Logan’s hand again and pulled him to her side.
“Logan wasnae killed,” she said quietly. “Nearly, but not quite. But he doesnae remember anything, Catriona.”
She blinked and her mouth opened and shut. “Naught? Not the battle or...”
“Naught,” he confirmed gruffly.
“Yer Logan?” Alana asked, eyebrows raised. “Oh my.”
Knowing they could spend forever trying to explain and make the women understand, Lorna waved a hand. “Where are my brother and my cousin? I must speak with them with haste.”
“They have gone to the villages,” Catriona told her. “To raise an army. They intended to break down the walls of Kilcree and rescue ye.”
“How did ye know I was there?”
“It took us some time to figure it out. We have been scouring the hills in search of ye. We thought ye dead. Ye didnae even tell yer nursemaid why ye left Ewan with her,” Alana exclaimed.
At the mention of her son, she felt Logan’s hand tighten around hers.
“He has missed his màthair.”
“I have missed him,” she said, her throat constricting. For a while, she had thought she might never see her babe again yet here she was with his father in tow.
“Come,” Catriona said, with her usual practicality, “ye must be wearied.”
They followed her in and both women retreated to allow them to traipse up the spiral stairs to the chamber. She stopped outside the door and gave Logan a smile before pushing it open.
The nursemaid sat in one corner and her eyes widened when she saw Lorna. “My lady, I heard shouts but I didnae realise ye’d returned!” Effie stood and hastened over to pat her arm affectionately. “I am mighty glad yer safe. Ewan has been missing his màthair.”
“And I have been missing him. Effie, this is Logan.”
Effie’s eyes grew even wider in the shadows of the room. Everyone in the keep knew of her grief over the loss of Logan. No doubt the news of his miraculous return would spread through the castle like wildfire.
The older woman dipped. “I shall leave ye be then. Ewan is sleeping.” She motioned with her head to the crib before offering another dip and leaving them.
Logan shut the door gently behind the maid and lingered by the door, his mouth stretched into a grim line of tension. Lorna lifted the babe out of the crib, grinning as he stretched his chubby arms and settled against her chest. She lifted his head to her mouth, inhaled his beautiful scent and brushed her lips over his dark, downy hair. When she raised her tear-filled gaze to Logan, she saw him swallow. His gaze was stormy, almost unreadable. Thick tension cloyed the air.
Sucking in a breath, she carried Ewan over. She tried not to smile when he shrank back against the door. This big bold warrior scared by a babe. But she had to feel sympathy for him. His whole world had been turned upside down and now he had friends and a child he knew nothing of.
But would he accept her and her son as his family? And did she want that? Logan would never be the same man he was, but was there enough of him left for her to love?
“Put yer arms out,” she said softly and he immediately obeyed. Lorna eased the babe into his hold and helped Logan position him in the crook. “Support his head.”
The stiffness eased from his posture as he gazed at the babe. “He’s still sleeping,” he said, surprise tingeing his voice.
“Aye, he loves his sleep, he does. He must trust ye.”
Logan gulped audibly and their gazes connected. She saw it then. The soft cast to his eyes that reminded her of the old Logan. He was in there, buried and confused, but this man was still the man she had once called a friend and lover.
Ewan wriggled and stretched again, his dark eyes coming open. Alarm flittered across Logan’s face. “What do I—?”
“Shhh, he’ll be fine. Just rock him gently.”
Logan moved awkwardly yet the babe settled again, and a hesitant smile came across Logan’s face. He lifted him, mimicking Lorna, and kissed his head. She noted the mist in his eyes before he blinked it away.
“I-I thought I wanted things—land, riches... but now they dinnae seem important.”
“What do ye want now?” she inched closer, trepidation tangling her windpipe.
“I think I want ye, Lorna. And Ewan.” He nodded. “A family.”
Unable to hold back the tears that slipped down her face, she slid into his embrace, Ewan held between them, and buried her face against his chest. “Ye have one,” she whispered.
Chapter Seventeen
The darkness still came. He still jerked awake. But it eased rapidly when Logan turned to see Lorna sprawled on her front next to him. Her nose was pressed against the pillow, her hair splayed out around her. Those tiny noises she made forced a grin across his face and the shadows crowding his mind vanished. He peeked over at the crib and then at the light beginning to slip through the shutters. Ewan hadn’t awoken yet. Surprising, as the babe liked to wake them well before dawn.
To Avenge Her Highland Warrior Page 14
