She dug her heels into his rear and moved against him. His earlier attentions had left her coiled with need and each slide of him inside her increased the friction until nonsensical sounds slipped from her mouth. He kissed her urgently, clumsily and she felt the strain of his muscles. Lorna closed her eyes and concentrated on the pleasure each thrust brought.
Their movements grew erratic and the tightening inside increased. His beard scuffed her cheek as he gripped her tighter to him. She muffled a cry against his shoulder and a great shudder wracked her. The skies above appeared to explode in a scatter of stars, and pulsations rolled through her, over and over.
Sagging in his embrace, Lorna attempted to gather her breath but his desperate movements gave her little chance to relax. She found herself spellbound as she drew back to meet his gaze.
He locked his gaze on hers. His expression crumpled. Vulnerability flew across his face, the cords in his neck stood out, and every part of his powerful body shuddered. She closed her eyes briefly and relished the moment she made this strong warrior fall apart.
“I love ye,” she whispered against his chest when he bundled her into him.
He didn’t respond. She didn’t expect him to. But the kiss to the top of her head was enough for her. Lorna smiled against the rough material of his shirt. The great weight on her shoulders lifted. She was no longer afraid.
Chapter Eighteen
Had it been any other morning, waking up with a golden-haired lass snuggled into Logan’s side would have filled him with joy. It still did, he supposed. He gazed down at her, noting the way her freckled nose squashed against his chest and her arm curved around his waist. But even the beautiful scene she created did not subdue the heavy weight of dread that made his mouth dry and his pulse quicken as soon as he awoke.
He had so much to lose now.
Logan winced as he tried to flex his tingling arm and withdraw it from underneath Lorna without disturbing her. She murmured and tossed, flinging an arm across her face. In spite of himself, a smile tugged at his lips. The lass did not do mornings well. Who knew such a sight could soften his hard heart? Yet it did. Everything about her did. Mayhap he even...
Ach, but his head was still a muddle. His body knew what it wanted. Her. Every instinct told him this was the woman for him. He had a family now and he needed to be by her side more than anything, but a small part of him still held back. The black cloud haunting his mind refused to abate and he suspected it never would. In truth, it terrified him.
Sliding out of bed, he tiptoed over to the crib nearby. Ewan slept on, both arms raised above his head, his fists curled. Logan brushed a finger over his jaw. The babe only woke once during the night and from his limited experience of children, he thought Ewan had to be the most placid babe in all of Scotland. A testament to his mother—though with her fiery nature and his temper, it was a miracle they had been blessed with such a child. But mayhap he used to be calmer. He just didn’t know.
He risked touching a tiny curled fist and glanced over at the bed when Lorna released a muffled snore. It was not a bellowing snore like that of the men from the keep but a wee noise that yanked his bruised heart and drew him to her. He stood over her for several moments, watched the inhalation of each breath and the way her delicate body moved against the cotton of her shift. He did not know everything yet. Could not even be sure how he felt about everything he had learned. He had gained a family, friends and a new home within a matter of days. But he knew one thing.
He would fight to the death to protect them. To protect her.
He only prayed it did not come to that.
A crashing noise made him jerk his head up and Lorna bolted up to sitting. She shoved her curls away from her face and peered at him blearily. “What is it?”
“I dinnae know.”
She blinked and took in his naked state. A sultry smile curved her lips and he saw her gaze land on his arousal. Another crash and they both jolted. He snatched his plaid from the floor and fisted it around his waist before striding over to the shutters and pushing them open. Peering out, he saw the men crowding the hills around the castle. The army had drawn close and were preparing for battle. Far back, he noted the large tent that no doubt housed the laird. He dug his fingers into the stone ledge and imagined it was Gillean’s neck instead.
“Has it started?”
Logan turned, tempted to say nay. Nay, all would be well. Nay, they would never break through and slaughter them. Nay, he would not die protecting them this day. But he could not. As he fumbled for some reassuring words, something zipped by him and the wooden door made a cracking sound. He peered at the arrow for several moments as it bounced in position, embedded in the oak, before slamming the shutters and motioning for Lorna to get up.
“Get to the centre of the keep,” he barked.
Ewan chose this moment to let up a wail, and Lorna tumbled out of bed to grab the child.
Logan thrust his shirt over his head and punched his arms through the sleeves, then grabbed her gown. Somehow they juggled the child and her gown between them and got her dressed. He made a terrible lady-in-waiting, but she did not need to look presentable for this day. All that mattered was she stayed safe. He pressed her out of the room and slammed the door to see Morgann and Finn striding toward him down the dim corridor.
“It’s started,” Morgann confirmed before Logan had a chance to say anything. He looked to Lorna who was trying to shush Ewan as he clutched at his màthair’s clothing and screamed until his face was red. “The rest of the women are in the solar with my father. I suggest ye join them. ‘Tis the safest place in the keep.”
She nodded, her lips tight, and he saw she was holding back tears. He’d seen that expression several times during her confinement at Kilcree—that proud strength that made her lift her chin and eye the men boldly. Admiration made his heart stretch. The lass was more a warrior than many men he had met during his time as chieftain to Gillean.
He tugged her into him and pressed all too brief kisses to her lips and to Ewan’s head before releasing her. “Go now,” he ordered softly.
She nodded, gave him a lingering look and hurried away to the chamber above. His heart pounded with every tiny footstep until he could hear them no longer. He turned his attention back to the two men.
“Archers are on the roof,” Morgann continued. “We need to hold them off as long as we can. If they look to be breaking through, we’ll go out and meet them. I dinnae wish to do battle in the confines of the keep.”
“Nor I,” Finn confirmed with a severe nod. “Nor do I want the enemy near the womenfolk. Gillean tried to kill us all once. I wouldnae expect any mercy from him, not even toward a lass carrying a babe.”
Logan saw the concern etched into Finn’s face, the fear that haunted his eyes. They were all strong men and from what little he knew of these two, fierce warriors, but the women they fought for had the ability to bring them all to their knees. Mayhap that would give them the edge. They fought for more than land or power. They fought for their families.
“How badly are we outnumbered?” Logan asked.
The dark-haired man plunged a hand through the strands. “Three to one, I suspect. He has many unskilled men, however. We have some fine fighters from the villages.”
The grim line of Morgann’s mouth belied the hope behind his words. Many of their men were simply part-time warriors. Called upon to fight when needed. Only the castle’s men-at-arms trained daily to battle in such circumstances. Should they need to do battle, they could be walking into a massacre.
Finn grinned and slapped a hand to Logan’s back. “Let us get some food before we fight. Ye never did fight well on an empty stomach.”
Logan felt a grin tug his lips in response. His stomach grumbled, affirming Finn’s declaration. He followed them down to the Great Hall and noted the heavily armed men at every corner. The hall was not as grand as that of Kilcree. The tapestries were well looked after but the woodwork was rustic and the furniture
simple. It appealed to Logan, somehow. He had no need to be seated on carved chairs or to dine by huge candelabras.
After a visit to the garderobes, they sat and ate quickly, shoving down large chunks of bread and sliced pork, before draining a cup of ale each. Morgann stood and motioned for Logan to follow him to the recess at one side of the keep. They ducked into the armoury, lit only by a few tallow candles. The tang of metal and oil hung heavily in the air and Logan filled his lungs with it. Here, surrounded by steel, a sense of familiarity washed over him. He didn’t believe it was the room itself, but the notion of being on the right side for once. This was where he belonged. Fighting for his family and friends.
Morgann lifted his blade and gave a few swings. Logan nodded. “A fine weapon.”
“Aye, ‘twill see me right.”
Logan fixed his gaze on Morgann. “I didnae wish to ask in front of Lorna but should the enemy break through, do ye have any way of the lasses escaping?”
Morgann shook his head grimly. “This keep was designed a hundred year ago. ‘Tis no’ a fancy castle. The defences are minimal. We’ve always fought our battles out on the hills, never in front of the walls. ‘Twas no’ designed to withstand a siege.”
“Aye, I thought as much.” He slipped his own blade into his belt and patted the pommel. “Gillean doesnae fight like other men. But there we have the advantage. I know his plans and how he fights.”
“And how does he fight?”
“He’ll use his weakest fighters first.”
“He’ll send them to slaughter.”
“Aye, but he doesnae care.”
Morgann shook his head in disgust. Logan understood that disgust now. Before, he’d understood the logic behind the laird’s plans. Why use up your finest resources early in battle? But he also understood now that the weaker men—the ones sent up for slaughter—would not fight hard or with passion, unlike the clansmen who were fighting for more than a laird’s greed.
“He’ll send the Norse in last. Likely once he has broken through,” Logan continued.
“They are strong fighters.”
“Aye, but the longer we hold them off, the longer they’ll be fatigued.”
“As will we.”
Logan let loose a grin. “We have a fine keep to rest in. They dinnae. I think we should do all we can to make their stay as uncomfortable as possible.”
Teeth flashed and a wicked glint entered Morgann’s eyes. “That sounds like a fine idea indeed. What did ye have in mind?”
***
Tèile listened in on their plans. She liked the way they thought. Rubbing her hands together, she saw how she could take a role in this battle. To use much magic was too risky, but so too was this battle. She greatly feared all her work would be for nothing. But creating some disruption would be easy enough. By the stars, the greedy laird deserved no less.
She took the opportunity to fly out of the armoury and high above the keep. They were indeed outnumbered by a vast amount. Scores of men dotted the hills, and Tèile had to fly high to avoid the arrows zinging around the castle. She had seen battle before and knew this was only the start. While most of the arrows pinged harmlessly off the stone or landed futilely by the enemies’ feet, soon they’d turn their attention to gaining access to the keep—by any means necessary. She had seen whole castles burned to the ground in her time in the human realm.
Once past the archers, she glided down to the scattered tents. Warm vegetables scented the air, and she followed that scent to the large pot of boiling broth. A man diligently stirred it and messily ladled some into proffered bowls when soldiers approached. Tèile hovered for a moment, tilting her head in contemplation. Men could not fight on empty stomachs Finn had said.
She dropped to the ground. The long grass nearly swallowed her, but it shielded her enough from the heat of the fire beneath the pot. Hands held out, she focused on the fire. It would take a minor amount of magic, but not enough to cause any long-term damage to the fabric of fate. She grinned. Fire was a favourite tool of hers. So beautiful, yet dangerous.
The flames grew, marginally at first so the man did not notice, but soon the heat made her skin prick. She stepped back as they continued to rise. The cook let out an exclamation and jumped back when flames licked the side of the pot and engulfed it. Startled onlookers shouted and gaped. Tèile urged the flames higher still until the pot was barely visible. A few men tried to beat at it with their plaids and blankets, but they failed to douse the flames. Only when a hulking Viking stormed over and threw a pot of... something over the fire, did it fizzle out.
Tèile fluttered back. She’d have grinned if it hadn’t been for the pungent smell drifting from the charred wood. When she rose above the pot, she saw that plenty of the broth had boiled away but best of all, the Norseman had thrown the contents of a chamber pot over the meal. She chuckled to herself as the other men took note and a fight broke out. Mayhap she had not foreseen that, but her plot could not have gone any better. Now there would be no morning meal for them.
Moving away from the stench, she took the time to survey the encampment... what else could she do to weaken the enemy?
***
The sound of arrows skittering across the stone made Lorna wince. She glanced at her friends and saw their pale faces, riddled with just as much concern. Catriona appeared particularly ashen, but having once been nearly ravished and killed by a Norseman, she understood why. None of them would say it, but they all feared what would happen should they succeed in breaking through.
She stood and peered through the gap in the shutters, shushing Ewan as he wriggled and stretched in her arms. Her body ached all over from having been confined in the solar with nothing to do but pace and hold the babe. Ewan wanted the comfort of his bed, as did she.
Outside, only the spatter of golden torches was visible, reminding her of Gillean’s presence outside their walls. The men had spent much of the day planning and readying the keep for battle. The fight may have started but this constant shower of arrows was a mere prelude. On the morrow she knew the stakes would be raised.
As did they all if the heavy breaths and anxious twisting hands were anything to go by. The old laird sat in bed now, unable to stay awake any longer, and a long snore sounded from him as his head slipped to the side. Alana came to her feet and moved the old man into a more comfortable position. The snoring ceased and Lorna offered her a grateful smile.
She was fond of the laird, but he would do no good should the enemy enter the castle. Years of illness had drained him and though he was quick-witted, his physical strength had been sapped and would likely never return. It would be up to them, should anyone enter the solar, to fend off the enemy—a heavily pregnant woman, a feisty, yet delicate lass and herself, a short woman with a babe in her arm. She didn’t doubt she could do some damage if needed but to fight off a whole army?
Lorna was about to sit again when the men stomped into the room. Having not seen Logan since midday, she immediately went to his side and he wrapped her into an embrace. She inhaled the musky scent of him. He needed to bathe, but the scent only comforted her right now. With her nose tucked against his firm body, the sense of helplessness that had followed her about all day trickled away.
“How goes it?”
“We’ve been fighting them with fire. We’ve caused some damage I think,” he said against her hair as he held her tight. Almost like he did not wish to let her go.
“The archers can fire that far?”
“Only a few. We’ve scorched some tents and made their accommodations less comfortable. There appeared to be a great blaze this morning though it looked to be an accident. Either way, we will have wearied them greatly.”
“And yerselves.” She drew away to look at her cousin and brother who had taken the opportunity to see to their wives.
“We have a strong stone keep to sleep in.” He cupped Ewan’s head in a large palm, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “And fine women for company. We are waging war
on their minds,” he explained. “They shall be demoralised and weary on the morrow. Their greater numbers will mean nothing.”
His confidence almost defeated the tension coiling her belly tight, but not quite. However, his sure expression and the way he spoke—so steadily and with such conviction—made her smile. She remembered this man. He had caught her attention the first time she met him, even though she was but a young married lass. For a peasant boy, he had carried himself so well, with such assurance, that she had known then he was meant for more. Upon the death of her husband, she had raised him through the ranks to be her most trusted man. She’d never regretted it.
The rest of the evening was spent huddled in the solar, eating a simple meal of bread and fruit. They had already begun rationing their food supplies but it was pointless. Lorna doubted the castle would hold out long enough for them to run short. Still, she understood they had to be cautious.
Catriona tugged Lorna aside before they settled on pallets on the floor for the night. “Put the babe in the coffer.” She motioned to the large chest at the end of the bed.
Lorna tried not to laugh. “I cannae put him in there!”
“Ye’ve been holding him all day and ye must be weary. Take off the lid and ‘twill be no smaller than his crib. There’s many blankets in there. He’ll be far warmer and more comfortable than on the floor with ye.”
Lorna sighed. Her arms did ache, but part of her was reluctant to release him. She’d spent long enough away from him already. She very nearly hadn’t returned to him. Catriona removed the lid and put it to one side before fussing with the blankets.
“See? He’ll sleep better and Lord knows, ye need yer rest.”
Nodding wearily, she lowered Ewan into the oak chest and conceded it really was no different to his crib and far more comfortable-looking than the straw pallets on the floor. Finn shoved one over to her so she could settle next to the babe, and Logan joined her.
When all were settled, Morgann snuffed out the candles and they were plunged into darkness. Even the clatter of arrows had ceased and only faint whispers and the whistle of wind through the shutters accompanied them. Logan slid close and wrapped her into the cradle of his arms, her bottom nestled against his thighs. The pounding of her pulse became the reigning sound as she absorbed the heat and strength of him. He swept aside her hair and kissed the back of her neck. Much like the previous night. And much like the previous night, tingles raced through her and their memory of the decadent, daring lovemaking seared her mind.
To Avenge Her Highland Warrior Page 16
