Chapter Five #2
He had the strangest urge to smile. His lips twitched and he fought to control them.
Her mood could be attributed to her illness or her status as his prisoner, but he knew with worrisome certainty that the woman did not rise easily in the morning.
How he knew that, he knew not. Her farfetched claims could not be believed.
“Ye need to eat,” he said again, prompting another groan.
“Not hungry.”
“If ye dinnae get up and eat, I shall force it down yer throat.”
She jerked upright at this and glared at him. He failed to quash a triumphant smile. He was beginning to understand what drove this woman and a challenge always got a rise from her.
“Ye wouldnae.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Shall we see about that?”
She mimicked him, folding her arms and lifting her nose. “Ye couldnae.”
Jaw tight, he eyed her for several moments. Did he really wish to manhandle her into eating?
“Ye shall ail further if ye dinnae eat.”
“Why should ye care? Ye dinnae know me remember. Ye dinnae even care for me. Leave me be, Logan.”
“So ye can plot yer escape? I think not. Eat or I shall force ye.”
He gestured to the tray of fish, bread and sliced meat.
Anger made his skin hot. How she thought he would believe he loved her once was beyond him.
She was the most aggravating woman he had ever met.
Not that he had met many—or at least he did not remember meeting many.
The women in the keep were docile, obedient creatures.
Some had taken a liking to him and while he occasionally enjoyed their company, he did not find any of them summoned more than indifference.
Unlike this woman. He could not deny her pursed lips and fiery expression held great appeal.
Lorna made a show of clamping her mouth shut and glared at him. He had his doubts that he could physically force the food down her throat but... He smirked to himself. He could humiliate her into eating.
Her eyes widened, big blue pools that struck him in the chest again as he stepped over. He brushed aside any doubt and grabbed her arm. “If ye shallnae eat here, mayhap ye shall do better in company.”
“What?”
She let out a cry of protest as he dragged her to her feet. Grip firm, he tugged her out of the room and onto the balcony.
“Ye cannae do this,” she hissed, trying to pry his fingers from her arm. “Yer hurting me. Logan, let me go.”
“’Tis for yer own good,” he muttered and, undaunted, he dragged her down the stairs and into the busy hall.
Servants and household members alike turned to stare.
Lorna’s cries of protest had silenced and even her struggles ceased.
Her soft flesh giving way under his fingers sent a mild stab of remorse through him, but he shoved the sensation away.
This was for her own good—and his. He did not wish to be known as the man who let this noblewoman die.
Cheeks filled with colour, she sank meekly onto the carved oak chair at the top of the table. He propped himself against the table and motioned to one of the servants to bring some food over. He poured her an ale and pushed it toward her.
Eyes narrow, she wrapped an arm around herself—a feeble attempt to cover her scandalous state—and reached for the goblet. Lorna drained it in several gulps and Logan let a victorious smirk play on his lips.
A young lad brought over a platter of food and an eating knife, which Logan promptly snatched away. He picked up a discarded spoon and handed her that instead.
She eyed the platter as if it were a writhing mass of maggots rather than heavily salted pork and thick, white bread slathered in butter.
“Once ye have eaten, ye may return to yer room.”
“Ye mean for me to sit here—in this state—and eat?” she hissed. “Ye have lost more than yer memory. Ye’ve lost yer honour too.”
He snorted. As far he knew he had none. Did she not realise that he was not a nobleman? He had not been tutored in honour and chivalry. A man like himself had to do what he must to survive. And at the moment, all he needed to do was ensure she lived long enough to face the laird when he returned.
“If ye dinnae like sitting here” —he leaned in and let his gaze travel from the curves of her breasts, down to where the linen pooled in her lap— “I suggest ye eat with haste.”
With a huff, she snatched up the bread and tore a vicious bite from it.
It made him grateful she had not decided to turn her teeth upon him when he had snatched her arm.
Logan observed her movements and tried not to be too pleased at the return of colour into her cheeks.
Mayhap they were still heated from humiliation but he felt certain she had only needed some sustenance and a good sleep to make her well again.
She prodded the pork with her spoon and raised a brow in his direction. “How am I meant to eat this without a knife?”
“Use yer fingers.”
Outrage froze her features and she bunched her hands.
He braced himself for a rash movement, but she surprised him by plucking the meat up and tearing it apart with her fingers before nibbling daintily.
Amusement tickled his insides and he struggled to remain stony faced.
How the lass managed to look elegant while tearing apart meat with her fingers and sitting in a chemise, he knew not.
He had to admit, however, a begrudging sense of admiration had slipped in.
That sort of spirit and drive, he understood.
It was one of the few things he did comprehend.
Having few memories hindered a man in so many ways, every day brought new frustrations, but determination kept him from falling into despair.
When she finished her food, she wiped her fingers primly on a napkin and stood as though she were wearing a fine gown.
Something about her countenance—the proud shoulders, lifted chin, struck him as familiar, but the sensation left as quickly as it came upon him.
Even though she was a small woman, her bearing certainly made her appear stronger and more powerful than she really was.
A weaker man, he suspected, would have crumbled and released her by now.
“If ye dinnae mind, I shall dress now.”
He nodded slowly and motioned to Anne who had been watching wide-eyed from one corner.
She scurried forwards and even took Lorna’s hand.
He noted Lorna seemed to appreciate the touch, and piercing guilt sliced through him.
While she might appear strong and had shown little fear, she no doubt worried about what Gillean would do to her.
The laird was ruthless but would he kill a harmless lass?
Well, almost harmless.
The tightness in his groin as he followed the women up the stairs reminded him of the effect she had on him. Seeing that small bottom nestled against linen as she ascended did nothing to quell an increasing desire for her.
Still, it had to be in Gillean’s best interests to ransom her rather than harm her surely?
He paused outside the entrance to her chamber and rested against the arched stone frame of the door. Grinding his teeth, he considered her as she stopped in front of the wash bowl and turned to peer at him over her shoulder.
“Is it not enough that ye have humiliated me? Do ye wish to watch me wash and dress too?”
He raised a brow. “Apparently I have seen it all already.”
“Ye have,” she answered emphatically. “But that man doesnae stand before me now.”
Anne skipped a puzzled glance between them and stepped forward to leave. “Shall I—”
“Nay, stay,” Lorna commanded as if she was the lady of the keep.
Anne dropped back and Logan suppressed a smile.
“Well?” Lorna asked. “If ye wish for a better view, mayhap ye should come closer.”
She had no idea how tempted he was. The top of a creamy shoulder enticed him, called to him to move near and slip the rest of the linen from her. He already knew there would be a fine figure beneath that chemise. He had seen enough of her these past two days and yet, he wanted more.
“Anne is likely more adept at helping lasses dress and bathe. I fear ye would find me too rough. So, I shall leave ye. Though... I did a fine job when I brought ye up from the donjon, did I not, Anne?”
Lorna gasped. “Ye bathed me?”
“Aye.”
She gaped for a moment before clamping her mouth shut. He spotted one small, clenched fist at her side and she turned completely from him to stare out of the window.
The triumph felt hollow. He had taken most of her dignity from her and yet she still appeared every bit the proud, refined woman. Why did he feel the need to rile her at every turn? Something about her exasperated him.
“Well, I shall leave ye to dress. There will be two guards outside yer door again so dinnae try anything rash. And, pray, no more attempts at burning down the keep. The laird shall not be happy with what ye have done.”
“I have little intention of burning down the keep.” She did not face him but he heard the words were uttered through clenched teeth. “But...” Lorna twisted and eyed him demurely, “I would ask that ye allow me some fresh air. I am still unwell.”
How true was that statement? Was she toying with him again? Her increasingly rosy cheeks and the way she held herself tall contradicted any claims of illness but could she have recovered so quickly? He had seen how sick she had been.
“Nay,” he said sharply. Ill or not, he did not trust her one whit.
“Pray, Logan, I cannae go far. Ye have guards everywhere. What could I possibly do?”
Much, he suspected, but nevertheless a fraction of his stony exterior softened and he sighed.
“She could accompany me to the gardens,” Anne added helpfully, garnering a glare from him.
“Very well, but I shall have a guard come with ye. Try anything,” he warned, “and I shall throw ye back in the donjon.”
Lorna nodded meekly but as he shut the door, he caught a glimmer of victory in her eyes. He groaned inwardly. Hell fire, he had just allowed himself to be manipulated. The sooner the laird returned and dealt with the woman, the better.