Chapter Nine
Rain pummelled the shutters, a deafening cacophony, as Logan led her into her chamber. The clouds had finally broken. A single candle remained lit, the rest likely blown out by the wind that blustered through the window coverings.
“Ye shouldnae aggravate the laird,” he warned.
Lorna rounded on him with a derisive snort. “I dinnae need to aggravate him. He does a fine job himself.”
He pushed the door shut with his foot and closed the gap between them.
Why did she insist on making her position more dangerous than it already was?
“If ye simply behaved yerself, ye would surely be ransomed off and ye could return home to yer family. But with ye behaving as such, ye’ll be lucky if he doesnae—”
“Kill me?”
He tightened his jaw. He did not want it to come to that—could not comprehend the courageous woman’s death—but he had seen the fury in Gillean’s eyes.
“Aye.”
“He shall ask for my death soon enough, when he discerns my reason for coming...” She paused and shut her mouth.
“To kill him ye mean?”
Shoulders straight, she eyed him coolly. “Aye.”
“Why would ye try such madness?” he asked, frustration making his voice more gravelly than usual—if that was possible. Why could she not have stayed in her fine castle, surrounded by fine folk, and away from danger?
“I had to avenge...” Her voice fragmented and she dropped her gaze, before lifting it. Whatever emotion had broken her voice had vanished. “He stole my dowry, tried to kill me and my family. I thought he had killed ye.”
Logan failed to hide a smirk, yet disbelief made his brows rise. “Ye wished for vengeance?”
This petite, pale woman sought revenge like some bold warrior? Though he had to admit, every part of her bearing, from her proud stance to her steady gaze made her seem more a warrior than some of the young lads under his command.
“I wished for many things, but it looks likely none of those wishes shall transpire.”
“Yer a damn fool,” he whispered and inched closer. Some invisible force drew him in. It even felt as though she not only pulled him to her but something or someone was coaxing him from behind.
Her eyes flashed. “I dinnae see how having the courage to take action is foolish.”
“A damn fool,” he muttered again, ignoring her words and seeing how she tilted her face up to his.
He skimmed his gaze across her lips, pale and pink and tight with annoyance. Hot impatience burned through him and he clasped a hand around the back of her neck to pull her into a fierce kiss. Lorna gasped and shoved him back, but her strength was no match for his.
“Cease!”
He jerked back at the feel of something jabbing his chest. Astonished, he peered down at the small eating knife pressed against his upper chest. Then he noted her panting breaths and parted lips, the colour in her cheeks and the way her eyes had darkened.
This time amusement tugged his lips into a lopsided grin.
He gripped the handle of the blade and flattened his hips to her so the point of the blade just pricked through his garments.
“Shall ye kill me, Lorna? Is that what ye wish?
A flash of lightning lit the room briefly. It was long enough to highlight her overly pale skin and wide eyes. Logan noted the shudder that wracked her. She swung her gaze between him and the blade.
“I couldnae think of a better way to go,” he prompted.
Her chin wobbled, her composure fell. He thought he heard it shatter to the ground but he realised it was the knife.
Logan stared at her, frustrated at his inability to tire of such an act.
It did not matter how many times he eyed the curve of her cheeks or the pale lashes, or the sweet figure.
She plagued his every waking hour. In truth, she plagued his dreams too.
A rumble rolled over the castle. He flexed a hand. She remained frozen. Another flash and he saw her jump. His feet twitched. “The storm scares ye.”
“Nay,” she whispered but the tremble to her voice gave away her lie. She backed away.
“I scare ye?”
“Nay.” This time the word came clearly and it gratified him.
Logan clenched his jaw and the roar of the storm sounded closer.
He had to leave yet his feet refused to move.
Why stay? Why torture himself further? His heart pounded against his chest. In the next flash, he was close once more.
Within touching distance. He saw her features more clearly now.
The distress in her eyes, the golden strands of hair curling around her pointed chin.
The fan of her lashes lowered and lifted in one slow sweep until her gaze locked onto his.
“Logan,” she whispered, voice tremulous, but he did not know if that was a plea for him to leave or come closer.
“Logan,” she tried again.
The shaky quality of her voice pulled at his gut. His gaze traced the curl that flowed over one shoulder and down, caressing her gentle curves like a lover—like he once had apparently. His palms tingled with the need to feel the soft give of her flesh beneath him.
The next flash highlighted her trembling form. The fragile hollow of her neck fluttered with her pulse and his mouth grew dry with the need to press his lips to it.
Damn her. Like a siren, she lured him in.
He almost backed away. How long they had been standing like that he knew not. It may have been moments—a mere few flashes of lightening—but the thickening of the air between them seemed to slow time.
The tremble of her lips gripped his heart, squeezed it hard and painfully. An aggravating need to take care of her ate into him, softened him to her.
Logan closed the gap. The next rumble lined up with him gripping her upper arms and pushing her back against the wall.
She gasped, the sound clear to him even as the skies crashed about them.
Hot anger mingled with need. It burned through him and set his nerve endings alight.
How dare she have such a hold over him, how dare she make him want her?
Soft, delicate breasts pressed against him.
Slim thighs quaked against his. With a hiss of breath, he lowered his mouth to hers as she stared up at him.
Before his lips met hers, her eyes flashed with a plea, but was she begging him to kiss her or leave her be?
He couldn’t decide what he wanted either, but she left him with little choice.
The first touch made him wonder if he had not indeed been struck by lightning.
Frissons shot through him, curled into his blood and fired his fury and lust. Lorna released a tiny sound and he pressed his lips hard to hers this time.
She whimpered. Her lips felt hot beneath his. Her taste threatened to drown him.
Satisfaction settled in his gut when she arched into him.
He kept hold of her arms, allowing little movement but that up thrust of breasts and hips into him made him hiss and press harder.
He coaxed her lips apart, and she gasped when he invaded the heated recesses of her mouth.
Logan kissed her deeply, with little apology. He needed this, needed her.
The realisation made him soften his grip, and he released her arms to thrust his hands into her hair. Desperate noises came from her, fused with tiny sobs. Each sound burrowed deep into his heart. Her tongue met his. A painful ache made him thrust against her in a bid to relieve it.
Grip strong in her hair, he used his other hand to trail impatiently down her side.
He bunched up her skirts, dragging them up bit by bit until the smooth skin of her thigh met his fingertips.
He groaned and shifted his lips to her ear.
Sealing his teeth around her lobe, she shuddered and he used her weakness to his advantage, bringing his fingers up between her legs.
Damp heat and supple flesh greeted him. If he was not so consumed with kissing every part of her neck, he might have smirked. She wanted him as badly. He wasted no time in plunging his fingers into her. She stiffened and tilted her head back on a cry.
Logan used the opportunity to continue his attentions to her neck, kissing along the creamy column while working his fingers in and out of her.
Nails scrabbled across his back, fingers tugged his hair.
The painful pulls and scrapes could not eat through the fog of desire consuming him.
He pressed harder, deeper, and drew back, needing to see her pleasure as it broke through the storm.
The quake of her thighs told him she was close and he supported her head to watch it roll through her, like the rumble of thunder.
Her body tightened and it seemed to last an interminable amount of time, but he treasured every moment.
When she sagged, her forehead flopping forward to his chest, he withdrew his fingers and adjusted her skirts.
The ache in his groin had not receded but somewhere in that powerful climax, he’d lost his need to bed her.
Mayhap because it would be a selfish act, though he could not deny he found much pleasure in watching her.
He scowled at himself. This woman drew him far deeper than he thought possible. Had it all been another manipulation?
Lorna lifted her head slowly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed. A crack and a flash of lightening shattered the satisfied haze and she squeaked and clutched his arms. He swallowed. This was no act. When had the lass ever revealed fear? She was more likely to want to conceal it.
Logan drew her back from the wall and eased her into his hold. If he listened closely, he suspected he’d hear the crack of his heart as she destroyed another fragment of all his beliefs. With such a connection, could any of what she told him be true?
“Why do ye no’ like storms? They cannae harm ye.”
“I am no’ afeared.”
He chuckled but let the lie slip. Drawing in a heavy breath, he resigned himself to comforting the woman until the storm passed. If Gillean asked, he would simply say he had been interrogating her.
He said nothing more. While the storm whirled around them, he stroked her hair and the silk of her gown.
The expensive fabric reminded him of the divide between them.
How could he believe he had ever made love to such a woman?
Did he not know well of his rank as a lowly peasant? And even she had confirmed that much.
The lass’s breaths slowed and against his chest, her racing heart eased to a steady thump.
She flinched whenever lightning lit the room but she trembled no more.
The tempest inside him would not be as easily quelled.
Staring over her head at a gap in the shutters, he drew in a breath and resolved not to touch her again after this.
He could ill afford to let her get in the way of his plans.