Chapter Eleven #2
She lifted a shoulder. “I couldnae get out. But ‘tis no matter. I slept well enough in front of the fire.” Lorna began clearing away the blankets and re-hanging them.
Anne moved forward to help. “Ye are crumpled and filthy.” She shook her head sadly. “What can ye have done to deserve such treatment?”
“Naught, save from try to protect myself and my friend’s life. Gillean hates that I stopped him from forcing himself upon my brother’s wife.”
“Aye, and ruining his plans for more power, no doubt.”
“If Gillean wages war, ‘twill leave none of us unaffected. My family could be in grave danger.”
Anne wrung her hands together. “I have a younger sister working in the castle at Drummanaig. I fear greatly he will attack there, should the other clans rise against him.”
Lorna took her hand. The battles between Norse and Scots over a year ago had claimed many lives. Now it looked as though it would happen again, but this time they had the aid of a powerful laird. Many would be affected by it. Even innocent women like Anne and her sister.
“Milady...” Anne began, “will yer clan be able to stop him? If they hear tell of the battle, can they raise an army enough to prevent this war?”
“I would hope so, aye.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Ye must go to them then. Warn them of the army headed their way. Have them send messengers to the king.”
“But how? The walls are heavily guarded.”
“Aye, Gillean is fearful the king will catch wind of the Norse’s presence here and lay siege to the castle. ‘Twas why he brought the Norse here rather than his other keep. ‘Tis more easily defended.”
“All I need is a few moments to slip out of the rear gate. A distraction mayhap?” Lorna saw the uncertainty and fear in the woman’s eyes and let her shoulders sag. “Ye dinnae need to do this.”
The dark-haired woman lifted her chin. “I must, milady. If I can help ye in any way, I will, I swear it,” the maid continued solemnly.
Footsteps sounded outside and Lorna darted her gaze to the stairs. “We shall talk on this later.” Lorna swallowed and gave the maid’s hand a squeeze.
“Come, let us return ye to yer chamber and get ye cleaned up.”
Nodding, Lorna trailed Anne up the stairs and out into the murky light of the morning.
Her eyes ached at the sight of dusky blue skies, tinged with dappled streaks of pink.
The storms had cleared the air and left it scented with heather and wet grass.
The ground underfoot remained damp and muddy so she lifted her wrinkled skirts and made to follow the maid.
A wide chest blocked her path and she had to school herself not to show shock. She’d been aware of this Viking’s amusement at her presence, of the way his gaze followed her. At present his gaze was tracking down her body and back up again leisurely.
A half smile sat on Ivar’s lips. “You have been working hard, it seems. You are filthy.”
She bristled. “I have no’ had time to bathe.”
He inched forward, and she nearly stumbled back down the steps.
Her heart picked up while she took the time to study him properly.
Barbarian. The word rang through her mind again.
Every part of him screamed savage from his meaty fists, to his lecherous gaze, to his roughly sewn garments.
Even the clear blue of his eyes and the attractive set of his nose could do nothing to cover the intention behind those features.
“If you were mine, I would not see you working so. Instead, I would install you in my bed and use you at my leisure.”
“’Tis a fine thing I am no’ yers then, for I would rather scrub a thousand floors.”
“I have many slaves, but none quite like you.” He reached out and fingered a lock of hair.
Lorna had to prevent herself from recoiling, lest she tumble backward down the stairs and cause herself harm. Instead she drew in a breath. “I am no’ a slave. Just a prisoner. But before long I shall be free and ye shall regret ever laying a hand on me.”
His lips quirked in amusement and he brought his hand up to stroke her head, as if patting an animal or small child. “I like your spirit and you are vakker, in a small, sweet sort of way. You would look fine atop my furs.”
“Perhaps so, but ye shall never know,” she responded with a smug smile.
The hand on her head curled into her hair, grasping it and tugging it until her scalp burned. She gasped as he drew her into him. “The laird will do anything to keep me happy. Including giving you to me.”
“I am not his to give!” she declared, earning another sharp tug on her hair.
Ivar pulled her head to his chest and sniffed her hair before thrusting her back. She grappled on his arm to stop herself from tumbling and managed to right herself.
“You would do better to try to please me. Once this battle is over, the Norse shall dominate much of Scotland. Before long, we shall have complete power. And I shall take you as my slave so you can see me slay your family and rule over your people.”
Licking her dry lips, Lorna contemplated a response—trying to decide if he might hurt her again should she spit out any more words—but they were interrupted by the trudge of feet.
Logan led two other men past their position.
He flicked a dismissive glance her way, then his gaze landed on Ivar and hardened.
The two men-at-arms paused to eye her and Logan motioned for them to follow.
“Keep moving,” he barked. “Ye have work to do.”
They watched him walk past. Her heart ached with every beat of his boots while he walked away from her as if she was nothing, no one.
Lorna glanced up at Ivar, her throat dry.
Logan was not going to come to her rescue.
Mayhap she had to resign herself to the fact Logan would never be the man he once was.
“Ye cannae have me,” she whispered, eyes cast down.
Ivar chuckled and snatched her hair again.
She squeaked and fought against his hold, but the burning sensation in her scalp made her eyes water.
He dragged her to the castle, hauled her up the stairs and led her to stand in front of the top table.
She tried to tear away but his grip was too strong and painful.
Standing with her head at an angle, she spat words at Ivar. “Release me, ye buthaigir duine.”
“What is this?” From under the hair that fell across her face, she could make out Gillean’s raised brow of surprise.
“I have a bargain to make with you, Gillean. Once the battle is done, this woman is mine.
Gillean laughed. “I am giving ye my men, my arms, my loyalty. What more do ye need?”
“I want this woman. If you want my men to aid you, give me her once the battle is done. You have no need for her once your enemies are slain.”
Lorna peered at the laird through her hair and made another futile swipe at the Norseman. The ache in her head was muddling her thoughts, and tears dripped down her face at the sting in her scalp.
The laird remained silent. Even those around them had stilled. No clatter of knives or shuffle of feet sounded. Only her pulse throbbed in her ears like the beating of a drum.
“Well?” Ivar prompted.
“Fine.”
Lorna’s heart sank to her toes. Her fate had been undecided until now but to be given to a Viking... it was worse than any of her imaginings. A slave. She’d have no rights, no hope. He could do with her as he wished. Even being the chattel to her husband was a better life.
“After the battle, mind,” Gillean continued. “I need her for now. Should her clan decide to come for her, I need leverage.”
She caught the cold glint to his gaze and if it had been possible, her heart would have dropped out of her toes and melted onto the floor.
Despair struck her deep and strong. She had to escape.
If this Viking took her, she’d never see Ewan again, and if Gillean succeeded in his battle plans, her family was in grave danger.
She had to escape. Somehow.
***
The urge struck to dunk her head in a nearby ale and drain the beaker.
Tèile scrubbed a spindly hand over her face and slumped against the tempting drink.
An entire night locked together, and still nothing had come of it!
She had felt sure a little time together would make things right.
These Highland men were as thick-skulled as they came.
Even after giving into temptation, Logan was being as stubborn as a mule.
And now Gillean intended to hand Lorna over to the Viking.
This would not do. What sort of happy ending was that?
Her reputation as a matchmaker would be tarnished but more than that.
.. her heart ached with sorrow for the woman.
Tèile rubbed her chest. It was an odd sensation—a little frightening if she was truthful.
When had she become so invested in human fate when she had nothing to gain?
She contemplated diving into the ale once more but she needed all her senses right now. If she was to come up with a way to bring them together without causing all sorts of trouble with too much magic, she would have to remain clear-headed.
This match was proving harder than expected. She might have to aid an escape and try to bring them together again later.