Chapter Twelve
Logan leaned over the stone wall and peered into the night.
The skies had remained clear. He hoped they stayed that way.
Should it rain, marching across the Highlands would be that much harder, as would carting any siege weapons with them.
A half moon made an attempt at lighting the sky but the stars did a fine job of caressing the hilltops with their silvery glow.
He drew in a long breath, one scented with smoke and wild flowers.
Had he done this before? Stared out at the night and thought of a woman?
The emptiness of his mind made him curl his fingers into the stone.
That, and the news of the deal Gillean had struck.
Soon, Lorna would no longer be their burden. She’d be Ivar’s slave.
Bitterness sat in his throat. He was no fool.
A female slave, particularly one like Lorna would be used and abused, treated no better than an animal—mayhap worse.
But what could he do? Their alliance with the Vikings, it seemed, now hung on this small bargain.
So close to battle, it would not do to anger their leader.
And if he deserted them and the king got wind of their plans?
Death would be the best they could hope for.
He turned and rested his back against the cool stone, relishing the slight jab in his back as it brought him back to his senses. He had a job to do and an army of men to worry about.
An army of men who appeared infatuated with Lorna.
He’d never seen their heads turn as quickly as they did with her, and he was not oblivious to their whispered comments about her.
Many fancied their chances with her—if only he did not act like her shadow.
What choice did he have but to trail after her when an entire castle of men wished to slake their lust with her?
Ach, though he’d managed admirably to avoid her for the day.
Not that it made a difference. Everywhere he went he saw her.
Her voice rang in his ears. If he stepped foot in the kitchens, his body tightened in remembrance.
On the balcony, the scarred wood reminded him of her wild, angry expression.
Even here, he saw her in his mind, her skirts blowing about her, fair hair fluttering in the breeze.
She would turn to him and take him in her arms—
Laughter broke his imaginings, shattering them to a thousand pieces. He jerked himself away from the wall. “Fool,” he muttered to himself.
Righting himself fully, he peered over the inside of the wall and hunted down the source of the laughter.
The men by the rear gate—the small escape route that was barely visible unless you knew it was there—were talking with a lass it seemed.
Another ripple of male laughter bounced around the walls.
Annoyance made his lips curl and he stomped down the inner stairs to throw about a threat or two.
They were meant to be standing guard, not seducing maids.
He stalked over and the men didn’t spot him until he was upon them.
The maid, Anne, pivoted, her wide-eyed gaze falling upon him.
She stepped back as if fearful he might harm her.
Logan grunted at the men and tried not to be aggravated by the woman’s fear.
He was well aware of how he appeared and he didn’t need a serving maid reminding him of that.
“What are ye doing?”
The two men peeked at each other and stayed quiet.
“Well?”
“Just taking a drink, sir,” the smaller one muttered, lifting a beaker.
“Forgive me, sir,” Anne said quietly. “I was bringing refreshments.”
“They dinnae need refreshments. They’ve only been on duty for a matter of h—” Something caught his gaze. “Back to yer stations,” he barked at the men before thrusting a finger at Anne. “Ye come with me.”
She followed as he dashed over to the hay cart where he’d spotted the movement.
Sure enough, crouched behind the tatty cart was a hooded figure.
He grabbed the fabric and hauled the person to their feet.
When he flung back the hood, he was not surprised to see a tumble of fair hair and pale features staring up at him. Anne released a gasp.
“Going somewhere, my lady?” he asked.
Lorna tore her mantle from his grip and he let her. She had nowhere to go. “Nay!”
He swung his gaze between the two women and saw the look they shared. “So ye werenae planning on luring the guards away?” he asked Anne. “And ye werenae planning on using that opportunity to slip out the door?”
“Pray, s-sir,” Anne stuttered.
“’Twas my fault!” Lorna blurted, dragging his attention to her. “Anne had naught to do with this. I begged her. Pray, dinnae tell Gillean. He’ll harm her, ye know he will.”
Unable to do anything but admire her bravery, he blew out a long breath. “Anne,” he said tightly, “return to the keep.”
“Sir?”
“Return!” he barked.
He didn’t bother watching her leave. He listened as her footsteps faded and eyed the gentle curve of Lorna’s cheeks while her chest heaved under the mantle.
When he took a step forward, she took one back and came smack against the wall.
The temptation to press himself against her, to feel that soft, petite body against his, burned brightly. By some miracle, he managed to resist.
“I... pray, dinnae tell him,” she begged.
He ground his teeth and stared at her. What was with this woman and her need to put herself at risk all of the time.
Would she run across the Highlands alone and risk death to escape Gillean’s clutches?
Or Ivar’s clutches now, he corrected himself.
Dread twisted his stomach as he imagined the Norseman taking her as his slave.
He saw large hands groping her. The Viking demeaning her, breaking her spirit.
As aggravating as it was, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see that spirit lost.
“I will say naught. But dinnae involve her again. Ye placed her in grave danger.”
“I know.” Lorna ducked her head before lifting it. “Ye really willnae tell Gillean?”
“I willnae.”
“I thank ye.”
“For what?”
“Yer mercy.”
He snorted. Mercy? Is that what it was? He wasn’t sure he knew how to be merciful. A hardened warrior, that was his role. What role did mercy have in a place like this?
“Dinnae mistake me, I am no’ merciful. The laird doesnae need to be dealing with such matters at this time.”
A hint of a smile teased her lips and she sighed. “Ye are a better man than ye think ye are, Logan. If only ye would see it.”
Unsure how to respond to this, he scraped a hand through his hair and pointed wearily toward the keep. “Get inside before I have ye locked away for good.”
She nodded, snatched her skirts and made to hurry away, but not before pressing a hand to his arm and murmuring, “Thank ye,” again.
He remained motionless and waited for her to disappear into the castle.
His arm burned and tingled at that small touch and her words rang in his ear. A better man? How was that possible?