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?”
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