Whoever this man was had clearly taken on the role of her imprisoner and he would feel the full force of her hate.She consoled herself that her brother, Finn, would seek revenge for her should anything happen.Once he got over his anger, that was.She dreaded to think how furious he would be when he found out she’d put her son, Ewan, in the care of the nursemaid and snuck away on such a rash mission.
But Gillean should have been here.Rumour was, he was holed up in Kilcree, preparing for something.He spent his time between his two castles but heshouldhave been here.And she should have had her revenge.Lorna allowed herself a bitter smile and shuddered as a howl of wind swirled through the slit of a window and wrapped her in an icy blanket.
“Cold?”
That smirk lingered in his tone again.Could he see her?She glanced up at the sliver of light and concluded it must highlight her.Her imprisoner was at another advantage.He saw her while she could barely make out his stance.Still, she would not show her despair.While she remained in the walls of Kilcree, her mission was not a complete failure.Gillean had tried to kill her once before but the stakes had been high.A rich bride—now Finn’s wife—had been the prize, but surely Gillean would not risk the wrath of Glencolum for the satisfaction of spilling her blood.
She prayed not.Lorna had little intention of involving her brother.For many years she had looked after herself and survived a man almost as evil as Gillean—her husband.She did not need Finn’s aid and, with his first child on the way, she wanted it even less.Finn deserved some happiness in his life.
Twisting her wrists in a bid to lessen the increasing ache, she fixed her gaze on the outline of his head.“Nay, I am no’ cold.”She tensed to fight another oncoming shudder.
In truth, until this man had entered the room, the temperature had been far from her mind.Was it him or the gusts of wind swirling through the dark, dank prison causing her body to feel as though she had been submerged into icy waters?Her thin woollen gown did little to warm her, and the men who had caught her in Gillean’s room had taken away her mantle—an act of cruelty she suspected.Anyone working for Gillean would have little compassion.
A warm, rough fingertip swept across the back of her hand and she squeaked while her pulse kicked.She hadn’t even seen him move.The tingles in her arm increased but they didn’t feel as though they were caused by cold—or by the constriction of the iron on her wrists.It had to be fear that caused it.Why else would this mysterious man have such an effect?
“Ye are cold,” he stated, wry amusement tingeing his gruff voice as he stood.
Damp rushes squelched under his boots when he took a step back—the same rushes that soaked through her skirts.
Lorna thrust her chin higher, refusing to be a source of enjoyment for him.What sort of man took pleasure in imprisoning a woman in such squalid surroundings?Yet part of her longed for him to stay—a thought she dearly wished to quash.She had already spent two days alone in the dark confines.The thought of being left once more with no clue as to her fate made her chest constrict.
“What will ye do with me?”she asked, desperate to prolong their interaction.She needed some hint of what was to happen.
“That isnae up to me.Ye can wait until Gillean returns.”
He moved and looked to be folding his arms.A prickle on her skin told her he was studying her, but why?If he truly intended to leave her until Gillean returned, he had no need to be speaking with her.
“Do ye like what ye see, mercenary?”Why was she baiting him?
He released a low, raw chuckle.“Mercenary?Is that what ye think I am?”
“A man who offers up his honour to the highest bidder?Aye, I think yer a mercenary.Ye clearly cannae make decisions for yerself.”
A hand clamped around her arm like a hot vice and the hiss of his breath washed over her face.She cried out involuntarily and clamped her mouth shut while he dragged her to her feet.She near hung from his grip, her body stretched so she had to come onto her tiptoes.The chains that attached the irons to the ground clanged and squeaked in protest.
“Let me assure ye, Lady Lorna,” her captor hissed, “that no man commands me, laird or no’.And no woman commands me either.Ye may think ye are capable of bringing a man to his knees, but ye are mistaken.”
Her chin trembled.He had proved her right.This man was nothing but a mercenary with no honour or morals.Such men cared little whether you were a woman or an innocent.In all likelihood, she would not escape him or sway him in any way.Would she see her son again—the child who bore such resemblance to his father, it made her heart ache every time she looked upon him?
Several moments passed.The mercenary’s harsh breaths and her own seemed to grow louder.The heat of his palm continued to burn its way through the sleeve of her gown.Chances were he would leave a bruise.It wouldn’t be the first time a man had marked her, but she had hoped when her first husband had died it was to be the last.But men struck out.Gillean had reminded her of that and now this man.
The grip on her arm softened, just enough to allow her to relax.Lorna again questioned how she had become so careless.Years running a keep had taught her to be careful.She had become adept at negotiating and reading a situation.Her need for revenge had clouded her judgement and Ewan would likely pay for her carelessness.Would her son grow up hating her for putting herself in such a situation and leaving him motherless?
Finally the steely grip released and the man stood back once more.She failed to suppress a relieved sob.His responding exhale of breath surprised her.It sounded almost as if her moment of distress had affected him.Or perhaps she was simply looking for salvation where there was none.
“Ye shall remain until Laird Gillean returns,” he said decisively, his voice splitting the silence.
With that, he turned and stepped out of the door.It swung shut heavily, causing drips of water to shake from the walls and splatter on her chilled body.
Lorna dropped to the ground and drew her knees up as tremors wracked her.Tears singed her eyes and she closed them, refusing to give in.The need to avenge Logan’s death had blinded her and now those who loved her would pay for her mistake.
Filling her lungs, she curled her hands.Nay, they would not.She would not die here at the hands of a mercenary or Laird Gillean.She would kill Gillean somehow and return to Ewan.She would not have him growing up with the knowledge that the man who killed his father still lived.
Chapter Two
Logan paused outside the door and heard the rattle of chains as Lorna dropped to the ground.He put a hand to his throat and touched the raised welt.It felt tight.Not uncommon.But the churning in his gut was.
She was beautiful.Cold, wet, dirty and pale, her beauty shone under the meagre light of the donjon window.He shook his head and stomped up the stairs into the Great Hall.Something struck him as familiar about her, but he supposed he might have met her whilst in the service of Gillean.He put a hand to his head and paused in the stairwell.Why could he not remember?Why had none of his memories returned yet?The laird had told him of his life before he awoke in the very same donjon with no recollection as to his life before that moment, and it had been eventless up until the battle of Kilcree.
