He was a peasant boy, it seemed, who had risen through the ranks.After Gillean had informed him he had gone into a fit after nearly dying at the hands of Lorna’s men and they had confined him for his own safety, Logan had been determined to prove himself to the laird.Thankfully he still had his wits about him and had managed to become indispensible to the laird.
He put a hand to the cold stone.Why she had returned, he couldn’t fathom.To get back her dowry probably.When Lorna had been forced from her home, she had left behind everything.But it mattered little to him.Once Gillean returned from the coast with the Norse in tow, it would be up to the laird what happened to the woman.
Logan paused in front of the table at the rear of the hall and snatched a goblet of wine.He drained it and studied the hall.The elaborate tapestry on one wall and intricate carving of the wooden stairs and banister that spanned the floor above did nothing to warm the place.A cold silence always hung in the air, even as servants scurried to clear away the morning meal.Gillean tolerated little joviality from his household and demanded nothing but hard work.
Logan smirked.That was fine by him.Hard work, he could do and laughter had no place in his life.Being Gillean’s chieftain reaped plenty of rewards and he was far from a simple peasant boy now.
Hand to his mouth, he swiped away the wine and set down the goblet.He shooed away the two hounds who sniffed around him for food and watched them slink back to their corner of the hall.His thoughts turned to Lorna again.Mayhap he had seen her during the battle, when Gillean led his men to take back his keep from the conniving woman, but something about being in her presence stabbed him like a knife in the gut—or to the throat.He touched his neck again.
One of the serving maids scurried past, and he grabbed her arm.Her eyes widened and she glanced up at him from under her lashes.The staff often regarded him like that.As though he were some disfigured beast, he thought bitterly.
“Have some food taken down to the prisoner,” he barked and released her arm when he felt her tremble.
“Aye, sir.”Anne dipped.
Perhaps he should have left the prisoner to starve a little longer.She’d only missed a few meals.It wouldn’t harm her to go hungry.Logan had no intention of letting the woman starve, however.Gillean would want to deal with her.From what little he knew of the woman, Gillean felt her to be a threat and as they were planning to make a move on Glencolum within the month, it would not hurt to have one of their kin in their grasp.
Logan helped himself to another goblet of wine, took a sip and savoured the tangy bite of the drink on his tongue.He paused in front of the tapestry.It depicted a battle—bodies and blood spilled across the hanging.He sighed.What Gillean had planned meant potential death for most of them.It could also reap huge rewards.Turning traitor to his country was not the most honourable way to make a living, but what other choice did he have?It was not as though Scotland had done anything for him.His life had been insignificant until Gillean had helped him.
If all went well, he’d have more than he’d ever dreamed of.With a chuckle, he tossed the rest of his wine onto the unlit fire pit in the centre of the room and abandoned the beaker on a table before adjusting the sword on his belt.How ironic people like Lady Lorna would end up with nothing while he—who according to Gillean had arrived on his doorstep with nothing but the clothes on his back—might end up in command of an island.
He pushed open the heavy carved doors and paused at the top of the steps into the bailey.The days were turning cold as they headed into autumn.The steps were damp and grey clouds hung low over the hills, as if weighted by rain.Logan inhaled the scent of soggy grass and mud.Not only rain hung in the air.Anticipation stirred.All at Kilcree knew they were on the verge of war.The men pacing along the wall did so with increased energy.Their chatter was hushed, as if fearful of giving away secrets.They would all be placing themselves on the line for Gillean’s greed, but greed drove them too.
Logan couldn’t help taking a moment to revel in it.After many months recovering from his injury and memory loss, the chance to take charge of his life appealed greatly.He might not remember his past but determination drove him to forge a future none would forget.Soon, everyone would know his name.
***
Lorna dragged open her eyes when the door squeaked open.She must have fallen asleep, but it had been fitful.Images of the last time she had seen Logan flitted through her mind.It was almost as if he’d known he’d never see her again.He had stayed behind to fight while she ran to safety when Gillean had taken command of Kilcree and tried to imprison her.The longing in his gaze never left her.If only she had told him how much she loved him.
Tears—ones she had held back for so long—dripped down her cheeks.She’d been strong for her son, strong for herself.Crying never helped.When her first husband, Walter, had beaten her, her tears never had any effect.In fact, she suspected he’d taken pleasure in them.Gillean’s brother might not have had the same ambition as him but was certainly born with a black heart.
Light footsteps sounded and she sniffed.At least it was not the mercenary.A figure approached, but Lorna was unable to make out much in the gloom.
“Milady?”
Lorna straightened and regretted it when her muscles panged in protest.Her arms were stiff and her back tense from leaning against the cold wall.“Who is that?”
The figure came to her side, and Lorna heard something clatter as it was placed on the ground.Warm fingers wrapped around her own.“My name is Anne.I’ve brought ye some food and drink.”A beaker was pushed into her hands.
“Thank ye,” Lorna croaked, her voice taken up with grief and a sudden realisation of how thirsty she was.With shaky hands, she brought the beaker to her lips.The shackles weighed her down and stole her strength so that she spilled much of it down her gown, but the ale brought relief to her dry mouth.
Exhaustion weighted her arms and the beaker slipped from her hands, clattering against the stone.
“Ye must try to eat,” the servant urged.
“I dinnae...”Shivers wracked her.Her stomach grumbled but the cold conditions and lack of food had drained her.Unable to lift her hands again, she could not take the offered bowl.
“Shall I...?”
Lorna swallowed her pride.“If ye will, I thank ye.”
Anne carefully spooned the warm broth into her mouth.Much dribbled down her chin and humiliation burned her cheeks.The last time she had been fed like this was after a particularly severe beating from her husband.Only her servant—and of course her husband—had known of his treatment of her.They had kept it quiet from the rest of the household somehow.Perhaps rumours followed her, but pride would not let her reveal the barbarity of his behaviour.His death had indeed been a blessing.
Lorna did her best to swallow what she could.The broth filled her stomach but could not defeat the chill that lingered in her bones.She shook her head when offered another spoon—unable to summon the energy to continue.
“Ye should eat more, milady.Ye shall ail.”
“Does it matter?”
