Courage, bravery.Those were the traits she relied on.When her husband lashed her and broke her skin, she remained stoic.When he died and left her alone, she refused to reveal any emotion.And when her lover had been killed, even though inside she had withered and died, she remained strong.So where was her strength now?Gone when Logan disappeared from her life perhaps and reappeared as another man.
The hinges groaned, and Ivar pushed open the door.She tensed, ready to be pushed forward but the hold on her arm loosened.She tripped when Ivar seemed to stumble against her.Her palms slapped against the floor of the chamber and stung.She swept loose strands of hair from her face and twisted to see Ivar being dragged back by Logan.
The two men vanished around the side and Lorna scrabbled to standing, her foot catching in her skirts and nearly making her trip again.
“Wretched gown.”
She righted herself and clasped her gown before spilling out of the door.
Logan had Ivar pinned against the wall.Lorna felt her eyes go wide, and her heart pressed against her ribcage.The large Viking struggled as Logan spat at him, “Ye dinnae touch her, ye understand?”
Ivar grunted and pushed Logan back, sending him back against the railing.Lorna clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a startled cry.Both men were large, easily matched.But Logan had suffered an injury.In any other circumstance, she would have staked her claim on the dark haired, incensed Scot, but who knew if his injuries had taken their toll on his skill as a fighter.She had seen him at weapons practice many a time and occasionally engaged in the odd drunken brawl.He fought with little finesse—his upbringing as a poor, starving child had taught him all he knew—but what he lacked in grace, he made up for in determination and pure brute strength.
However, he wasn’t that man anymore.Would Ivar be the victor?
“You cannot command me, Scot.I shall take her soon enough.Why not now?Surely you would not begrudge a man the spoils of war?”Ivar pressed away from the wall.
Logan raised his fists and widened his stance.“She isnae a spoil of war.And I willnae let ye harm her.”
“She is your prisoner, why should you care what becomes of her?”
“Prisoner, aye, and under my care.”
Lorna flattened a hand to her thundering heart and eased back against the wall as the men eyed one another.Her mind raced.What could she do to help?If she flung herself between them she’d probably end up in the way and injured.She could think of nothing she could use as a weapon.The torch flickered on the wall, not far from her head.Her gaze latched onto it but she dismissed that idea.It had not worked for her before and no matter what had occurred between her and Logan, she did not wish him burned or worse...
If they would just move away from her chamber, mayhap she could dash in and snatch something.A poker mayhap, if one had been left behind, or even a chair.
“I’ll have her eventually.”
His words rang in her ears.If she stayed, he would.She would be taken far from here and would never see her son again.Mayhap he would keep her as his slave, or tire of her and pass her around to the other Norsemen.
Logan lunged at this, his jaw tight and his eyes full of fire.Ivar blocked his punch easily enough and returned with one of his own.She winced when it caught Logan’s jaw, but he appeared not to notice and came back at him.Several swings and grunted curses later, they had their hands wrapped around each other’s necks.Lorna swung her gaze between them, unable to see who might be the winner.Who would win?They were so evenly matched, what if it ended with one of their deaths?
Without thinking, she leaped forward and latched onto Ivar’s back.She added the weight of her fingers to his neck.She had little intention of killing him—she had never killed a man in spite of her reputation for being a bold leader, and she had no taste for it—but Logan must not die.If he died, her hope died with him.Lorna prayed the added pressure of her small hands would force the Norseman into releasing Logan.
Ivar reared against the extra weight on his back and stumbled, slamming her into the wall.Her head struck stone and it sounded like the crack might crumble the walls and send the keep tumbling down around them, but in her ringing head she suspected the sound only echoed through her mind.He could crush her if he tried yet she hung on, unwilling to relinquish the fight to the men.
Logan released Ivar’s neck and set to work prying the Viking’s thick finger from his own neck.He uttered strangled curses while Lorna squeezed.She felt the heavy thump of his pulse against her fingers and the rush of blood as it tried to push past the pressure.His fingers fell away from Logan abruptly.
Logan took the opportunity to slam his fist into Ivar’s face.Bone crunched and the lightest splatter of blood touched Lorna’s hands.She released her hold, but Ivar collapsed with the punch and took her to the ground with him.He shoved her roughly aside, clutching his nose.Slowly, he came to his feet.From her position on the floor, she saw him glare at Logan.
“You will regret this, Scot.”
“We shall see,” Logan replied nonchalantly.
However, his words made Lorna’s chest drum with dread.Gillean would not forgive Logan turning against his guest, surely?She had never wanted to put Logan in danger, not really, even if she had begged for his aid over and over.
She took the time to gather in several breaths as Ivar skulked down the stairs.He’d be back.She wasn’t safe yet.The only way she would be safe from that man would be to be gone.And she had already had one failed escape attempt.She did not much fancy another.
Looming over her, Logan offered a hand and she took it.The coarse warmth of his palm eased away a fraction of her fear.She eyed him for a moment before standing.With his dark hair in disarray, that strong jaw covered in a thick dusting of hair and a wild look in his eye, she wondered how it could be he offered comfort, but then Logan’s presence had always done that.For years, he had been the one man she relied on, the one man she trusted.So why had she refused to trust him with her heart?It was a question that had plagued her ever since she had left him that fateful day.
He helped her to her feet and ran his gaze from her head to her toes.“Are ye hurt?”
Nay, she wanted to say, but no words came.If she thought about it, her head ached and her back must be bruised from connecting with the wall, but the only ache she was aware of was the one his intense gaze created.An ache deep in the bottom of her stomach that blossomed out into heated tendrils that pervaded every part of her.It left her breathless, wanting.
She gaped like a fish gasping in the air, fought for the words and gave up.
“Damnation, ye are hurt.”He drew her into him and wrapped an arm around her waist to lead her into her chamber.
