“Aye, sir.”Anne snatched her skirts and scurried across the bailey.He did not miss the look of relief washing over her expression.
Before he returned to the keep, he stopped at the gatehouse and arranged two men to guard the guest quarters.If this was indeed some trick, he would not fall foul to it.
Logan took the spiral stairs down to the donjon.The rotten smell and the damp clinging to his skin reminded him of his time there.Awakening to find himself chained to a table, his body aching and damaged, even now made him shudder.When Gillean had visited with him, it had been clear he remembered nothing of the events leading up to his confinement.The physician put it down to trauma.Almost having your head severed from your body likely did that to a man, Logan concluded, but it did not stop him from curling a fist with frustration.Sometimes, at night, he squeezed his eyes shut and willed his mind to remember, but nothing came.
He could only act on what he knew.He worked for Laird Gillean and if he continued on this path, his circumstances looked set to improve.Soon, he too could be in command of a keep and many men.The prospect certainly enticed.
The rusting door groaned in protest as he pushed it open.With the sun now high in the sky, he had a better view of the prisoner and saw she was slumped to one side.He approached cautiously.A trap, or had she swooned?
When he touched a finger to her neck to feel her pulse, his skin pricked.He had touched her hand before, and been disturbed by the way her soft skin made him tingle, but her neck and the delicate, faint throb of her life’s blood caused a tumult of sensations.All of them unwelcome.While he should be preparing for war, he did not need such a distraction.
He tugged the key out of the folds of his plaid and unlocked the irons on her wrist.Red welts marred her pale skin, and an unusual sensation weighted his stomach.Sorrow?Pity?He shook his head and kept hold of her arms until he had her shifted into his hold.He scooped her up and found her boneless and light.If this was a trick, she was a fine actress indeed.
Grip tight, he carried her out of the donjon and up the stairs to the hall.If anyone thought the sight of their chieftain carrying a lifeless woman strange, none had the courage to say as much.Servants moved aside and the two men-at-arms he had stationed at the top of the wooden staircase watched silently as he ascended the stairs and strolled along the balcony.
When he stepped inside the guest chamber, he found Anne preparing the bed.She pivoted and her mouth fell open.
“She is dead?”
“Nay.”
He dropped his gaze to the woman and acknowledged she did not look alive, in spite of the gentle rise and fall of her breasts.Covered in filth, her pale skin did not look delicate as a noblewoman’s should.The grey cast to it spoke of her ailment, and a hollow look to her eyes forced that uncomfortable pang into his stomach again.
Dragging his gaze away, he eyed the serving girl.“Bring some food and have some warm water brought up.I shall try to rouse her.”
“Aye, sir.”Anne bobbed and left, flinging one last sympathetic look at the woman in his arms.
Jaw tight, Logan lowered the woman to the plush red bed.Her limp figure in a dirty green wool gown made his heart squeeze.He flexed his hands and scowled.Something about the woman’s slender body made his body tighten in remembrance.But why would he remember touching a noblewoman?Gillean had already said Logan had come from nothing.A woman of Lady Lorna’s birth would not deem to consider a man like himself.
He swept a golden strand from her face and forced himself to study her features with great attention.If she knew something of his past, if they had known each other at all, he needed to know.Logan surmised himself to be nearing thirty, which meant he had lost more than two decades of his life.The empty darkness that comprised his memories never failed to aggravate him.
Lorna’s delicate features—her snubbed nose painted with pale freckles, a pointed chin and fair lashes stirred his interest again.He had seen few women as fine as she.Though he could not know that for sure.When nothing came—when the dark abyss of his mind refused to abate—he gave up his study and shook her shoulder.She mumbled, which made him release the breath he had been holding.He pushed again and wondered if this woman had ever been handled so.No doubt she was used to men treating her with the upmost respect.He let his lips thin.She likely knew little of hardship.It would do her no harm to learn.
One eye flicked open, then the other.Her pale blue gaze took a while to fix on his face.Her eyes narrowed and widened.His appearance probably did little to comfort her.He’d let his dark hair grow long over the seasons so that it almost brushed his shoulders.He rarely trimmed his beard.Lorna blinked and her gaze fell to the unsightly welt on his neck.Unfortunately the dark hair on his jawline didn’t cover all of it.
Then her gaze met his and his heart jolted.
Her eyes rounded.“Logan?”
Her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell into a swoon once more.She knew him?He reached out to touch her but jerked back when the door swung open with a thud.Anne skipped her gaze between them and hastened to place the bowl on the coffer.
Eyeing Logan, the maid touched Lorna’s head and concern flashed across her face.“She is cold as snow.”
He cursed inwardly.He had been so concerned with the touch of her gentle body against his, he had not considered how cold she had been.Now he had an additional reason not to let her die.She knew something of him and he had to know what.
“I dare not wash her like this, sir.She shall chill further.I shall have to have a bath brought up, though I fear she willnae stir.”Anne nibbled on the end of a finger.“I dinnae know how to get her in it.Perhaps some of the men...”
Logan shook his head.He would not have them touching her.He scowled.Why he felt so strongly about that, he knew not, but the thought of any other man’s hands on her caused his chest to tighten.
“Have a bath sent up and filled and we shall see if she doesnae rouse before then.”
“Aye, sir.”
Anne went to fetch more servants to help.A brawny lad from the kitchens hefted up the large wooden tub while another woman stoked the fire to set it blazing.Wood crackled and the orange glow warmed the room.Logan tugged at his plaid.The woman might still be cold, but he was in danger of bursting into flames.Sweat trickled down his back, feeling too much like a nervous sweat for his liking.
He paced as the servants filled the bath until swirls of steam drifted lazily into the air and he grimaced inwardly when he turned his attention to the still senseless woman.He had little choice.He ordered the servants away.
“Anne, stay,” he barked.“Shut the door.”
