To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) by Samantha Holt
Authors: Samantha Holt
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while working his fingers in and out of her. Nails scrabbled across his back, fingers tugged his hair. The painful pulls and scrapes could not eat through the fog of desire consuming him. He pressed harder, deeper, and drew back, needing to see her pleasure as it broke through the storm. The quake of her thighs told him she was close and he supported her head to watch it roll through her, like the rumble of thunder. Her body tightened and it seemed to last an interminable amount of time, but he treasured every moment.
When she sagged, her forehead flopping forward to his chest, he withdrew his fingers and adjusted her skirts. The ache in his groin had not receded but somewhere in that powerful climax, he’d lost his need to bed her. Mayhap because it would be a selfish act, though he could not deny he found much pleasure in watching her. He scowled at himself. This woman drew him far deeper than he thought possible. Had it all been another manipulation?
Lorna lifted her head slowly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed. A crack and a flash of lightening shattered the satisfied haze and she squeaked and clutched his arms. He swallowed. This was no act. When had the lass ever revealed fear? She was more likely to want to conceal it.
Logan drew her back from the wall and eased her into his hold. If he listened closely, he suspected he’d hear the crack of his heart as she destroyed another fragment of all his beliefs. With such a connection, could any of what she told him be true?
“Why did ye no’ like storms? They cannae harm ye.”
“I am no’ afeared.”
He chuckled but let the lie slip. Drawing in a heavy breath, he resigned himself to comforting the woman until the storm passed. If Gillean asked, he would simply say he had been interrogating her.
He said nothing more. While the storm whirled around them, he stroked her hair and the silk of her gown. The expensive fabric reminded him of the divide between them. How could he believe he had ever made love to such a woman? Did he not know well of his rank as a lowly peasant? And even she had confirmed that much.
The lass’s breaths slowed and against his chest, her racing heart eased to a steady thump. She flinched whenever lightning lit the room but she trembled no more. The tempest inside him would not be as easily quelled. Staring over her head at a gap in the shutters, he drew in a breath and resolved not to touch her again after this. He could ill afford to let her get in the way of his plans.
Chapter Ten
Lorna’s knees ached and her hands itched from the basic soap. She curled up her nose in disgust as she scrubbed the wooden kitchen floor on her hands and knees. Rat droppings crowded one corner and created a disgusting smell. The kitchen had never been this poorly looked after when she had been lady of the keep.
Still, at least the fire was unlit and the usual heat of the kitchen had dissipated. The rest of the household were likely retreating to bed while she slaved away. Footsteps sounded on the steps into the kitchen, and she froze.
A prickle danced along her arms and she didn’t need to turn to see who it was. The memory of his kiss and touch still burned in her mind. Once the storm had passed, he’d left her without a word, as if it had never happened. In spite of his cold behaviour since, heated desire kindled low in her belly at the mere thought of him being close by.
And he had comforted her... did that mean anything?
The crack of thunder would forever remind her of a beating. The snap of a whip. Her husband had once timed it perfectly with a particularly savage storm and now any time she heard that sound, she became a quivering mass of fear. Her scars itched and burned as if she had only received the beating yesterday.
Not that she’d admit that much to Logan. No one knew of her fears and no one would. Strength was her friend, weakness an enemy. Being a lass in such a world was hard enough without anyone thinking her weaker than
When she sagged, her forehead flopping forward to his chest, he withdrew his fingers and adjusted her skirts. The ache in his groin had not receded but somewhere in that powerful climax, he’d lost his need to bed her. Mayhap because it would be a selfish act, though he could not deny he found much pleasure in watching her. He scowled at himself. This woman drew him far deeper than he thought possible. Had it all been another manipulation?
Lorna lifted her head slowly. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glazed. A crack and a flash of lightening shattered the satisfied haze and she squeaked and clutched his arms. He swallowed. This was no act. When had the lass ever revealed fear? She was more likely to want to conceal it.
Logan drew her back from the wall and eased her into his hold. If he listened closely, he suspected he’d hear the crack of his heart as she destroyed another fragment of all his beliefs. With such a connection, could any of what she told him be true?
“Why did ye no’ like storms? They cannae harm ye.”
“I am no’ afeared.”
He chuckled but let the lie slip. Drawing in a heavy breath, he resigned himself to comforting the woman until the storm passed. If Gillean asked, he would simply say he had been interrogating her.
He said nothing more. While the storm whirled around them, he stroked her hair and the silk of her gown. The expensive fabric reminded him of the divide between them. How could he believe he had ever made love to such a woman? Did he not know well of his rank as a lowly peasant? And even she had confirmed that much.
The lass’s breaths slowed and against his chest, her racing heart eased to a steady thump. She flinched whenever lightning lit the room but she trembled no more. The tempest inside him would not be as easily quelled. Staring over her head at a gap in the shutters, he drew in a breath and resolved not to touch her again after this. He could ill afford to let her get in the way of his plans.
Chapter Ten
Lorna’s knees ached and her hands itched from the basic soap. She curled up her nose in disgust as she scrubbed the wooden kitchen floor on her hands and knees. Rat droppings crowded one corner and created a disgusting smell. The kitchen had never been this poorly looked after when she had been lady of the keep.
Still, at least the fire was unlit and the usual heat of the kitchen had dissipated. The rest of the household were likely retreating to bed while she slaved away. Footsteps sounded on the steps into the kitchen, and she froze.
A prickle danced along her arms and she didn’t need to turn to see who it was. The memory of his kiss and touch still burned in her mind. Once the storm had passed, he’d left her without a word, as if it had never happened. In spite of his cold behaviour since, heated desire kindled low in her belly at the mere thought of him being close by.
And he had comforted her... did that mean anything?
The crack of thunder would forever remind her of a beating. The snap of a whip. Her husband had once timed it perfectly with a particularly savage storm and now any time she heard that sound, she became a quivering mass of fear. Her scars itched and burned as if she had only received the beating yesterday.
Not that she’d admit that much to Logan. No one knew of her fears and no one would. Strength was her friend, weakness an enemy. Being a lass in such a world was hard enough without anyone thinking her weaker than
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