To Avenge Her Highland Warrior (Highland Fae Chronicles Book 3) by Samantha Holt Page A

she already was.
    Lorna’s breaths grew thick. Only the heavy sound of each inhalation and the slop of the wet cloth resounded through the empty kitchen. She peered over her shoulder and snapped her head around when she spied him eyeing her rear. Heat near blistered her face.
    He stepped closer and slapped something down on the table in the centre of the kitchen. She raised her head and saw he had laid down a tray of food for her.
    “Ye’ve not eaten all day,” he stated gruffly.
    She didn’t bother to glance at him and continued scrubbing. “And I suppose ye expect me to be grateful to ye for no’ letting me starve.”
    “I expect ye to eat,” he snapped.
    “Did ye no’ hear? I am to have this floor cleaned before I am to retreat to bed. I have no time for food.”
    She winced when she remembered Gillean’s smug expression as he’d taunted her with a list of chores for the day. All the while, Ivar looked on, his expression growing more interested by the moment. He had even stopped by the kitchen to admire her on her hands and knees. She needed to be wary of that Viking. If he caught her alone, as Logan had, she could be in trouble.
    A hand curled around her arm and hauled her back. “Get off yer knees and eat.”
    Lorna tore her arm from his. Blood rushed through her ears and pounded into her temples. She was exhausted, humiliated, battered and bruised.
    “Will ye cease handling me so? I am no’ a slave. I am no’ yer chattel.” To her dismay, her voice broke on the last syllable and a sob bubbled out of her chest.
    Lorna collapsed as the first burst of tears sprung free. She sank to her knees, the agony consuming her and forcing her to double over. Barely able to take breaths, sorrow forced stuttered sounds of distress from her throat. No matter how she tried to cover her face or force them back, they spilled forth. Her chest grew raw and the noise echoed against the stone walls.
    She didn’t need to glance up to know Logan hovered nearby. She pried a finger away from her eyes so she could see his boot close by. Tension simmered in the air, yet the tears refused to abate. Her foolishness ate into her. She had abandoned her son, for what? A father who didn’t know he existed, a stupid dream of revenge that would go unfulfilled.
    She had the man she had loved in front of her, the man she thought dead, the father of her child, yet she was powerless. Trying to force back the sobs, she swiped her face and clenched her arms around her waist. Raw anguish tore at her chest. She cried for her son and for herself. For the times she had been beaten and braved the torment with nothing but a hiss of pain.
    And still Logan did nothing. The man who once claimed he would never stop loving her did nothing.
    Would he ever return? Whatever had happened to him had taken away almost every part of that man and left him cold and bitter.
    Warm hands clasped her arms and she braced herself to be hauled to her feet, for his fingers to press into the bruises already on her skin, but instead he sank down beside her and drew her against his chest. Unable to do anything apart from sink into him, another cry bubbled out of her and tears trickled down her nose. The rough fabric of his shirt absorbed some of them and his heavy heart thudded against her ear. Swallowing down the ache in her throat, Lorna concentrated on that thud. There, the heart of Logan beat, the man she once knew, but how could she reach him and persuade him to help her out of her predicament?
    Logan rubbed her back, the movement awkward and jerky. Tension turned his muscles to stone around her but the heat of his skin provided enough comfort. How many times had she dreamed of being in his arms once more?
    “Cease yer crying, lass,” he said gruffly. “No need for tears.”
    His words—so clumsy and roughly spoken—made her smile and she swiped her nose. “Cease grabbing me and I might be more willing to play the meek captive.”
    “I dinnae think ye have ever