Highland Sparks:Logan and Gwyneth(6)

By: Keira Montclair



Once Robbie convinced the priest they had been sent by Dundonald, he beckoned to them and led them through the front door while the other Grant warriors waited out front. Robbie followed the priest into the back, and Logan and Tomas waited in the chapel, both pacing in anticipation of the job they had ahead of them. The two exchanged glances as the cries of women in pain reached their ears. He vowed to make it his business to search for the bastard who had kidnapped the young lassies.

Robbie stuck his head out of the back room and beckoned for them to come forward, so they followed. Inside the chamber, several women rested atop small pallets, groaning and crying. Logan had to struggle not to react as he wished, by pounding his fist into the wall.

Robbie turned to the priest, his expression a question. Logan knew what he wished to ask—he was concerned about how to transport women with injuries. Grant had been wise to bring more warriors to aid with the escort.

Father MacLaren spoke in a soft whisper. “Probably better to move them tonight, lads. There is naught more we can do for them here. They need to be tended by women, and we just don’t have the supplies for bandaging or the healers to set their broken bones to rights.”

Robbie frowned. “How shall we move them, Father?”

“There are two carts. I believe we can get them comfortable for the most part. There are several mounds of hay in the back. My fear is if you wait until daylight, you’ll draw more attention to the women. If you leave soon, you should be able to make it to the priory by morning. At least you’ll travel through the royal burgh in the dark.”

Logan peered around the room and froze when his gaze rested on a dark-haired lass with light blue eyes, a color he had never before seen except in the crystal clear skies of summer. She stared directly at him, her bronzed skin darker than most women’s, and everything about her was so beautiful he couldn’t tear his gaze away.

When he moved closer, he noticed the bruises that marred her beauty, and his mind created a satisfying fantasy of killing the bastard that had dared to touch her. He reminded himself of what the priest had told their group about the ordeal these women had faced, how they’d been attacked by foreigners after being taken captive by their own countrymen. Approaching her made the tragedy that much more real. Few women would survive such a thing with their spirit intact. The fire in this lass’s light eyes marked her as a fighter.

Her eyes were both haunting and challenging, probably in an attempt to mask the pain and humiliation she had just endured. He was drawn to the lass like a moth to a flame, even though every ounce of her warned him off.

The woman hissed, “Touch me, and I will rip your bollocks in two, you rutting bastard.”

Father MacLaren pivoted toward the young lass, who looked to be around twenty summers in age. “Gwyneth, these men are here to help. They aren’t the enemy. Their mission is to transport you to the priory. Please be agreeable. We’ll get you back to your brother’s Kirk in Glasgow.”

The lass named Gwyneth lifted her head into the light so she could survey the rest of the group. The slight movement brought more attention to the bruising of her delicate features. She looked as if she had been slapped and punched, which only fueled Logan’s fury. He could hardly fault her for wanting to blame every man in her vicinity. He would allow her to direct her ire at him, for he knew how difficult it was to be a strong person with no control over your circumstances. He had felt the same way when his wee niece and nephew were near death.

Dressed in warrior’s clothing, including leggings and a clinging tunic, she ignored him and continued to fidget with her torn clothing. Logan moved over to stand in front of her. She hoisted herself up, standing tall enough to almost look him in the eye. He was still a mite bit above her, but she was close to his height. Long limbs supported her, and she clutched a small plaid to her torso.

She never took her eyes off Logan, but she directed her comment to Robbie. “Take me back to Glasgow, and I will be eternally grateful, but I won’t go to the priory. I’m going to my brother’s Kirk. Fair warning for any of you, if you try to touch me, I’ll stick a knife between your ribs when your head is turned.”

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