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

the main gate. Upon seeing them, a soldier ordered the gate open and hinges squealed, metal rattled while his horse shifted impatiently.
    With the gate raised, he kicked the horse’s flanks and urged her into a gallop. The village sat only three miles away but he did not wish to prolong the journey. Not when Lorna’s back jostled against his chest and her hair kept teasing him. Not when an uncomfortable dragging sensation in his gut told him his desire for her was increasing and not abating as he would have hoped.
    The skies above were heavy with clouds. They were white and thick, so he doubted they would be rained upon but he cursed his rash decision to take her with him with her health in a fragile state. The lass muddled his thoughts far too easily.
    His mount had no troubles navigating the rocky terrain with its added burden, and they made good time to the village. Logan released a long, low breath when the tops of the village huts came into view over the next hill. Sitting on a natural slope, the settlement took advantage of nature’s defences and he had to guide his horse around the large boulders that birthed from the ground. The ramshackle cottages sat in what had once been a circular shape but since the settlement had grown it had lost the arrangement somewhat. Not that it grew by much. The years were hard, he knew, even if he did not remember it, and sickness claimed many a life every season. Gillean took little pity on the villagers, his attentions now focused on preparing for war.
    He dismounted and looped the reins around an old post by the village hall, a large circular building with a straw roof and mud walls. Smoke drifted lazily from the opening in the roof, the smell strong in the air and hens pecked around his feet as he aided Lorna down. Wide-eyed, she clasped her mantle around her and stared around at the quiet village. He scowled. What disconcerted her?
    “Ye’ll be quite safe,” he muttered.
    “I dinnae fear for my safety.” She peered around again. “’Tis quiet and the homes are in disrepair.”
    He shrugged. “These are hard times. Many are likely abed with sickness.”
    “They have always been hard times, but none suffered so much under my hand.”
    Logan blinked at the fair-haired lass in front of him, her proud chin jutted out. Did she spend time with the people under her care when she was lady? He did not think Gillean had ever visited, not even to collect taxes.
    Ignoring the jab of guilt, he waited for her to adjust her skirts and lift them away from the mud before leading her into the hall. The village leader and several grimy faced men sat around the large table at the rear of the building. The smoky interior made his eyes water and the odour of unwashed bodies made his lips curl in bitter disgust. These were his beginnings, he reminded himself. Nay, they were likely more humble than this. And he would never return to them. Gillean could ensure that.
    “Lady Lorna!” the chief exclaimed when they came to a stop in front of the battered oak table. The tall but scrawny man’s face froze in shock.
    “Gordon,” she greeted, tenderness hinting her tone and making his fists curl.
    “What are ye doing here? ‘Tis nae safe.”
    She glanced at Logan, colour tingeing her cheeks. Before she could make declarations of her imprisonment, Logan stepped in. “She is safe enough with me.”
    Gordon eyed him warily but said nothing more on the matter. “Ye’ve come for the taxes I suppose.”
    “Aye.”
    “We’re short.”
    “By how much?”
    “One family couldnae pay. The widow and her children.”
    Logan nodded gravely. “I shall pay her a visit.”
    “I couldnae force her, sir. They are poor enough now big Tom is dead. We have aided them as best we can, but none of us are rich folk.”
    He saw Lorna stiffen by his side and awaited some declaration of disgust but none came. The truth was, he did not expect all the taxes to be paid but Gillean did. War was costly. He’d have a