Page 109 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
The woman always stood at the edge of town, on the stoop of the inn, around this time of night to coax wary travelers into the safety and warmth of the inn. So it was easy for her to recognize Lilith’s unmistakable blonde hair atop Taran, the only brown and white Gypsy Vanner in the McCallum lands.
Lilith nearly ran her right over.
“Saints above, child!” Emma yelped, throwing herself to the side as the horse reared slightly.
“Sorry, Emma!” Lilith squeaked out.
The woman scrambled upright, her graying hair sticking up in places, her eyes wide. “And what, pray tell, are ye doin’, sneakin’ about like a thief in the night?”
Lilith winced. “I need to go.”
Emma dusted herself off. “Aye, I can see that.” She squinted at Lilith. “Does the Laird ken?”
Lilith pressed her lips together.
Emma gasped. “Ach! Lassie, come inside. Ye’re always welcome here.”
“I cannae—nay time. I must away, Emma.”
The woman arched an eyebrow.
“I need ye to do somethin’ for me.”
“Och?”
“If—when—Laird McCallum comes lookin’, or Ryder, tell him I left. I’m goin’ to Brahanne. Tell him nae to follow me.”
Emma scoffed. “Och, aye. That’ll goreallywell, Me Lady.”
“Just do it for me,” Lilith snapped, before softening. “Please?”
Emma studied her for a long moment, then sighed. “Ye’re still as much trouble as ye were when ye were a wee thing.”
Lilith smiled. “Aye.”
“I willnae lie to him, lass. But I’ll help ye.”
With a final gracious nod and tug on the reins, Lilith kicked her heels into Taran’s flanks and took off into the night.
The wind howled as she rode, the night stretching endlessly before her. She would be at Brahanne by midday.
Her heart ached, but she swallowed down the feeling.
Damon had made himself clear.
He wanted me gone? Fine, I’m gone. Now, he’ll have to come and find me.
26
Damon squinted as he watched the roaring flames lick at the edges of the fireplace. He hadn’t slept all night. His mind was elsewhere, floating between his chambers and his study, and then back again over and over. Unsettled.
Sighing heavily through his nose, he finally looked away from the haunting light to stare out the window. The pre-dawn indigos and greys bled into the inky black night sky. It was beckoning him.
I need to ride—clear me head.
Standing quickly, he downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass and set it down on his desk before wrenching his door open.
Finley rose, having stationed himself outside the study, and assessed Damon quickly.
