Page 117 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
“I said far too much—I dinnae even ken what I said.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “But I think I said she was a distraction.”
Ryder chuckled. “If I ken the Flanagan twins well—and I do—she’ll be hot for a while. Especially if ye insulted her. But she’ll come around.”
“Aye…” Damon trailed off.
It was still too early to wake her, but before he could continue to contemplate what to do, the door creaked open. His eyes flickered to the unexpected guest. Lilith’s name hung on the tip of his tongue until his gaze landed on a strange set of green eyes.
“Greer?” He stood up. “What is it?”
His chest tightened as Lilith’s maid stepped inside hesitantly.
He knew before she spoke. He knew deep down, already, before the words left her mouth.
The woman flinched at the anticipated blow she was used to receiving when delivering bad news to her previous Laird, before whispering, “She’s gone.”
27
The study felt too small, the air too thick. The fire crackled in the hearth, oblivious to the way Damon’s entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.
Ryder’s gaze darted from the maid to Damon and back. His hair standing on end, he was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, and Damon appreciated it.
Greer stood before him, her hands twisting into the fabric of her apron, her wide, terrified eyes saying everything she hadn’t spoken yet.
She’s gone?
The words echoed in his skull, a hammer striking against steel, ringing louder and louder until they were all he could hear. He didn’t understand.
What did she mean, gone?
Damon was rooted to the spot, unable to breathe. His mind—so quick, so sharp in battle—went blank, left only with a gaping, yawning pit of fear.
The Sinclairs.
His fists clenched at his sides.
“Where?” His voice was low, guttural, nearly unrecognizable.
Greer flinched, but she swallowed her fear and straightened her spine. “I… I dinnae ken, Me Laird.”
The silence after her words was deafening.
Damon’s body moved before his mind caught up, the chair behind him scraping across the stone floor as he surged to his feet.
“Where is she!” His roar shook the walls.
Greer recoiled, frozen in place.
Ryder threw the door open, his blade drawn, his eyes wild.
Damon saw the maid’s fear, tasted it, and it was enough to force his rage back—just barely.
“I dinnae ken, Me Laird. She wasnae there this morning when I went in to check on her,” Greer said quickly. “I… I only just went to check on her, and?—”
His hands curled into fists, his breath coming in sharp bursts through flared nostrils. “And what?”
Greer licked her lips nervously, glancing down at the floor. “Her room was a mess, Me Laird. Her bed empty?—”
Damon didn’t wait for her to finish, and neither did Ryder. He left her standing there in the study, her head in her hands, crying.
