Page 13 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
Cursing under his breath, Damon wiped his blade clean on the assassin’s cloak and called out for his guards. Within moments, a group of clansmen burst into the room, their eyes wide with alarm.
“Me Laird?” one of them asked, his brow furrowed, ready for instructions.
“Search the castle,” Damon ordered, his tone brooking no argument. “Everyone. Everywhere. If this bastard had accomplices, I want them found before dawn.”
The men nodded and hurried to obey, their footsteps echoing down the hall as they fanned out.
Damon stood alone in the room, his chest heaving as the thrill slowly ebbed.
“I must write to me braither about this. Perhaps he’ll remember where we have met such skilled fighters,” he muttered as he glanced at the lifeless body on the floor.
This was a grim reminder that his position in Clan McCallum was far from secure.
He wiped his blade once more and slipped it into its sheath before stepping over the body. He pulled the door open and stepped into the dimly lit hallway. The torches flickered, casting long, dancing shadows over the stone walls. His footsteps echoed faintly as he made his way through the castle, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
Who sent this assassin?
Was this a personal grudge or a threat tied to me role? And why now, so soon after the wedding?
Thoughts of Lilith sent another wave of unease through him because she was supposed to be with him in his chambers on their wedding night.
Was she safe? Had the assassin intended to harm her as well? Or worse, had she been involved?
He shook his head, dismissing the last notion almost as quickly as it surfaced.
Lilith was many things—stubborn, sharp-tongued, and fiercely independent—but he already knew that she wasn’t the treacherous type. She wouldn’t stoop to such dishonorable tactics.
He needed to see her. The probability that the assassin wasn’t working alone was too high. If the intruder knew where Damon slept, his accomplices would surely know where Lilith slept.
As he rounded a corner, lost in thought, Damon almost collided with Finley, one of Clan McCallum’s more seasoned guards and a staunch supporter of Lilith.
Finley was dressed haphazardly, his boots barely laced, his expression one of deep concern.
“Me Laird?” he hissed. “What in Christ’s name is goin’ on? I heard a commotion, and now the guards are searchin’ the castle like the devil himself was let loose.”
“There was an intruder in me chambers,” Damon said bluntly, his tone leaving no room for speculation. “He’s dead now.”
Finley’s eyes widened. “An intruder? In the castle? Who?—”
“I’ve nay answers yet,” Damon interrupted, brushing past him. “Tell yer men to stay alert. If there’s more trouble, I want to ken it before it reaches me again.”
“Aye, of course.” Finley hesitated, his eyes narrowing. “And what of Lady McCallum? Should I send someone to?—”
“Aye, ye yerself willnae leave her side,” Damon ordered. “I’ll see to her for now. Get yer men in order and return quickly.”
Finley’s eyes dropped to the growing red stains on Damon’s tunic before meeting his glare once more. Without saying a word, he gave a reluctant nod before disappearing into another corridor, leaving him alone once more.
The sting of the wounds Damon had received finally reared their heads, but he was persistent in ensuring that his bride was safe. He would visit the healer in due time. The closer he drew to Lilith’s room, the more his mind churned.
A singular thought resurfaced:Was the attack meant for me or her?
The thought sent a chill through him, though he’d never admit it. His protective instincts warred with his suspicions, each thought sharpening the edge of his determination.
If she was harmed, on our wedding night…
Reaching her door at last, Damon exhaled slowly. His hand hovered over the handle for the briefest of moments.
Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the pulsing embers in the hearth. His eyes scanned the space methodically, noting every corner, every shadow. He moved with deathly silence, careful not to make any noise as he had been trained to do. His hand rested on the hilt of his dagger as he approached the bed.
