Page 24 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
“A game?” she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest.
“A drinking game,” he clarified, pouring the amber liquid into both glasses. “We’ll take turns askin’ each other questions. If ye dinnae wish to answer, ye take a drink.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And if I refuse to play?”
“Then I drink alone, and ye miss out on the chance to interrogate me properly.”
His lips quirked in that infuriating half-smile of his, and Lilith felt her resolve waver.
“Fine,” she said, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. “But dinnae think ye will get away without answerin’ me questions this time.”
“We’ll see.” He slid a glass toward her, lifting his own. “Shall we begin?”
Lilith picked up her glass, eyeing him warily. “Ye first.”
Damon leaned back in his chair, studying her for a moment before asking, “Who do ye trust most in this castle?”
The question caught her off guard. “That’s… unexpected.”
“I thought I’d start with somethin’ easy.”
Lilith hesitated, her fingers brushing the rim of her glass. “Ariah Morris.”
“Sebastian’s kin?”
“Aye. She’s his daughter and me most trusted friend.”
Damon nodded thoughtfully. “Very well, ye go now.”
“Are the scars on yer back and side from the attack or from before?”
“I have several scars, which are ye askin’ about?”
“Obviously, I’m askin’ about the new ones, which Mrs. Bryant undoubtedly mended. I can spot her handiwork from a mile away.”
He smirked again, which only increased her frustration, as he not only answered simply, “Aye,” but also took a swig from his glass.
“Aye?”
“It’s me turn now. Ye have already asked yer question.”
“But ye didnae answer it!”
“I’m nay liar, Lilith. I answered ‘Aye,’ confirming what ye already ken. If ye wish to have a different answer, ask a different question. Now, it’s me turn.”
Lilith scoffed and leaned back in her chair, almost pouting, her eyes never leaving his.
“Who would ye suggest as a man-at-arms?”
The question surprised her.
“Finley,” she said finally. “He’s loyal, and he doesnae play games like the rest of them.”
Damon’s eyebrow rose. “Finley? He’s gettin’ on in years.”
“True, but he’s still sharp,” she countered. “If nae Finley, then Ryder.”
“Ryder?” Damon repeated, leaning forward.
