Page 38 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
“Nay,” Lilith agreed. “But nae all of us have the luxury of a love match. Ariah’s faither was relentless in his matchmaking efforts since her maither passed… He was happy to see Tristan’s eagerness.”
For a moment, they rode in silence, the conversation lingering between them like a shadow. Damon’s mind turned over the implications of what Lilith had told him, his instincts prickling with unease. But he sensed that pressing the issue of hers or Ariah’s mother was not the direction she particularly wanted to go.
He glanced at her again. “What happened with those men outside the pub? Did they leave ye alone after that?”
Lilith’s lips twitched. “One of them tried to follow us, but Ariah handled it.”
“How?”
“She told him she’d reconsider his offer if he could down an entire tankard of ale without spillin’ a drop,” Lilith said, a hint of laughter in her voice. “Naturally, the fool accepted the challenge, and by the time he was finished, we were halfway back to the dressmaker’s.”
Damon barked out a laugh, the tension in his chest easing slightly. “Clever lass,” he praised, shaking his head. “Though I cannae say I’d have minded takin’ a swing at him meself.”
Lilith shot him a sidelong glance, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Ye are awfully quick to violence, aye?”
“When it comes to protectin’ what’s mine, aye,” Damon affirmed without hesitation.
Lilith’s expression softened, though she quickly masked it with a teasing smile. “Well, I wasnae yers back then…” she pointed out, but he felt that she didn’t truly mean her words. “I suppose it’s good to ken that ye got me back.”
“Always, lass,” Damon vowed, his tone serious despite their light exchange.
As they continued down the path, the shadows of the trees dancing around them, Damon couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Tristan Gunn than met the eye.
Ryder Gordon was another matter entirely. Damon didn’t blame Lilith for the very clear affection she had for the man—he had clearly earned her loyalty, and they had grown up together. What Damon couldn’t quite fathom was the irritation that had surged inside him earlier when she’d said Ryder’s name with such familiarity.
The closer they got to the small cottage, the tighter the knot in Damon’s chest grew. He didn’t like unknowns, and the idea of walking into yet another situation where his authority might be questioned was grating on his nerves. But for now, there was no avoiding it. Ryder had been instrumental in defending the village, and Damon had to acknowledge that.
Lilith dismounted first when they arrived, her movements swift and precise. Without waiting for him, she pushed the door to the cottage open and stepped inside. Damon followed closely, his gaze scanning the small, cluttered space as his hand instinctively hovered near the hilt of his sword.
Ryder was exactly where Damon had expected him to be—propped up on a low cot near the hearth, his broad shoulders sagging slightly but his eyes sharp. Blade in hand, the man looked tired, with a fresh bandage wrapped around his forearmand chest, and bruises darkening one side of his face. But he was alive.
“Ryder!” Lilith breathed, rushing to his side.
Ryder’s lips twitched into a faint smile as his gaze landed on her. “Hello, Lil,” he murmured, his voice rough but steady, and he hid his blade away.
Lil?
Damon tensed up at the nickname, his jaw tightening as Ryder lifted a hand, clearly intending to ruffle Lilith’s hair.
“Ye should think better of touchin’ me wife,” he warned coldly.
The words hung heavy in the air.
Lilith shot him a sharp glare, her hazel eyes sparking with indignation.
“He wasnae—” she started, but Ryder cut her off with a calm nod.
“Understood, Me Laird,” he said simply, lowering his hand without a hint of offense.
Damon didn’t miss the slight softening of Lilith’s glare as she turned back to Ryder, her hands moving to check the bandage onhis arm. “Ignore him,” she muttered, her voice low enough that Damon could almost pretend he hadn’t heard it.
“Ignore me, aye?” he quipped, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. “And here I thought I was bein’ perfectly reasonable.”
Lilith didn’t bother to reply, her focus entirely on Ryder as she carefully inspected his injuries. Damon watched her work, noting the precision in her movements and the faint furrow between her eyebrows. It was a look he’d seen before—a mix of determination and care that made it impossible to tear his gaze away from her.
Ryder, for his part, seemed content to let her fuss over him, his responses to her questions curt but polite. Damon found himself oddly grateful for the man’s stoicism. There was no whining, no unnecessary drama—just quiet endurance.
Once Lilith was satisfied that Ryder’s injuries weren’t life-threatening, Damon finally spoke up.
