Page 48 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander
Finley was already inside. He had joined them in the fray around the time when Damon was wounded.
Of course, Ryder was able to make it. It’s probably why Mrs. Bryant is here in the inn…
He glanced up the steps before he rounded the corner to the main area of the inn.
“Me Laird,” Emma greeted and ushered him into the hall. “Mrs. Bryant will be wishing to see ya, then.”
The smell of roasted oats and fresh bread wafted through the inn’s common room as he let the woman lead him inside the dining space.
Mrs. Bryant bustled about with practiced efficiency, tending to wounded men who had come in before him. They were sprawled on benches and makeshift pallets, most of them sleeping. She glanced up as Damon entered, her stern eyes softening at the sight of him.
His back ached from the fresh gash that had been hastily bandaged right after the battle. The blood had dried, making the fabric of his shirt stiff against his skin. He knew he needed proper care before his wound got infected.
“Ye look like hell, Me Laird,” Mrs. Bryant remarked, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached him. “Sit down before ye catch yer death.”
Death?
Damon smirked but didn’t argue. He sank onto a bench near the hearth, every muscle in his body protesting the movement.
“Can ye make it quick?” he said, his voice gravelly from lack of sleep. “I’ve got someone waitin’ upstairs.”
Mrs. Bryant gave him a knowing look, her hands already unfastening the stained bandages on his back. “Lady McCallumhas been worried sick all night. She went back upstairs about an hour or so before ye returned.”
Damon furrowed his brow. “She didnae sleep?”
“She’s up there now—asleep in the armchair, last I checked,” Mrs. Bryant said, her tone scolding as she inspected his wound. “This needs to be cleaned and sewn near the top—it’s deepest there. Sit still, Me Laird. I’ll get this done in nay time.”
Damon hissed through his teeth as she dabbed at the gash with a cloth soaked in what he assumed was some sort of spirit. The sting shot through his body, but he clenched his jaw and bore it.
Mrs. Bryant was quick and efficient, her hands steady as she wrapped clean bandages around his torso and his shoulder.
“There. That’ll hold for now. But ye’ll need rest, Me Laird,” she advised, patting his shoulder with an almost motherly touch. “And maybe a moment with Lady McCallum will do ye good, but ye need sleep. Ye hear?”
Damon nodded his thanks and stood up, the effort sending a wave of dizziness through him. He steadied himself and made his way upstairs to their room.
“Water, as well. I’ll send some up for ye.”
The door creaked as he pushed it open, and his eyes immediately landed on Lilith. She was curled up in the armchair by the fire,her head resting against the high back, the soft glow of the dying embers casting shadows on her face.
She looked peaceful, her blonde hair hanging around her shoulders, but his chest tightened at the sight.
She’d stayed up. Waitin’ for me.
Quietly, he stepped inside and set his sword belt on the table. His body betrayed his attempt at stealth, however, as his knife slipped from its sheath and clattered loudly to the floor.
Lilith stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked a few times before her gaze focused on him.
“Damon?” Her voice was groggy but sharp with concern. “Ye’re back, and…” A flush spread up her neck. “Wh-Where’s yer tunic?”
He sighed, too tired to explain, and instead turned his back to her, letting her see the bandages. Her sharp intake of breath told him enough.
“Damon! Oh gosh, ye’re hurt!” she exclaimed, rising from the chair and crossing toward him. Her hands hovered over his back, fluttering manically, as though she wasn’t sure where to touch him. “Why didnae ye tell me? Sit down, Damon! Sit!”
“I’m fine, lass,” he murmured, though his legs wobbled, betraying him.
He barely had time to hear her gasp before he staggered forward, caught in the grips of exhaustion.
Lilith moved quickly, guiding him toward the bed. “Ye stubborn fool,” she muttered. “Ye cannae just ignore an injury like that.”
