Page 54 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
He paused as Damien clenched his jaw. That was well and true, but this was not the same bloody thing.
“There arenae many vipers left. Six? Seven?”
“Seven, including Lachlan,” Damien said. “And their new allies.”
“Allies who arenae interested in Lachlan’s goals, who were bought, and we have verra little sense of how else he manages to keep ‘em from killin’ him.”
“Ye think we are exaggeratin’ the threat of Lachlan, when he nearly killed ye and wants to take Morighe as his faither did if nae more?” Damien felt his temper rising, a rarity with Orrick, who gave him a tired, commiserating look. “We have had peace because we havenae let them have peace.”
Orrick heaved a sigh, and his eyes flashed.
Damien realized that his cousin was also having trouble with his temper. No wonder, they were both worn to the bone, without a day of rest. He was about to dismiss him, tell him to go rest and be with his wife, when Orrick suddenly moved and poured himself a drink.
“When we started this hunt six years ago,” he said after he’d downed it. “I proposed an idea that ye refused becauseyewanted to exact revenge with yer own hand—yer own blade. I agreed, then, for me blood was also boiling. But now…” He looked at Damien. “We are needed here more. And the men yer faither and Grant—I mean, Laird Ronson—trained, they hunt sometimes, but they could do more.”
Damien let out a controlled breath, forcing himself to consider what Orrick was saying before he dismissed it.
Long ago, his ancestors had decided to train the clansmen to be assassins and spies, to deal with the dangers of the sea, other clans, and the English bastards. The Grey Foxes, as they’d once been called, though that name had fallen out of disuse by the time Damien’s father had added Grant to their ranks.
Grant, who’d been the best of all of them, had earned himself the title of ‘Devil,’ and he had trained the next generation. A generation that Damien had tried to use with restraint and wisdom.
It was a hard, hard life, and Damien could never forget the trials that Grant had endured. He’d tried to ease back on it, but the men who joined the Grey Foxes were usually hardened, aloof warriors who kept to themselves when, or rather if, they retired. Foxes usually died while working.
Damien knew that his father had felt he had no choice with Grant, knowing the lad burned with vengeance against his own father, the cruel former Laird Ronson. He knew that Grantneeded to become a blade to reclaim his title as Laird one day. To get ahead in life, and one day be forced to take his own brother’s life.
More than once since Grant had killed that damnable fool, Reuben, Damien had wondered if his father had known.
Grant had also asked why Damien did not use his warriors to track down and kill Lachlan. At first, Damien had wanted to exact revenge by his own hands and had dispatched his warriors to find the other Vipers. Over the past two years, though, he’d refrained more and more.
“I want to find Lachlan,” he said.
“At what cost?” Orrick asked. “We have nay clues, nay trail right now. The only logical next step is to send out our Foxes to sniff and pick up the trail, and if they do find him…”
Damien knew his cousin spoke the truth, knew that Orrick did not make such a suggestion lightly, and indeed seemed to struggle against giving up the hunt and the promise of vengeance. And while it knotted Damien’s thoughts up with utter frustration, he felt a glimmer of affection and admiration.
For Orrick was putting aside his pride and revenge for his people. For his Laird.
About to speak, a knock sounded at the door, and Orrick gave Damien a puzzled look, before striding over to open it.
Again, Damien’s heart soared, despite everything, and he waited to see if it was her. Ithadto be her this time.
“Good morning,” Helena’s father said, coming into the room without being invited, brushing past Orrick.
The sheer audacity of the English bastard seemed to be the only reason Orrick did not throw him out on his ass.
He gave Orrick a mocking nod, then focused on Damien. “I hear you have a problem with pirates, Laird MacCabe.”
CHAPTER 22
Damien’s handsclenched into fists on his thighs, and he was glad his future father-in-law could not see them. Meanwhile, Orrick quickly closed the study door and shot him an alarmed look.
Lord Lovell sauntered forward and sat, then tossed Orrick a glance. “A dram, my good man.”
Christ, but it would feel good to run a blade through this smug bastard. Somehow, Damien resisted the urge and settled for a glare.
The Englishman held up his hands. “Think of this information as an early wedding present. Besides, we got off on the wrong foot.” He leaned back, barely acknowledging Orrick as he handed him a glass. “I had no idea you lost your father in a pirate raid, Son. A terrible tragedy.”
Orrick gave a quick shake of his head as Damien’s hand moved toward his sword. “Aye, and it was the day I became Laird.”
