Page 110 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, fingernails biting her palms. “I came back to learn the truth. To ask for nothin’. Just a word of truth. A scrap of decency. And all ye’ve done is —”
“Ye wanttruth?” he interrupted, stepping closer. “Ye’ll nae find it here. Perhaps ye’ll find it scurryin’ ‘round the halls of O’Donnell’s council.”
Amara’s stomach twisted so sharply she thought she might be sick. “What does that mean?” she asked, her voice thin.
He shook his head slowly, jaw clenched. “Ye ask too many questions.”
“Thenstop speakin’ in riddles!” she shouted. “Say what ye mean!”
His eyes narrowed, and he stalked forward.
“Ye daenae want what I mean,” he growled.
She stumbled back a step, breathing hard. Her shoulder brushed the edge of the great stone hearth behind her.
“Ye think because ye’ve warmed Laird O’Donnell’s bed that suddenly ye matter and deserve this and deserve that?” Callan’s voice was rising, venomous now. “That because he’s whispered sweet lies in yer ear and pressed a kiss to yer cheek, that ye’ve suddenly earned a place in our world?”
Her throat was dry. “I’ve never claimed —”
“Ye think ye’re worthanythin’?”he snarled, stepping right into her space. “I see the silk on yer back. The shine in yer eyes. I see how ye stand taller. Like ye believe ye’ve become someone.”
He leaned close then. Too close. The stink of wine and fury made her stomach churn. “Ye wear him unashamed like a perfume. Ye deserve nothin’,” he hissed.
She flinched, and he saw it.
He smiled, wide and mocking. “Aye. That stings, does it?”
“What are yetryin'to say?” she asked, her voice cracking. “That I’ve dishonored ye?”
Callan straightened slowly, his smile fading to something more sinister. “Nay, if ye can believe it, I daenae even care about any of that. Ye’ve always been a thorn, Amara. Ever since...” he trailed off.
She stared at him.
The air between them felt like ice.
“I’m yer daughter. I needed ye when we lost her!” she whispered.
He snorted, slow and savage. “Oh aye?”
She straightened, brow knitting together.What is he even questioning?
But Callan didn’t clarify. Didn’t explain. He just watched her fall apart, and his smirk deepened.
Then he lunged.
His hand closed around her upper arm like a vise, and he yanked her toward him. Her shoulder wrenched with the sudden movement, and she cried out, but he didn’t stop.
“Let go!” she shouted.
He didn’t. His grip only tightened.
His voice, low and grinding, reached her ear. “Ye think this is some tale where the villain explains himself? Ye came here thinkin’ there was a heart left in me? That wasyourmistake.”
She tried to pull free, but he shook her hard enough to make her teeth clack together.
“And now ye cry?” he barked, disgust curling his lip. “Ye cry like a child and expect it’ll fix what’s broken?”
Tears stung her eyes.
