Page 2 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
“Best nae to…?” Amara stared at him incredulously. “Ye're nae lookin’ for her murderer?”
“’Tis nae worth it.”
Amanda couldn’t help it. She gaped at her father as if he had suddenly turned into a wood sprite and flew out the window.
“Faither! Surely ye daenae mean that!”
He glared at her, his eyes cold and hard. “How do ye figure I’d find out?” he demanded, his tone harsh and impatient. “Ye think the new laird will tell me? Or any other cursed O’Donnell?”
“Nay. Nae at first, anyhow,” she allowed. “But ye have yer ways. I’ve heard stories of how ye got men to talk when nay one else could.”
“Let the matter go, Amara.” This time, his voice was low and all the more worrisome because of it. “Yer maither is dead. Naught will bring her back.”
Tears pricked the back of her eyes, but Amara stood there a moment longer to stare at the man who, at one time, had loved her mother more than anything in the world. Or at least she’d thought he had.
How could he just let her death go unpunished? Why was he nae looking, even now, for the person who took her from our lives?
“Be on yer way,” he said then, drawing Amara out of her thoughts. “I’ve important work to tend to,” he said blandly before he turned to leave her.
Because I’m nae important.
The unspoken message was loud and clear. She wouldn’t cry though. One thing her father admired was strength, and she wasn’t about to let his callous words hurt her again.
“Very well,me laird,” Amara hissed bitterly at her father’s back with a slight bow. And without waiting to see if her venom had landed on her target, she threw her skirts behind her and stormed away from him.
Amara floated through the castle with a new purpose in mind. Her anger and the anticipation caused her limbs to shake slightly with a tense excitement, but she managed to wait until she was outside before she started running. Her slippers barely staying on as her feet led her to the stables.
When the stable boy tried to assist her, she waved him off with a hand and a small smile. The need to get away from her father, to feel the wind in her hair before she burst into tears was too strong to wait for anyone to help her. Besides, she didn’t need a saddle, not forhermare.
Bonnet, as she’d named her mare when she’d been a child, sensed her anxiousness and danced a little, “That’s right, lass. Just ye and me and the wind today,” she said as she led the mare from the stable doors. As soon as Bonnet’s blonde tail crossed the threshold of the stable doorway, Amara was mounted and riding away from the castle.
She’d been in such a rush to leave Murdoch castle, and her father, Amara had forgotten to grab a shawl. The cool air seeped into her bones, and she shivered. It was worth it, though. She couldn’t have stayed in his presence a moment longer, not without letting anger or hurt get the best of her.
Amara rode into the woods, and Bonnet knew exactly where to go. Just ahead, there was a small clearing blanketed in heather. It was her favorite place to go when she wanted to be alone. She’d been there so frequently since her mother died that her mare instinctively trotted to a thick tree and stood there, waiting for Amara to dismount. Instead of tying the reins around the wide trunk, like she’d done so many times before, Amara simply ran her hands through the mare’s mane and let Bonnet graze through the heather.
The clearing was quiet. Lush green grass was heavily dotted with purple heather. It smelled like moss and old secrets. Familiar and comforting.
Her slippers didn’t make a sound as she walked among the heather.
Why has me faither forsaken me?
What did I do to make him hate me so?
Maybe hate was a strong word, but that’s how it felt to Amara. He never looked at her with love or tenderness anymore. Whenever his eyes fell on her, they were either filled with disappointment, disgust, or anger.
Does he blame me for Maither’s death?
If she hadn’t pulled away from her mother to wipe the blood out of her eyes, they wouldn’t have been separated. Maybe her mother would still be alive if Amara hadn’t been so weak. But her father hadn’t been there to see that transpire, or at least she thought he hadn’t been.
What if he saw that happen? Does he think I’m a coward?
Suddenly, a sinister laugh echoed across the small clearing, yanking Amara from her thoughts. She whirled at the sound, her mouth going dry as she spotted two men wearing the blue, green, and yellow colors of the O’Donnell Clan.
One of the men was tall and muscular with short dark brown hair. He’d probably be handsome if he wasn’t scarring the wits out of her right now. The other man, shorter and stockier with bright red hair drawn back from his eyes with a leather tie, wasn’t as handsome. He kept his eyes on her as he took a drink from a flask.
Amara’s eyes darted to Bonnet, trying to gauge the distance and the likelihood of reaching her mare before the men could reach her. From the look in their eyes, she had no doubt their intentions were less than honorable. But she’d wandered too far into the field, and the men were between her and Bonnet.
They kept walking toward her, their steps unhurried as if they had all the time in the world. As if they knew she could not escape, but Amara Hall was not just going to stand there and allow herself to be captured. Amara whirled and started running, stumbling once when the hem of her skirt tangled around her ankles.
