Page 10 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
“Nothin’ will change,” Damien said staunchly; even while his gut tightened at her words. “Ye are his daughter, I can feel it.”
“But—”
Ben rested his hand on her knee, in an almost fatherly action. “Nay buts, Miss Amelie. We are sure about this. We searched for ye for four months, lassie. Well, Damien searched for ye on foot. He came to me for direction on where to go next.”
“Aye,” Damien said. “It took me a while to find the little reports of the missin’ lass. A lot of people thought ye we dead, but we decided to think otherwise. I searched villages, towns, hamlets, and there were some women who did fit the description, but none of them had yer strikin’ eyes.”
Pinking at his compliment, Amelie turned her head away momentarily. “Thank ye.”
Has nay one told ye how handsome ye are before? Tis a shame.
They were sailing up the Beauly river and while Amelie gaped at the wide expanse of water, Damien took his liberal time to admire her. Her face had fine, noble contours, with a pert nose, and softly rounded cheeks that tapered to a quaint little chin. Her lips were full and rosy, and they parted with awe as she looked around.
His hand clenched at his side as he stopped the urge to trace his thumb over her cheek and alluring top lip. What he prized most were her wide and thickly lashed eyes with the riveting green-gold hue.
Mister McLowe chuckled. “Is this yer first time up this stream?”
Pink stained Amelie face as she replied. “It’s me first time out of the city of Inverness, aye. I’ve only gone to me home, the tavern and the local market. I’ve never been on a boat, nor ridden a horse.”
“Daenae ye worry lass,” Ben replied while seated against the base of the mast. “When ye’re restored to yer home, ye will get all those, and more.”
“I have heard a lot of rumors about this woman. Is it true that she’s half English?” she asked, gripping her wooden seat.
“The Laird’s wife was a Sassenach, aye,” Damien replied, “From what I’ve been told, she was a stunnin’ Englisher named Evelina, with gold-green eyes and an uncanny wisdom that made some ken she was a witch.”
Nibbling on her lip. Amelie uttered, “I cannae believe I might be half-English. Is that why they killed her? Because she was an outsider?”
“Nay,” Damien replied. “From what we heard, the story about the Laird’s marriage to her was a scandalous one. Miss Evelina was to marry another Laird, a brute from the lowlands. The marriage was a peace treaty between her family and his for him to stop him from raidin’ their lands in Northumberland. ‘Tis told, Laird Dolberry was travelin’ in the lowlands and came across her stranded in a broken carriage.”
“The tale is that he was so struck by her beauty, he stole her away, assurin’ her that she wouldnae die under the hand of the other Laird,” Mister McLowe added. “The Laird thought she had run off, but, when he got word that she had married another, he swore revenge and attacked them. He killed her without remorse.”
Horrification pained Amelie’s face white. Damien watched, discomforted as she hunched into herself. He heard some soft choking noises coming from her, until she spoke.
“W-What did the Laird Dolberry do?”
“He repaid in kind,” Damien replied darkly while guiding the boat. “As would any man do who saw his lover bein’ killed. Ye cannae love someone and nae fight for her.”
His words carried an edge of danger to them, and he saw her straighten. Under her lashes, she flicked a look to Damien. “Did ye ever do that?”
Those arresting eyes met and held his.
“Nay…” he said honestly. “Never met the right woman to stir that protectiveness in me.”
Until ye…perhaps.
Damien’s words were heavy, but as his gaze held hers, he tried to press his emotions into his suggestive gaze, telling her that she might be the one he would fight for. He allowed his eyes to trail over her body slowly, following her curves, and soft planes. Her plump lips parted, and the tip of her tongue swiped over them quickly.
How plump are those lips, lass? If I kiss ye, will ye whimper? Will ye moan?
“What are we goin’ to do when we get to shore?” she asked.
“A friend of mine had a horse and cart we can use in the town,” Damien replied, as he thought of where he had hidden Morag, his horse, but she did not need to know that. “It would be easier to carry Mister McLowe and ye.”
“And sleepin’? We’ll probably find an inn?” Nodding, Amelie added.
“Most likely,” Damien replied. “Tis a week’s journey to the castle from Beauly and another back. With nay obstacles in our way, we might make it quicker.”
Amelie turned to look around them at the wide river. Damien’s eyes followed her, watching the shimmering with light and deep shades of blue and the shrubs bordering the riverbanks and the barren trees that were on the forests at either side.
