Page 38 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
Stepping away from the edge, Damien turned and trudged back through the thin strip of forest to get back to the inn. Amelie and Ben must have had their baths and meals already, while he had been content with a quick bucket of warmed water.
Ben was not going to be happy when he told him that he was going to forgo the reward money. They had come all this way for that sole reason, but his conscience was beating him up. He could not use Amelie as if she were only a means to an end, not now, now when he had come to love her.
The inn stood three stories high, the biggest Damien had ever seen before and beside it was a tavern where, even though it was barely dusk, cheerful sounds of drunken revelry filtered through its thick, sturdy walls. Damien ducked inside for a moment, desperate to find a way to stall going back to Amelie.
He got to the table and ordered a glass of the strongest drink they had. The whisky was so harsh Damien believed it could be used to dissolve rocks, but he swallowed it anyway.
Perched on the edge of the bar, he sipped his drink while overhearing a subject that, only a week ago would have excited him, not given him pain: Laird Dolberry and his missing daughter. Yet this time, he heard something more that made a stone the size of Ben Nevis mountain sink into his stomach.
“…whoever that lass is, if she’s found, she has the son of a Laird waitin’ for her hand,” one of the men said.
The other whistled through his thick beard. “Och, that man is bein’ chased after by women far and wide. It’s a wonder he hasnae been married yet.”
“His father’s territory has possession of gold, so with coffers like his, maybe he was picky about women. Some of ‘em dinnae have a farthin’ to their name,” the first responded.
“Aye, and some are rather foolish too. It takes sense and wisdom to be the Lady of a Lairdship,” the second man lifted his glass. “To be a Laird too. Those men have swindlers circlin’ them like vultures every day. It takes a canny mind to see through those tricks. Their wives too.”
Disheartened, Damien finished his drink and left to go back to the inn.
Now, another deterrent about him and Amelie was being thrown in his face. It was enough to know that Amelie would have a man of a higher status, but how in heaven’s name could he compete with the son of a rich Laird?
He stepped into the inn and headed up to the room he had taken—one in the attic, but on the way, he stopped in his tracks and headed toward Amelie’s room. The door was closed, but he tried it and saw her laying on the bed, asleep. At the doorway, he raked a hand through his already tousled hair.
What have I gotten meself into with this lass?
He turned away, but her soft words aimed at his back stopped him. “Daenae go, please. Stay a while.”
Taking a long breath in before he turned, Damien did so and closed the door behind him. He came to her bedside and sat on the edge. Her hair was down and cleaned of days’ worth of dirt and grime.
He moved a thick lock from her temple and stiffened his jaw to stop himself from grimacing. The wound was scarring over but it still looked raw and tender. Dropping his eyes from the scar, he traced over her face, that just like her hair, was cleaned from the filth of travel.
Amelie’s chin tilted up as his fingers flitted over the soft skin of her cheek. Her lips were beguiling temptation, one that he could not resist.
“God, woman, what are ye doin’ to me?” he swore.
With his eyes never leaving her lips, he slanted his mouth over hers and gave her a soft kiss, that grew hungry. Amelie must have sensed a wild desperation in his kiss, so she submitted to him, allowing him to plunder her mouth as hard or tenderly as he wanted.
Shifted to lay halfway on her, Damien placed his elbows on either side of her head, braced his weight on them while he explored every sweet, moist recess of her mouth. Pulling back to suck and nip at her plump lip only to delve inside again.
A throbbing urgency rose in him to have her, to make her his, to show her true pleasure, possessed him, but he forced himself away.
With his lips apart from hers, he rested his forehead on her, sharing her harsh panting breaths. His hand slipped over her hip and he groaned softly. “I cannae stay away from ye.”
“Why do I sense that there is more to those words than ye have said?” Amelie sighed.
“Because there is,” he said while sitting away from her. “I cannae stay away from ye, but common sense tells me that I should.”
Sitting up, Amelie reached out for him and Damien allowed her to rest her hand on his arm. “Why?”
“Because—” he stopped, trying to swallow over the pained tone he knew was growing in his voice, “—there is nay future for us anyhow. Ye’re the daughter of a Laird, a man who has more power and splendor than I can ever imagine. Yer future is with a man of his stature, Amelie, nae a pauper like me.”
She shook her head. “But what if I daenae want any other?”
“Ye will when ye meet the men yer father has lined up for ye,” Damien replied, bitterly. “They will all be men of stature, wealth and more learnin’ that I can ever have. They ken about business and history and war—”
“And I do?” Amelie asked, pointedly. “The orphanage only taught me how to read, and the closest I got to any history lesson was folk tales about how King Arthur was a Scot, and a rumor that Robert the Bruce was a three-foot tall man who walked with stilts.”
“Still,” Damien said, while pushing away from the bed. He paced the small length of the room, while the words he wanted to say began to pile up in his mind. He pressed his back to the furthest wall and rubbed his eyes until they burned.
