Page 7 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
Damien, his piercing eyes, and his farfetched story about her being a Laird’s daughter lingered at the forefront of her mind, and she had worried herself to exhaustion on what she was going to do about it.
Instead of getting up, Amelie clutched the blanket a little tighter while trying to chase the fleeting images of her dream. She always saw a garden, filled with vivid summer flowers and a tiny pond, but she did not know where it was. It felt familiar, but when it came to putting a name to it, the word flittered away like smoke.
An almost visceral feel of her piercing her hand with a rosebush thorn came moments before she called out in pain. Then arms were sweeping her up, just before a man said, “Hush, lassie, it’ll heal.”
Now, she breathed through the emotions as the dream dragged up, bereft, heart-aching, lustful feelings that had no right to be there, but were there, nevertheless.
Distress sat heavy on her chest and she began humming a soothing tune without thinking. She did not know the words to it, but she had a faint memory of it being sung to her. The women at the orphanage in the hills of Inverness told her that she had come to them humming it.
It was soothing to her and soon had her drifting to sleep, as she was not needed at the fishing house and she only went to the tavern in the evening. Amelie lingered in her bed until hunger drew her out of it. Sighing, she stood and readied herself for the day, by warming some milk and washing quickly.
What can I ask him to let him prove this outrageous suspicion of his is false?
Her supplies were dwindling and after she ate her meal, she grasped her basket, and left to the market in the pale dawn. The skies were solemn, and the streets were quiet, but as she wound down the lanes, windows were opening, and homes were coming alive.
The market was a wide-open space with stalls made of thatch-roof and wide tables. Quickly she bought meat, cheeses, bread grains and milk before heading back home; but instead of going to her hut, found herself on the seaside.
Seated on a rock, Amelie held her basket on her lap. This Damien person, did he honestly believe that she was the Lairds daughter, or was he tricking her?
Truthfully, I ken nothin’ about me past, but for me to be the daughter of a Laird—even that is farfetched. When he sees me again, what should I tell him?
Gazing out at the soft ebb-and flow of the water was calming, but not enough to quieten the tumult inside her. The moment Damien had touched her, a fire had raced through her body. Never had she felt that before; what was it?
“How lucky to see ye here,” Damien’s voice startled her, and she had to grab onto her basket to prevent it tipping over.
Amelie’s head snapped over her shoulder to him. He was dressed similarly to last night, in dark trews and a shirt, shod in thick boots and with a hooded cloak tied around his shoulders. His wild black hair looked tousled as if he had stood in the middle of a windstorm or if he had repeatedly raked his hand through it.
Shooting a glare over her shoulder to the man, she huffed. “Are ye followin’ me?”
“Nay,” his eyes dropped to her and Amelie had to stifle a shiver. “Water has a strange way of soothin’ me worries. I always come to the riverbanks to piece me thoughts together. Why are ye here?”
“None of yer business.” Pushing herself up, Amelie shook her head.
“Och,” he snorted. “Ye’re like a cat, arenae ye?”
“A cat?” she demanded. “Do I look like cat to ye?”
“When ye are annoyed, aye,” Damien said. “Just like a cat that’s been dunked in water. Somewhere between flustered and adorable.”
She stood, with her cheeks puffed out and made to move off. “I daenae want to be near ye. Please leave me alone.”
Stopping her, Damien dropped his teasing tone and apologized, “I am sorry, lass. I dinnae mean to anger ye.”
“Well, ye have.” Again, she made to leave but he stepped in her way.
“Please, Amelie, I’m nae here to harm ye, so please daenae run away from me…Why are ye runnin’ from me?”
“Because I daenae ken what to tell ye,” Amelie blurted, while clutching her basket to her chest. “I want to trust ye, but it’s so impossible to do so. To think that I am the daughter of a Laird is…frankly unheard of.”
A mixture of anxiety, despair and hope had her trembling in her place and Damien’s hand came to rest on her shoulders as his head bowed to catch her gaze. As she was nearly half-a-foot shorter than him, she had to tilt her chin up to meet it.
“Listen to me, lass. I think it somethin’ nay one would ever have expected to hear in their life,” Damien said soothingly. “It is unbelievable, far-fetched and a thing of fantasy, but here and there, fantasies do become true. I just need ye to trust me. Dare to hope, Amelie.”
She sucked in a breath, “I—”
“Just once,” he pleaded. “Trust me on this.”
With her eyes clenching tightly, Amelie nearly said yes, but stopped. “Ye said something about a yellow tartan…did anyone tell ye the style of it?”
