Page 11 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
She turned back to Damien and glanced at the older man who seemed to be nodding off. By increments, Amelie edged closed to Damien and dropped her tone to a hush. “How did ye two meet?”
Damien tensed a little, not only because her body was brushing his, but also because he wondered how to tell Amelie the truth but notallof it.
“Me parents died when I was young. Ben found me when I was starvin’ and sleepin’ in a ditch. I was a boy of ten. He dinnae have much but with what he did, he used it and grew me like a son. Now that I am older, I want to do right by him and help him the same way he helped me, even better than.”
His words must have touched her because she turned to him and gave Damien a blooming smile. He was close, he could kiss her—but refrained.
“That’s very admirable of ye. I grew up in an orphanage, where if the harvests were good, we would have meat, bread and cheese for meals, but if nae, a bowl of porridge was all ye could have. I was glad that I had a place to live, but as I grew, I was desperate to get away from the orphanage.”
“Only to end up as a barmaid,” Damien teased but it sounded crueler than he had expected.
Her eyes narrowed, but her tone was even. “It was either that or become a harlot, and I chose everythin’ but that. I worked on a farm for a while, then went to the fish houses. I may be poor, but I have me dignity.”
Instantly, Damien was contrite. “Me apologies, Amelie. I dinnae mean it to be as unkind as it sounded. I am a bit too blunt for me own good.”
The apology must have worked because Amelie gave him a thin smile, then her eyes lifted from his, showing she had realized that they were nearing land. The water was getting shallower, and he knew if they went too close, they would risk the bottom of the boat scraping.
They were nearing to a jutting stone quay and Damien expertly guided the vessel to it as they could not sail any further. The soft brush against the rocks jolted Ben awake and he sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“We’ve arrived?”
“Aye,” Damien replied, while flipping the mooring line over a stump. “Can yet get up on the walk, lass?”
Eyeing the jetty, Amelie flapped her skirts, showing him her slim legs and delicate ankles before she grasped a stump. With a heave that sent the boat rocking, Amelie hopped on the stone walk, wincing a little and he hoped that she had not scraped her knees.
Standing, Amelie brushed her hands off and reached out to help Mister McLowe up on the walk as well. Damien helped and together they had the older man up standing on the walk, and soon, after he lobbied their sacks to her, with a heave and a hop, Damien joined them.
“What about the boat?” Amelie asked while taking her pack. “Is it goin’ to stay here?”
“We’ve arranged for someone to use it while we’re gone,” Damien assured her, while omitting that the man who was going to use it poached from the big ships in the harbor. “We willnae need it for a while, and if we do succeed in Dolberry, we might never need it again.”
Amelie’s face closed off and he wished he could take back those words—it must sound to her that he was using her for the money. Which, though he was, it felt horrible to be known. The poor girl was probably thinking about her mother that, unknown to Amelie, had been murdered, in the worst of ways.
He winced at the memory of an old man in Dolberry village telling him just how the wicked Laird had slit Evelina’s throat from ear to ear.
They made it to the beach and crossed over to the tracks that led to the town. The trek was made slowly as Benjamin could not walk quickly, but they got to the outside of the town and made it to the stable where Damien hid his horse after a job.
He made sure that Amelie and Benjamin rested under the eaves of the barn when he went off to speak with his accomplice. It did not take long for him to speak with Bhric—the poacher—before he went back to the stables and hitched up the horse and cart.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Amelie inching closer to Morag, with wary steps. While setting up the harness, he grinned and said, “He doesnae bite, lass.”
“Are ye sure?” she asked.
Instead of answering verbally, Damien took her hand and placed it directly on the horse’s velvety nose. Her hand was smaller than his and a soft warmth emanated from their connection. He grinned when she nearly jerked away, but he held her firm and did not move away from Morag.
Is too much to hope she feels the attraction too?
Slowly, he pulled his hand from hers but did not step away from her back. Amelie rubbed the horse’s face, then moved to his jaw and giggled when he snuffled against her hand. She moved to rub his ears and even brushed her fingers through his flowing mane.
“He’s so gentle,” she murmured.
“Aye, he is,” Damien replied, as he dropped his hands to her hips. His pulse pounded hard in his as he prepared himself for when she would wrench away—but Amelie stayed still. “When ye can, I’ll teach ye how to ride him.”
“Erm,” she dropped her hand, and laughed nervously, “mayhap nae anytime soon.”
Regretfully, Damien pulled his hands from her and stepped away to finish sitting up the cart.
“I wish we had more things to pad this cart with, so ye two can be comfortable.”
