Page 56 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
Damien struck out madly, fighting to swim away. He broke through the surface and dragged in a lungful of icy air and saw the opposite bank through blurry eyes, then hauled his legs through the water.
The cold was sinking into his skin, and he could already feel his lungs staggering to draw in air. He had swallowed some of the icy water when his feet had given way too and now, he was burning from the inside.
He managed to wade through the water and to the stony shore on the other side. Clutching at his chest, Damien tottered into the forest beyond it, shuddering hard, teeth chattering and fingers fumbling with his clothes. He knew it spelled death to keep wet clothes on his person.
Must—must build a fire—must get heat.
With his shirt and vest off, he scrambled to find dry wood but only found twigs. His chest was heaving, but his quickened breath was short. While reaching for the sticks, his fingers fumbled, and his vision began to blur. His shivering was getting worse, but he fought and managed to get the wood into a form to start the fire.
Crouching in the darkness, Damien tried to get the fire started but his body was getting weak. He paused to take a deep breath, but his chest flamed and the pain radiating from the epicenter of his body forced him to collapse. His vision was shifting and after clenching his eyes tightly, he had to force them open.
He grasped the sticks with numb fingers and rubbed hard, desperate to get the heat he needed. A few sparks came but then nothing. He tried again…and again…and again, until a flicker came and began to grow, but by that time, Damien felt utterly weak, hungry, tired and cold.
He curled up as close to the fire as he could to not get burned and closed his eyes—then, oblivion.
If I die, please ken I love ye, Amelie.
22
Curled up in her bed and nursing a cup of nettle tea, Amelie stared at the portrait of her mother. The more she stared at it, the more a few faint memories came back to her. She remembered playing with a knitted ball, and a stuffed doll with woolen hair.
A faint pang of loss rested in her heart, she was mourning faint memories of her mother, as she did not know her at all. She imagined what her mother would say to her if she knew about Damien, if they had somehow met in another way.
Then her thoughts turned solely to Damien. Her worry for him had made her stomach feel empty and hollow. Two long days had passed since he had not come to the castle and her father had deployed his men to search for him.
That is if he is missin’. What if he ran off?
Just thinking that he might have abandoned her and ran away had her feeling mortified. Was he ashamed of himself that much that he could not find it in himself to meet her father? Or worse, did he not care for her as he had professed?
Either option disturbed her, and she set the pewter cup aside, and moved from the bed. Reaching for a thick wrapper her father had bought for her, she donned it and moved to the window. Damien was somewhere out there—but where?
Lately her appetite had disappeared, and she only ate for the sake of eating. She spent most of the time with her father, listening to his memories of her mother. She saw flashes of pain run over his face at time, and knew it was hurting him, but she also suspected that it was cathartic for him too. All this time he only carried the memories in his heart and now he could share them.
A knock came to her door and Hana came in with a cheerful greeting. “Good mornin’, Miss.”
Unable to match her happiness, Amelie did her best and forced a smile, “Good mornin’ to ye too, Miss Hana.”
“His Lairdship would like to speak with ye in his chambers,” Hana replied.
From the maid’s happy mood, Amelie started to feel hope that her father had some good news for her, that his men had found Damien somewhere. She had her shoes on quickly and smiled at the warm fur lining inside that kept her feet warm, a simple thing she was going to love.
“I hope it’s good news,” Amelie said as they walked to her father’s rooms.
“I cannae say, Miss,” Hana uttered.
They got to her father’s door and Amelie knocked on it, when Colin permitted her to enter, she thanked Hana and went inside. Her father was wrapped up in a thick tartan great-kilt and a long-sleeved saffron shirt. Her was rubbing a salve into his knee and looked up as she came forward.
“Good mornin’, faither, will ye let me help ye?” she asked.
“Nay,” he closed the tub of salve and shifted his kilt to cover his knee. “I got word from the borders. Nay man matchin’ yer description of Damien had passed through.”
Amelie wanted to feel happy about the news, but she could not. The implication was that Damien was still in town, she knew better. “But there are many ways through the woods that he could have gone through.”
“Sadly, aye,” her father replied. “I’ve directed me men to search the town and the farmlands, even the forests just in case.”
Her eyes dipped to her skirts. “Ye ken, he would tell me that he wasnae worthy of me—that I would be better off with another laird’s son or a man of better standin’ than him.”
“Sounds like a man who cares about ye to me,” Colin replied.
