Page 3 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
I’m sure Benjamin will appreciate this.
Instead of going back to his mentor in Inverness, Damien diverted to a village outside of Culloden. It was still a few hours before dawn, and he found an inn where the proprietress’ daughter sold him a warm bowl of soup and a hunk of bread.
The lass, Sara, twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers and leaned over the table, giving him direct line with her heavy breasts. “If ye want to stay, there are only two beds available. One in the barn and one with me.”
“Are you offerin’ yer bed, lass?” Damian asked slowly, while breaking his bread.
“A bed,” she had whispered, dark eyes glittering with almost-triumph, “and a body to go with it.”
It had been a while since Damien had bedded a lass, almost six-months and going, but he felt no desire for the woman. The clamor of boots dragged his attention away from the innkeeper’s daughter to the five men who came in. Instantly, Damien shifted his bag of loot tighter against the wall the table was pushed up against.
“—Old man is a fool,” one of them huffed as he grabbed a chair and sat. “What bloody sense does it have to be searchin’ two decades later for a lass who perished long ago?”
“That two thousand sterlin’ will go to waste,” another man laughed. “Unless a lass with red hair an’ green eyes comes along to fool him into believin’ her. ‘Tis Scotland, where ye can drag a dozen women from every village in this country to fit her colorin’. I’m sure, when word gets out of this, all of ‘em are goin’ to show up at the Laird’s house!”
Quietly, Damien listened to their conversation about a recluse Laird whose ordeal had slowly fell away from people’s minds. He listened in to how Colin McDulah, the Laird of Dolberry’s castle, had been ambushed nearly two decades ago, how he had been injured in the fight, and how his Sassenach wife had been killed and his daughter taken.
He took small bites of his food, hoping the men would spill more clues about this lost girl.
“They say the lass had the most peculiar green eyes,” one said, “heard her eyes shift from green to gold like a selkie. To this point, I think they will have a better chance findin’ the damned selkie.”
The men guffawed loudly while the innkeeper’s daughter served them drinks. She must have gotten her wish to be bedded as one of the men whispered something in her ear and she led him away and up the stairs. Damien was glad he had not gone with her as this two thousand silver reward was much more appealing to him.
What if Ben and I find the lass? That reward sound too good to pass up.
After paying for his meal, Damien hoisted his pack over his back and slipped out into the chilly night. He mounted his tethered horse and rode off into the darkness.
* * *
The wattle and daub hut that his mentor, Benjamin McLowe, lived in had a flicker of light under the door. Damien was not too concerned about disturbing the older man as Ben had grown to expect Damien at all times of the night.
Knocking on the door, he waited until he heard the shuffling of feet and stepped away from the door. When it opened, Ben looked up and smiled, “Sonny boy, glad to see ye. Come in, come in.”
Stepping in, Damien closed the door and latched it behind him, then gave the older man a warm embrace.
“How are ye, Ben?”
“Ah, fairly well, I suppose,” the older man shuffled to his cot that was placed on a stack of bricks. He rested his hand on his left knee and rubbed it with a wince, “me knee’s acting up, but that only tells me this winter’s goin’ to be a fierce one. I have some stew in the pot if ye want any.”
“Nay,” Damien shook his head while stocking the dwindling fire, “I already ate.” Sitting, he opened the sack and pulled out the silver candlesticks. “Here’s what I got from the castle. Ye’ll have to get that ironworker of yers to melt it down and sell it. I think we’ll get a good sack of coins for this. Ye willnae be goin’ hungry this winter.”
“That’s very good news, Damien. Thank ye,” a sigh of relief left Ben.
“Nay,” Damien’s grin turned wolflike, “I have even better news. I overheard some men talkin’ about Laird Dolberry and his missin’ daughter. The old man seems to think his lass is still alive and he offered a sack of two thousand sterlin’ for anyone who can bring her to him.”
Ben cocked his head. “His daughter ye say? When was the bairn taken from him?”
“Nearly twenty years ago,” Damien said, getting to his knees. “I think it’s a long time and the lass might be dead, but me gut tells me it isnae so. And ye ken how it always goes when I trust me instinct.”
Rubbing his chin, Ben nodded. “That is a mighty handsome prize for a lass who went missin’ so long ago, but how would ye even track her down?”
Feeling that his mentor was starting to agree with him, Damien added, “I’d start at the same place she went missin’. Find out what she looks like and such then, try to piece the puzzle together. What do ye say?”
“When word gets out, a legion of women will be flockin’ to the Laird,” Ben said sagely, “and all of them will be imposters. If ye are confident that ye can find the real lass, then I support ye all the way.”
“Glad to hear it,” Damien nodded, “now, about these candlesticks…”
He vowed to find this woman and get that reward before anyone else did—because so help him, that silver was going to be his and may god have mercy on anyone who got in his way.
