Page 35 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
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“Get out!” A buxom woman snarled at Amelie after she, Damien and Ben had entered a tavern. “Play yer whoredom and witchcraft elsewhere, red-headed harlot!”
Jaw dropping with shock, Amelie could only turn to Damien, lips trembling and eyes beading with tears. The eyes of almost a dozen people were on her and before Damien could so something, she spun on her heel and ran.
The town was dark, and she did not know where to go, but that did not stop her from rushing down a dark path. Tears were blurring her vision, but she kept hurrying away. It was one thing for this person to lie and tell people she was a harlot, but now a witch?
Were they trying to ger her killed? There was a law against witchcraft. It was one of the worst crimes anyone could commit and those convictedof the dark arts were strangled to death and then burnedat the stake. Not to mention the other heinous tortures the inquisitor would inflict on them.
Why would she want me dead so badly?
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Amelie stopped somewhere and looked around while blinking the tears from her eyes.
She did not know where she was, but all Amelie knew was that she was tired—utterly exhausted. Was it not enough that she had to worry about meeting Laird Dolberry? Now why did she have to deal with this unnamed stranger set on spreading lies about her?
Swallowing over a tight throat, Amelie turned and while wrapping her cloak tighter, began to walk back to the tavern with slow halting steps. She had to find Damien, and then, since the town was as poisoned against her as the other town was, they would have to move on.
Utterly humiliated, Amelie dragged her feet back to the tavern where the cart and horse were waiting, and felt her stomach sink further with every step she took. She turned a corner, and then felt a body crash into her and she was slammed unto the gritty ground.
Temporarily blind, Amelie struck out with her fists, but she did not hit anything. A hand grabbed her hair and began slamming her face into the ground. Explosive pain blasted through her head and she was limp for a moment while the agony paralyzed her.
Her attacker kept assaulting her and delivering blows to her back and side. Amelie’s instinct to survive kicked in and she twisted around to fight. It was dark but she struck her hands out and grabbed a shoulder. Amelie sunk her fingers in and grabbed the person—the sharpripof cloth and a woman’s cry had rent the air.
Furious, Amelie grabbed the woman’s hair and yanked, ripping out a large clump of hair with one hand while ramming her fist into the woman’s stomach with the other. A sharp scream gave Amelie a vicious sense of victory and she managed to scramble to her feet—only to be tackled back down.
It was Morgana—acrazedMorgana whose eyes were bright with pain and her lips pulled back with a sneer.
“Ye little wench, I’ll end this here and now!”
Before Amelie could say a word, Morgana pulled a knife out from the top of her boot and lifted it high.
The faint moonlight glinted off the edge of the wicked steel as it descended on Amelie’s throat. Just as Amelie flung her hands up to block the blow, something connected with Morgana’s temple, sending her flying off Amelie.
Frantic, Amelie scrambled to her feet to see Ben holding a thick piece of wood. The branch dropped from the old man’s hand and he tottered a bit weakly. Morgana had not moved from the place where she had fallen, and the knife slowly slipped from her lax hand.
Amelie grabbed at Ben for a moment, praying that the man had not injured himself in saving her. He wavered on his feet for a while but managed to stand still. Her heart was lodged firmly in her throat while holding onto Benjamin; her head was throbbing, and she felt the trickle of blood down her temple.
“Amelie!” Damien called hysterically. He ran the short distance from up the lane to her and when he skidded to his feet, he looked to where Morgana had fallen and the wooden club there. “What ha—”
Then he looked at Amelie and saw the blood on her face, and his head snapped to Morgana, and Amelie saw when his eyes landed on the knife. His face twisted with anger, and pain as he knelt to Morgana’s side.
While clutching on Ben, and watching Damien look over her, Amelie tremulously asked, “Is-Is she dead?”
After a long moment, Damien stood. “Aye, I think she’s—she’s gone.”
Somehow, Amelie felt aggrieved for Morgana. The woman had hated her, and likely had been the one to spread all those nasty rumors about her being a harlot and a witch. And while the woman had a reason to be jealous of her, Morgana did not deserve to die that way.
Amelie clasped her hand with Ben’s tightly while deep appreciation washed through her—the man had saved her life. How he had come to her aid, she did not know.
“I never meant to hit her so hard,” Ben sounded mournful. “I saw Amelie in trouble, and I did what I thought best to save her.”
“And I cannae thank ye enough,” Amelie said tiredly. “But what are we goin’ to do with her body? We cannae just leave her—” but then Morgana began to move.
Damien swiftly bent and grabbed the discarded knife before lurching away from her and grabbing Amelie, pushing her behind him. He did it as Morgana sat up—she was not dead at all. The woman pressed a hand to her head and hissed, then stood on shaky feet.
She blinked, and her eyes landed on Damien. “Ye.”
