Page 42 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
The castigating tone Ben spoke with had Damien cringing a little, and he huffed out a breath.
“I couldnae think of anythin’ better, Ben. Tis better for the two of us if she forgets me entirely. Ye ken what I heard earlier today, Ben, down at the tavern just aside us? There is a Laird’s son, primed and ready to marry Laird Dolberry’s daughter when she’s found. And nae only a normal Laird’s son, this one is the heir to gold and is supposed to be the handsomest in the land.”
Pressing his eyes tight, Damien beat back the pain ripping through his chest. “How can anyone compete with that? I was right to stop the tomfoolery between us. It would have landed us nowhere good.”
Ben shuffled on his cot. “I’m sad to hear ye say that, Damien. I thought ye two would have at least stayed amicable even beyond this.”
If only it could be so. I learned very early in me life that it’s better to cut off anythin’ that will hurt me, before it hurts me—and Amelie is one.
“Well…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to live with it. I hope she writes the letter so I can send it off at dawn.”
A prolonged silence lingered between them before Ben broke it. “Are ye sure ye want to see her go, lad?”
Nay.
“Whether I like it or nae, it doesnae matter,” Damien turned away from Ben and faced the pale wall, while his emotions began to sour. “T’was goin’ to happen anyway.”
* * *
The lamp on Amelie’s table was flickering low and she still did not know what to put on the paper Damien had handed her. Her eyes were dropping heavy with tiredness and no matter how she tried, the words did not come.
She could not think of anything elegant or persuasive to catch the Laird’s attention, but she knew that Damien needed the note by dawn. Frustrated, Amelie only wrote a few words.
‘I remember a pond with fish and vibrant flowers around it. I am nae sure if this is in yer home, but I remember playin’ by it—Amelie.’
Tired, she placed the quill to dry and went off to bed. She disrobed and donned her nightgown before sliding under the thick covers. The bed was bigger that she had ever slept in before, and the sheets and pillows were sinfully comfortable.
She faintly imagined how it would be to have Damien laying with her in such a wonderful bed, but instantly felt her hopes plummet. Damien had made it clear that he was only going to get her to the Laird, take his reward and leave.
Maybe she should have seen this from the moment Damien had approached her that night in the bar, and truthfully a part of her had recognized it. Yet now, that they had passed the line between friends, she had never expected Damien to be so callous when pushing her away. Despite it all, she still missed the feel of his body alongside hers for the night.
When she did slip off to sleep, her rest was fitful and when she woke, more tired than ever, she still managed to leave her bed and, by habit, make it. She was still in her nightdress when someone knocked at her door, and she knew that it was Damien beyond the door.
Taking the short note—barely two lines—she rolled it, then carried the quill and the inkwell with it to the door. Damien looked rough; his face haggard, his hair tousled and his eyes red. Before he spoke, his eyes dipped over her body, then trailed back to her face and cleared his throat.
“Mornin’, ye have the letter,” he noted while taking his items. “Good, I’ll send it off this mornin’. Ye can go back to bed.”
Amelie twisted a little to look over her shoulder. “I’d love to but it’s nae in me nature to sleep past dawn. Nay matter how tired I am.”
“Ye should,” Damien said. “Tis a bit of luxury, I’d take it if I were ye. Murdoch is goin’ to send up yer meal.”
The indifference he showed opposed the warm sensual look he had just given her seconds before as his eyes had wandered. With a curt nod, he left and walked away with Amelie’s eyes tracing him. When he turned the corner, she sagged against the doorway, with her eyes dropping to the floor. Stiffly, she went back into the room and closed the door.
Instead of going to bed, she went to the daybed and like the night before, she curled up on it.
Damien wanted nothing to do with her, and it hurt. He had been the first one to kiss her, touch her, make her feel wanted in all the ways a part of her had dreamed about, but now, he was adamant nothing more could happen between them.
That by being the Laird’s daughter, she had better prospects when it came to a man in her life.
But what if I daenae want such a husband?
She sat and watched the pale winter sun rise and the darkening of the snow clouds on the horizon. Someone knocked and when she went to answer it, it was a woman holding a tray of food and another one holding a basin of water.
“Good morn, Miss,” the cheery brown-haired lady greeted her. “Mister Murdoch sends his regards and yer breakfast. Some washin’ water too until yer bath is ready. Compliments of Laird Dolberry.”
Amelie blushed. “Erm, thank ye both.”
After setting the items down, they left, and Amelie went to wash her face and mouth. The water was lukewarm and felt heavenly on her face.
