Page 4 of Highlander's Runaway Seductress
2
Four Months Later
Winter was in full force and Amelie was grateful for the warmth of the bar that she served in. A fire was roaring in the large hearth and patrons were drinking more whisky, ale and wine as the night went on. Amelie was winding her way through the packed tables and the drunken men who were passed-out in the corners.
She made it back to the bar table, while squealing at a pinch to her behind. Fanning the drunk man off, Amelie filled another carafe of whisky and went to a table of fishermen who drunk without limits. After filling their cups, she shot a look at a man who had come in a few hours ago.
Sequestered into a corner, half his face covered with a cowl, the man had taken one drink and had not moved since. She did not fear him, but she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck lift while she passed by him, as if he were staring at her—yet not once had he said a word.
Dragging her eyes from the man’s position, she went to serve her faithful patrons while the feeling of the man’s eyes lingered. She poured out the alcohol and pocketed the coins before going back to the bar.
“Leelee!” Declan called, “whisky!”
Amelie reached for her jug of whisky. “Here ye go,” she said, “Try to make this one last for a while, eh?”
The older man lifted his goblet, “Aye.”
“Wench!” a burly man, dressed in the soldier’s leathers, yelled from the corner. “More ale!”
Gritting her teeth, Amelie filled a jug with the pricier liquor and crossed over the tavern’s wooden floor, toward them. The soldier who had called to her was a large, broad-shouldered man and the sleeves of his shirt were nearly bursting at the seams over his muscles. There were two more soldiers seated with him and Amelie started to fill their goblets to the brim.
“Can ye believe it?” One of the men shook his head. “After nearly twenty years, the Laird Dolberry is searchin’ for his wee lass. One who must have died long ago.”
“Why do ye think she died?” another asked with a cocked brow.
The first snorted, “Me Da used to work as a milliner there. He told me half the castle had been demolished to the ground. The woman, Laird Dolberry’s wife, anEnglishlass mind ye, ran with the bairn but the soldiers caught her and killed her. The bairn was only three, how could she have survived?”
“By a miracle,” the soldier who had called her over, snorted and stretched out his long legs. “If that lass is alive, she’s worth a fortune, two thousand silver coins. And since the Laird has nay son, she’s the only chance he has for an heir.”
Moving to fill his goblet last, Amelie leaned over his shoulder, but he grabbed her arm instead. Soon, she found herself on his lap, while miraculously holding the jug intact.
“About time, wench. What do ye say we find me bed later?”
Resting the jug on the table first, Amelie brought her boot up, swiftly slid the small dirk out from it and pressed the blade across his neck. She leaned into his ear.
“Release me. I daenae want to injure one of His Highness’ finest, but I will, if ye press me.”
His dark brows darted up, and a sly grin took his face. “Have some fire in ye, lass? I like that.” Amelie only narrowed her eyes, but the man did not release her; instead, he gripped her hips and asked, “Are yer eyes green or gold, lassie?”
“Both,” Amelie replied. “Now, will ye let me go? I willnae grace yer bed, so daenae bother askin’ me about it.”
With a humored chuckle, the soldier released his grip and Amelie stood before sliding the dagger back in her boot. Grasping her jug, she filled the man’s goblet.
“If yer lookin’ for a whore, go over to the Blue Gill, they’re a plenty over there.”
Going back to the bar, Amelie did her best to wash out some pewter cups while not reacting to the gaze from the stranger she could feel heavy on her skin.
While washing and drying a goblet, she saw something strangely stimulating. The light from the fire flickered over the silent observer’s form and she saw his fingertips slowly, sensually, tracing the rim of his goblet.
A warm flush raced under her skin while she turned away from the sight and kept on serving buyers.
Hours later, while the tavern emptied, the man still had not moved—until she went back to the bar to sit, and he stood and took a seat there.
Amelie could not explain why her breath hitched when his hands lifted, and he removed the cowl from his head. The first thing that arrested her were his sharp, icy, blue eyes.
Mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze, she had whispered, “Who are ye, and why have ye been watching me?”
“Because I believe ye are the one I’ve been lookin’ for,” he answered.
