Taken By the Vicious Highlander (Taken by Highland Devils #5)

Chapter 13

13

D amon woke up as the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted bacon assaulted him, mingling with the faint smell of the inn’s wood-paneled walls.

The memory of the kiss he stole haunted him, tugging at his resolve and testing his self-control, but he was confident that whatever semblance of control he had lost was now back in place.

He’d left the inn, angry with himself, and paced out his frustration in the cold alley. About an hour later, he noticed the light darken in their room and decided to relieve Ryder and guard her door in his stead.

His mental battle eventually gave way to a lucid rest, and the longer his tight shoulders leaned uncomfortably against the large wooden door, the more his resolve hardened.

Confident in his renewed self-control, he stood up, gathered the breakfast tray next to him, and pushed the door open.

“Lass, it’s time to – ” He broke off as he caught the swinging door before it slammed against the wall.

The sight before him nearly made him laugh out loud.

Lilith was sprawled across the bed in the most unladylike position he could have imagined. One arm was slung over her head, and the other hung off the side of the bed. Her hair was a wild tangle of soft waves, and her mouth was slightly open as she breathed deeply, still lost in sleep. The blanket barely covered her legs, having been kicked down to her waist at some point in the night.

“An angel on Earth, indeed…” he murmured, recalling something his father used to say about their mother whenever they caught a hair out of place or a wrinkle in her skirts.

Damon finally stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. The sight of her shattered any resolve he thought he had garnered just moments ago. The memory of her moans stroked his spine, making him stretch out his tightening neck.

Relax, man. Ye’ll do this as ye vowed.

Damon set the tray down and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied her. She looked nothing like the composed, sharp-tongued woman he’d come to know. Instead, she appeared young, almost vulnerable, with her features soft and unguarded.

A smile tugged at his lips as he considered how best to wake her. He could call out her name, but that felt too impersonal. He also had no intention of teasing her about her current state, and she would definitely still be mad at him for leaving her last night. Though the thought did cross his mind. In the end, an idea struck him—one that felt both intimate and strangely fitting.

Damon moved to the bed, pulling off his boots with practiced ease. He climbed in beside her, careful not to jostle her too much, and slid his arm around her waist. Gently, he pulled her toward him until her back rested against his chest.

For a moment, he lay still, expecting her to stir and startle awake. Instead, she let out a soft sigh and shifted closer, curling into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her warmth seeped into him, her soft, steady breathing tickling his neck.

Damon closed his eyes, savoring the moment. He wasn’t one to indulge in sentimentality, but there was something about having her in his arms like this—unguarded, trusting—that made his chest tighten.

I can actually fall asleep like this…

He let himself relax. The world outside the room faded, leaving only the sound of her breathing and the steady beat of her heart.

When she began to stir, he opened his eyes and watched as her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. She shifted slightly, furrowing her brow in confusion before her eyes opened fully. For a moment, she simply stared ahead, her expression peaceful and unhurried. Then, her gaze darted up to his, and he saw the realization dawn in her eyes.

Her cheeks flushed, and she sat up quickly, disentangling herself from his arms. “Wh-What are ye doin’?” she stammered, pulling the blankets up around her.

“Good mornin’ to ye too, wife,” Damon drawled, his voice laced with amusement.

She glared at him, though the blush on her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment. “Ye could’ve woken me like a normal person. Where have ye been? Where did ye go?”

“I thought this was more effective. Ye looked comfortable enough,” he said, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “I was just outside—right there outside the door. Let yer Ryder get some sleep.”

Lilith huffed, blushed, and then scoffed before crossing her arms over her chest. But before she could launch into a tirade, her eyes landed on the tray of food by the window.

“Is that breakfast?” she asked, her voice softening.

“Aye,” Damon said, climbing out of bed. “I thought ye might be hungry.”

She watched as he brought the tray over and set it on the bed between them.

“Thank ye,” she murmured, any trace of irritation in her demeanor already gone.

As they ate, Damon found himself stealing glances at her. The way the sunlight filtered through the window and caught the strands of her hair made her look radiant. And though the previous night’s tension still lingered between them, he couldn’t help but feel at ease in her presence.

The ride back to the keep was uneventful at first. Damon rode beside Lilith, while Ryder trailed behind them at a respectful distance. The man still looked pale, though his determination to keep up was evident.

Damon glanced at Lilith as they approached the castle gates. “Show me the places only ye ken about,” he said suddenly.

She turned to him, her brow furrowed in surprise. “What?”

“Ye’ve lived here longer than I have,” he said. “I want ye to show me the parts of the land that are special to ye. Places that arenae in the reports or the maps.”

Lilith hesitated, her eyes searching his face for a moment before she nodded. “Hmm… all right, I ken just the place.”

They dismounted near the stables, handing the horses off to Ryder.

Lilith led Damon down a narrow path that wound through the trees, the foliage thick and vibrant around them. She moved with practiced ease, her steps confident and sure.

“This way,” she said, glancing back at him. “There’s a stream up ahead.”

But before they reached it, a shout rang out from behind them. Damon turned just in time to see a group of brigands emerge from the trees, their weapons drawn.

“Get behind me,” he barked, drawing his sword in one fluid motion.

Lilith hesitated for a moment before stepping back, her eyes wide with alarm. Ryder appeared moments later, limping slightly but holding a dagger in his hand.

“Stay with her,” Damon ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Ryder nodded, positioning himself in front of Lilith as Damon charged at the brigands. The clash of steel echoed through the forest as he met the first brigand head-on.

Damon fought with precision and power, his movements calculated and ruthless. But the fight was chaotic, and his focus wavered when he heard Lilith’s cry. He turned just in time to see her darting forward, a small blade in her hand.

“Lilith, nay!” he shouted, his voice filled with panic.

She didn’t listen. She moved with surprising agility, striking at one of the brigands who had slipped past Ryder. The man fell grotesquely after Ryder’s blade found his throat, but not before his blade slashed Lilith’s arm.

Damon saw red.

With a roar of rage, he launched himself at the remaining brigands, his strikes fueled by fury. He fought with a ferocity that left no room for mercy, cutting down anyone who dared approach him or Lilith.

When the last of them fell, he turned to find Lilith cradling her injured arm. Blood seeped through her fingers, staining the fabric of her sleeve.

“What in the hell were ye thinkin’?” he demanded, storming toward her.

She glared at him, her face pale but defiant. “I was tryin’ to help!”

“Help?” he growled, his voice rising. “Ye could’ve been killed, Lilith! Ye had nay business?—”

“I’m nae helpless, Damon,” she snapped, cutting him off. “Ryder taught me how to defend meself. Both me and Willow, actually.”

Damon’s gaze flicked to Ryder, who stood a short distance away, his expression unreadable.

“Did he now?” he asked coldly.

Lilith stepped closer, her eyes blazing with anger. “Aye, he did, and I’m grateful for it. If I’d waited for ye to save me, I might be dead right now.”

Damon’s jaw tightened, his anger warring with the guilt that threatened to consume him. He wanted to argue, to tell her she was wrong, but the sight of her bloodied arm silenced him.

“Ye’re reckless,” he said finally, his voice low and strained.

“And ye’re a stubborn brute,” she shot back.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the tension between them crackling like a storm.

Damon turned away abruptly, his thoughts racing. His gaze landed on Ryder, who stood silently, his hand still gripping his dagger. Questions flooded Damon’s mind, doubts and suspicions swirling in a chaotic mess.

Why would Ryder teach her how to defend herself?

Without a word, he sheathed his sword and moved to inspect her wound. But as he dressed it haphazardly, his thoughts kept drifting back to Ryder. There was more to the man than met the eye, and Damon was determined to uncover the truth.

“Mrs. Bryant will need to fix that when we get back. She’ll be back shortly after us.”

Lilith remained defiantly silent.

They rode the rest of the way back to the castle without exchanging another word.

Back at the castle, Damon had barely dismounted his steed when Ariah emerged outside, her skirts swishing as she marched straight toward them. She didn’t even spare him a glance, her focus entirely on Lilith.

“There ye are!” she exclaimed, her tone a mix of relief and exasperation. “Ye look like ye’ve been dragged through a journey—oh, wait, ye have. Come with me. Ye’re in desperate need of a bath and a change of clothes and?—”

She gasped sharply and whipped around to face Damon and Ryder.

“What happened to her?! What happened? Why is she bleeding?” she asked frantically.

But Damon could see that the worry in her eyes conveyed something much darker than her words ever could, and Ryder’s accompanying silence only fueled his rage.

Lilith opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a word, Ariah seized her non-injured arm and began pulling her away. “I’m takin’ ye down to Mrs. Bryant—she’s just arrived.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lilith called over her shoulder, giving him a small smile before disappearing around the corner with Ariah.

Damon watched them go.

Ariah’s busybody attitude and pushiness could come off as endearing, but she was just annoying and overbearing.

“Ryder,” he said, his tone serious. “Come with me. We have some things to discuss.”

Ryder nodded, following him into the castle and up the winding staircase to his study.

Once inside, Damon gestured for him to take a seat while he moved behind the desk, leaning against it instead of sitting.

“I need to get to ken ye better,” he began, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ye’ve been nothin’ but loyal since ye arrived, but I’m nae one to take things at face value. Especially nae when it comes to the safety of those under me care.”

Ryder met Damon’s gaze evenly, his expression calm. “I understand, Me Laird. Ask whatever ye wish.”

Damon nodded, his sharp eyes studying him closely. “Lilith mentioned earlier that ye taught her and Willow how to defend themselves. Why?”

Ryder shifted slightly in his seat, his jaw tightening. “Because they needed it.”

“That’s nae an answer,” Damon said, his voice firm. “Why did ye think it necessary to teach two young women how to protect themselves? What made ye decide they were in danger?”

Ryder hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to Damon’s. “I kenned their braither,” he muttered.

The mention of Magnus sent a wave of anger through Damon. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice dangerously low. “And what exactly does that mean, Ryder? What did Magnus do to them?”

Ryder’s mouth tightened, and he looked away again, clearly struggling with how much to say.

Damon’s patience was wearing thin. “If ye’re holdin’ something back, now’s the time to speak. I willnae stand for lies or half-truths, Ryder. If there’s anythin’ I need to ken about Lilith or Willow’s past—anythin’ that might explain why they needed the skills ye taught them—ye’ll tell me now.”

When Ryder remained silent, Damon’s temper flared.

“Damn it, man! Ye’re me second-in-command. If I cannae trust ye to be honest with me, then perhaps I made a mistake bringin’ ye here.”

Ryder’s head snapped up at that, his eyes flashing with emotion. “It’s nae that I dinnae want to tell ye,” he gritted out. “It’s that it’s nae me story to tell.”

Damon pushed off the desk, taking a step closer to him. “Ye think I give a damn about propriety right now? If there’s somethin’ I should ken, ye’ll tell me. If Magnus has done anythin’ to harm them, I need to ken.”

Ryder sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “Right,” he said, his tone resigned. “I’ll tell ye. But it’s nae an easy thing to hear.”

Damon crossed his arms again, his jaw clenched. “I’m listenin’.”

Ryder took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on a point just past Damon’s shoulder as he began to speak. “It happened years ago, before the girls were out. Magnus caught Willow kissin’ Tristan.”

Damon’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his councilman, but he said nothing, letting Ryder continue.

“Magnus was furious ,” Ryder said, his voice hardening. “He dragged Willow into the Great Hall and ordered Lilith to be brought in as well. He wanted to make it hurt. But Willow was too strong-minded to feel whatever punishment Magnus had in mind for her, so he beat Lilith to an absolute sopping puddle of pulp and told them that was what happened to ‘loose women,’ as he called them.”

Damon’s stomach churned at the venom in Ryder’s words, but he remained silent, his attention focused entirely on the man in front of him.

“He made Willow watch. Tied her to a chair.” Ryder’s voice was thick with anger and something deeper—shame, perhaps, for not being able to prevent it. “He said it was for her benefit. That she needed to see the consequences of her actions on someone equally worthless as her.”

A muscle in Damon’s jaw twitched as he fought to keep his composure. The image Ryder painted was sickening, and the thought of Magnus laying a hand on Lilith made his blood boil.

“How bad was it?” Damon asked, his voice low and strained.

Ryder hesitated for a moment before answering, “Bad enough that Lilith couldnae get out of bed for days. One of the blows broke her rib. Willow wouldnae speak for weeks after that.”

Damon turned away, pacing to the window as he tried to process what he’d just heard. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, the rage inside him threatening to consume him.

“Why didnae ye stop him?” he asked, his back still turned to Ryder.

“I tried,” Ryder admitted quietly. “But Magnus was the laird of the castle. I had nay authority to interfere, and the men held me back when I tried.”

Damon spun back around, his eyes blazing. “And that’s why ye taught them to fight?”

Ryder nodded, his expression grim. “Aye. I wanted them to be able to protect themselves if it ever came to it.”

Damon’s mind raced with questions, but one thought stood out above the rest: Magnus’s cruelty ran deeper than he’d imagined. The man hadn’t just been a poor excuse for a brother—he’d been a monster.

“I wish I kenned about this sooner.”

Damon let out a sharp breath, his anger momentarily ebbing. He understood Ryder’s hesitation, but it didn’t make the truth any easier to swallow.

“From now on,” he said, his tone firm, “if there’s anything—anything at all—that could affect her safety or well-being, ye come to me first. Do ye understand?”

Ryder nodded. “Aye, Me Laird.”

Damon studied him for a moment longer, then turned back to the window. His reflection stared back at him, a mix of anger and determination etched on his face.

Magnus might be gone, but the scars he’d left behind still lingered. Bastard.