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

Chapter 23

23

L ilith half expected the festival to be a quiet affair, a simple gathering of a few wary people still recovering from Magnus’s rule, unsure of the new Laird who had taken his place. Instead, the glen bustled with life.

The market stalls from Kiel and Branloch were lining the forest edge and brimmed with freshly baked bread, bright tartans, and handcrafted wares. The smell of roast meats and honeyed treats wafted through the air, mingling with the friendly tunes of a fiddle and a bagpipe.

It should have been a welcome sight, a relief that Damon’s idea had been successful—a sign of growth and healing. But something about it all didn’t sit well with her, and she knew exactly the reason why.

At the center of it all, looking every bit the Laird he had so ruthlessly become, proudly stood Damon.

He’s performin’.

She wasn’t used to seeing him like this. He spoke so easily with the people and was taking his time at each stall. He even cracked what looked to be a genuine smile for Emma, who had happily poured him a cup of cider.

How can he just walk around as if nothin’ has happened? As if I wasnae poisoned by Ariah and she’s now locked up in the dungeons?

She couldn’t believe any of it.

This wasn’t the same man who had married her out of cold duty. This wasn’t the man who had threatened to tear apart anyone who stood against him. He was playing at being the Laird, and worst of all, the people seemed eager to believe it.

Their eyes met amid the crowd, and she watched his features darken with what she could only describe as contempt, but he beckoned her over with a wave and a forced smile. She moved through the crowd, joining him in the performance, an equally forced smile plastered on her face.

“Wife,” he greeted.

His voice sounded like it had been dragged through gravel. Not the normal kind of gravel, but more strained, as if the performance was wearing on him.

Serves him right.

“What are ye playin’ at?” she gritted out against the crook of his neck as he leaned down and planted a dramatic kiss on her temple.

“Enjoyin’ the party, lass. Ye should, too, before those lines on yer forehead become a permanent fixture.”

She reared back with disgust, but he laughed heartily, tugging relentlessly on the strings between her heart and her navel.

It’s all for show. It’s all for show…

His large hand rested on the small of her back, and he led her through the festival, showing them as a united front.

She caught sight of Cameron standing off to the side with a pint in hand, rhythmically slapping his thigh to the beat of the music. His children giggled and danced along in front of him.

Damon guided her toward him and clapped him on the back. “Turned out well, Cameron. What’d ye say?”

“Aye, Me Laird. Very well. Me Lady,” Cameron said, tipping his hat to Lilith and winking jovially.

“Aye, Cameron. Good to see ye. A great festival, indeed,” she returned warmly, her tone catching her off guard.

Am I playin’ too, then?

Her eyes flicked to Damon, who had been watching her throughout the exchange. The light dancing in the depths of his irises drew her in.

“A great festival, indeed.” His voice was low and made her insides tumble around traitorously.

She gave him a tight smile as they moved on. Not far from Cameron were Fionn and Hunter, in the midst of an arm-wrestling match, their faces red with exertion and amusement.

“These two,” Damon said loudly, a wide and genuine smile spreading across his face.

Lilith felt a pang of jealousy as realization dawned on her.

He’s nae playin’. He’s actually enjoyin’ himself…

She watched him throughout the contest, cheering both men on, and when Hunter pressed Fionn’s hand into the table, the crowd roared along with Damon. Their excitement was palpable. Lilith let herself smile, watching him even lift Hunter off the ground in celebration.

Having never seen this side of him, her heart swelled, and a flash of their future together shook her to her very core. The sun shining on a pair of brilliant blonde, curly-haired boys. Gleeful laughter as they were lifted in the air with care as well as reckless abandon. The low rumble of Damon’s familiar chuckle.

Again! Again!

The sounds echoed in the hollow depths of her soul, and her grip on the chair in front of her loosened.

“Lass?” Damon’s calming voice stroked her spine. “What is it?”

Her turn had gone mostly unnoticed by the festivalgoers—by everyone except the man she had hoped would miss it.

Of course, he noticed.

“I’m fine. Just feelin’ tired…” she trailed off, hoping he wouldn’t press her.

The look on his face completely changed—strong lines of worry on his brow, a slackened jaw, and his body shielding her from any other prying eyes.

“Let’s go somewhere less, lively,” he said, guiding her away from the rambunctious crowd that had gathered around the Parrish brothers.

In their retreat, Lilith’s eyes met the critical gazes of a group of men, some of Magnus’s favorites—the ones who had special privileges under her brother’s rule. They were standing apart from the crowd, speaking in tight-lipped, hushed whispers. Their eyes darted from Damon to other festivalgoers not with curiosity, but with something more akin to resentment.

His heartbeat was steady, but she knew Damon saw it all. He pulled her even closer, somehow.

“Relax, lass,” he murmured in her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “Ye look like I’m haulin’ ye to the gallows.”

Lilith let out a laugh. Every fiber of her being wanted to be closer to him and shove him away at once. “I ken what ye’re doin’, Damon.”

“And what is that?”

“Puttin’ on a performance.” She turned her face up to his, just enough to make it look like an affectionate gesture. “Tell me, husband, are ye tired?”

He chuckled, low and dark, before pressing another chaste kiss to her forehead—a move that made nearby villagers smile and nod with approval.

“Everyone has a role to play today—even ye,” he said, smiling into her hair. “But if ye are tired, we’ll find a spot to rest. We just cannae leave, lass.”

Lilith clenched her teeth. “I play nothin’.”

“Dinnae fool yerself.” He pulled her impossibly closer, and she couldn’t resist him even if she truly wanted to.

But she didn’t want to. She truly wanted to be closer to him.

“The festival is exactly what we needed, Me Laird!” Kerry, the leader of Kiel, called jovially.

“I’m glad to hear ye say that, truly,” Damon responded in a calm, unbothered tone, clapping his free hand on the man’s shoulder before steering them further into the depths of the music-filled crowd.

There was something about crowds that made conversations all the more intimate. Lilith could use some time with Damon to get things off her chest.

The events leading up to the festival had all but made her push aside what she had so desperately wanted to talk to him about—their seventh night together. But looking at him now, not able to get a read on the man standing in front of her, she didn’t even know how to start.

Her head started to swirl with confusion as he moved them in time with the music.

“Ye look like ye wish to say somethin’,” Damon noted knowingly.

The comment made her blood boil, though not necessarily with anger.

“Aye, I’ve been wishin’ to speak with ye all week, but ye have been avoidin’ me,” she pointed out.

He smirked. “Go on, then. Ye have me attention now.”

I should start with Ariah first, right?

“Lass, ye are goin’ to have to start talkin’.”

She noticed that his eyes were black as night as they locked onto hers, having watched her pull her bottom lip between her teeth.

A long exhale through her nose helped to steel her resolve. “Ariah.”

His expression remained impassive. “That’s nae what ye spent all week stewin’ on—let’s nae bring it up now when we have such little time.”

“When, then?” she pressed, keeping her voice low despite her rising irritation.

“This is neither the time nor the place to speak of such things. Tristan Gunn is right behind ye, lass,” Damon replied, pressing her closer to him so that she didn’t turn to look and give them away.

“Ye’re avoidin’ the conversation.”

“Obviously—though I’m sure ye cannae come to terms with the reasons why.”

Lilith gritted her teeth. “Because of the festival. But now it’s happenin’ around us, so ye dinnae have that excuse anymore.”

“Aye,” Damon said, a lilt in his voice.

“Truly? It was the festival?”

“I told ye how important this was to me, and how important I thought it would be for the clan’s unity.”

“But this is important to me. ”

“Fine. What do ye wish to ken about yer friend, who’s currently rottin’ in our dungeons for nearly killin’ ye?” Damon’s tone was now laced with frustration.

“Ye arenae goin’ to kill her, are ye?”

“Nay, I’m nae goin’ to kill her.”

Not happy with the quick response, Lilith pressed him further, “Ye swear she willnae die because of this, Damon?”

“I’ve just said I willnae kill her, have I nae? What else do ye wish to ken about this?”

“I think she worked alone, but I dinnae ken?—”

“Was there anything else ye wished to speak with me about, Lilith?” Damon interrupted, ending her line of questioning.

Lilith saw her window of opportunity closing rapidly. Her mind raced to find the right words, but it came up short.

Damon stepped back at the precise moment the music stopped, bringing her hand up to his mouth. His eyes remained on hers as he planted a final kiss on her knuckles, clearly signaling the end of their conversation without saying a word.

He let himself be dragged away by a few familiar faces, and Lilith went through the motions of visiting a few of the stalls. Letting out a slow breath, forcing herself to focus on the festival again, she mentally kicked herself for not bringing up their seventh night together.

The flower stall was the one she gravitated toward, naturally. Planning to start at this one and move around the perimeter, she leaned in to inhale the fresh, grounding scents. Then, she saw him—one of the boys in charge of cleaning the dungeons. He had unmistakable jet-black hair that flowed with the speed of his steps. He was darting through the crowd, slipping between bodies with ease before finally reaching his target—her.

“Ma’am,” was all that the young lad said before shoving a folded scrap of parchment into her hand and then vanishing into the throng.

Lilith swallowed hard.

She kept her expression neutral, hoping that Damon hadn’t witnessed their short interaction. Then, she sneakily twisted around and unfolded the parchment to read.

Lilith,

I don’t have much time, I know that. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

I’m pregnant with Magnus’s child. Tristan doesn’t know because I didn’t know how to tell him. It would ruin him. It would ruin me.

I loved your brother and wished for revenge on the man who took him from me. I’m afraid of what the Laird will do to me when he finds out I’m carrying the rightful heir to Clan McCallum.

Please believe me—I never meant to hurt you.

Love always,

Ariah.

Lilith’s entire world tilted on its axis, challenging everything she ever knew. She had to get rid of the letter, but she felt the urge to tell Damon.

Christ above.

The corners of her vision blurred with tears, and anxiety tightened her chest.

“I’m afraid of what the Laird will do to me when he finds out I’m carrying the rightful heir to Clan McCallum.”

She mouthed the words, pretending to smell more of the blooms in front of her.

“Rightful heir?” She felt the whisper leave her lips.

“What is that?” his dark, demanding voice asked, dangerously close, sending ominous shivers down her spine.

Damon caught the piece of parchment vanishing into the folds of her skirts. “Guilty conscience, lass?”

“Nay,” she snapped, smoothing her skirts as if that would erase the tension in her body. “Ye startled me, is all.”

Damon cocked his head, his gaze sharp. “Did I?”

She turned back to the flower stall, pretending to admire the arrangements. “It’s just a bloom,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingers over the delicate petals of a deep purple thistle.

And that’s when he saw it. Her hand.

It was swollen—red and purple, a deep angry bruise blooming across her knuckles.

His blood turned to ice.

How had I nae noticed that before?

Damon caught her wrist before she could pull away, turning her hand over. “What the hell is this?”

Lilith stiffened. “Nothin’!”

His jaw clenched. “Nothin’?” He lifted her hand higher, letting the light catch the bruises. “Yer hand looks like it’s been through a millstone, Lilith.”

She yanked her hand back, but he didn’t let go. “It’s. Fine. Damon. Ye’re makin’ a scene.”

His grip tightened. “When did this happen?”

“It doesnae matter?—”

“When?”

Her lips parted, then pressed into a stubborn line. “I… might have hit somethin’.”

Damon’s nostrils flared. “Ye might have?”

“Will ye kindly lower yer voice,” she hissed, wrenching her hand free and cradling it against her chest. “It’s nothin’,” she repeated, her voice suddenly raw.

“I have every right to make a scene. Tell me what happened,” he demanded, his narrowed eyes unrelenting.

Something was off.

This wasn’t about her injury or the way she was brushing it off like it didn’t matter, but the way she kept glancing away, the way she had tensed up, as if something more than a bruised hand suddenly weighed on her.

What was in that letter?

Damon inhaled slowly, reining in his temper. He stepped closer and asked in a low voice, “What did the boy give ye, Lilith?”

Her throat bobbed. “What?”

“Dinnae play me for a fool.”

Lilith pulled a white bloom from the folds of her skirts and twirled it between her slender fingers. “It’s a bloom I favor,” she said softly. “Reminds me of me sister.”

His patience snapped. “Just tell me the truth!” he growled. “What did the boy give ye?”

She swallowed. “I told ye?—”

“Lilith!”

Her eyes glistened, but she blinked quickly, turning away as she discreetly wiped at the corners of her eyes.

Damon felt something twist in his chest. Something like regret, something that made him want to?—

Nay. I cannae cross that line again.

“Ye’re makin’ a scene,” he said, leaning closer to her before plucking a bloom from the bucket in the stall and offering it to her.

She stiffened. Her gaze snapped to his, her anger flaring hot and unrestrained. “Ye have to be jokin’.”

Damon smirked. “And yet here we are.”

She snatched the bloom from his hand, and he saw her resist the urge to throw it in his face. Instead, she inhaled sharply and stepped back.

“I’m tired of ye actin’ like ye always ken better. Like ye always have the upper hand.”

He tilted his head. “Ye do realize I actually do ken better, aye?”

Her hands clenched into fists. Oh, how she wanted to smack him. Damon couldn’t help but smirk even wider, knowing it would only upset her further.

“Careful now, wife. Wouldnae want to injure that pretty hand any further.”

“I cannae stand ye.”

He leaned down till his lips were just inches above her own, his voice dark and amused. “Aye, lass, I ken. ” And then, just to be an arse, he wrapped his arms around her waist, murmuring just loud enough for those watching, “I cannae seem to keep me hands off ye.”

Lilith made a sound like she was choking on her fury as he led her toward the trees, away from the market square, away from prying eyes.

As soon as they were out of sight, she yanked her arm free.

She either wants to punch me or kiss me. I cannae tell.

“Tell me what the lad gave ye, lass. It’s obvious that ye wish to share it with me.”

“What I wish for is to be left alone!”

Damon crossed his arms over his chest in disbelief. “Out of everything ye could have said, I believe that the least , lass.”

Lilith let out a frustrated noise, rubbing her temples. “Ye exhaust me,” she muttered.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I dinnae ken where I stand with ye. One minute you’re kissin’ me temple and whisperin’ sweet things in me ear, the next ye’re pushin’ me away, and the next ye’re worried about me broken hand.”

Damon saw red. “Broken hand?”

Lilith quickly hid her bruised knuckles, a blush creeping up her cheeks with violent recklessness.

“What do ye mean , broken hand? Why is it nae affixed?”

“Mrs. Bryant told me I didnae need a cast?—”

“Nay doubt because ye went to her so late that she couldnae reset anything even if she tried to. Am I right?”

Lilith paled, which only frustrated him more.

“Damn it, woman!” Damon exclaimed, raking his hand through his hair.

She groaned. “I’m fine , Damon. It was me fault anyway.”

“I dinnae care whose fault it was. Why did ye nae get it looked at?”

She chewed on her cheek, trying to find an answer that would appease him, but he really didn’t care what the answer was. There was so much she has kept from him this past week, and even today with the letter she’s concealing.

Is this what I truly want?

I pushed her away. But now that she’s away, I cannae stand it!

Pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to tamp down the tidal wave of frustration building inside of him, he asked slowly, “Tell. Me. What. Was. In. That. Letter? I willnae ask again.”

Lilith jutted her chin defiantly, and Damon sighed in exhaustion as the exact response he was expecting left that pretty, little mouth of hers. “Is that a threat?”

“Ye ken well enough that I am more than capable of retrievin’ that letter with or without yer permission. Hate me for the rest of our lives, but I will get an answer. The choice is yers.”

She’s bein’ secretive… What’s this about? What could it possibly be about?

The not knowing is what frustrated him the most. The woman standing furiously in front of him could be his undoing, and she didn’t even realize it.

The ensuing silence stretched on until the rustling of the leaves overhead was louder than even his own thundering heartbeat.

Lilith groaned, reaching into her pockets.

“It was from Ariah,” she started.

Damon stiffened, having not expected that.

“Here. Read it for yerself.”

Lilith’s outstretched arm did very little to quell the hurricane of fury, confusion, and longing inside of him. He merely stepped closer, narrowing his eyes to focus on the ink-blotted parchment.

As he read the words ‘ I’ve made a terrible mistake ,’ an ear-splitting scream tore through the woods.