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

Chapter 24

24

D amon’s feet pounded on the earth, his mind already shifting into battle mode as he burst through the tree line and back into the heart of the festival. The peaceful scene he had left was gone, replaced by chaos.

Villagers screamed and scattered as armed men surged through the market stalls, overturning carts and swinging weapons blindly at anyone in their path. The air was thick with the sharp smell of iron and the all-too-familiar scent of burning wood as one of the stalls went up in flames.

Damon cursed himself under his breath. “Feckin’ distracted fool—again!”

A butcher’s knife came flying toward him, and he ducked at the last second. The blade whizzed past his head and embedded itself in the wooden frame of a stall behind him. He turned, his instincts honed from years of conflict and war, and caught sight of his attacker.

One of the sneerin’ villagers who were grouped at the tree line earlier.

The man wielded a second knife, his face twisted in rage. “I’ll gut ye like the pig ye are, ye Brahanne filth! Nay Laird of mine!”

Damon didn’t hesitate. He cocked his revolver as he took it out of his concealed belt holster, took milliseconds to aim, and pulled the trigger. The bullet shot out, finding its target with sweet satisfaction, and the culprit collapsed.

Damon checked the cylinder without another look at the offender. “Five bullets left,” he said to himself, clicking the cylinder shut.

Movement out of the corner of his eye indicated that he didn’t have time to use the revolver again.

A dagger fight, then.

This time, it was no mere villager.

Sebastian?

The old councilman stood tall, without his cane, in the middle of the chaos, his sharp eyes filled with cold calculation. He moved with the confidence of a man who had been wrongfully kept from war, with something to prove. His movements were ungraceful and clumsy, but effective.

Damon’s lips twisted into a snarl.

So, this is the bastard behind it all.

“I should have kenned ye’d try something like this,” he growled, raising his own blade.

“Aye, ye should have, but ye didnae. I win,” Sebastian sneered, venom dripping from his jowls before he lunged.

Before their blades met, something flashed across Damon’s vision, halting his attack. Tristan, bellowing with fury, swung his sword at his soon-to-be father-in-law’s blade.

Damon stepped back, his face contorting with irritation.

What is it with these two?

Another attacker jumped out of the smoke rising from the burning stall, yelling obscenities as his blade came crashing down on Damon’s raised dagger.

The four men parried in the middle of the square, Tristan against Sebastian and Damon against the other attacker. Blow for blow, these men were trained by the best. Any one of them could have bested even the assassin Damon fought on his wedding night.

Lilith…

But that brief distraction earned him an angry wound on his forearm.

“Shite,” he hissed, switching hands with flawless ease.

The attacker’s eyes, which were narrowed with confidence, widened with terror. Having thought he had the upper hand in the fight, he now realized just how outmatched he truly was.

Damon sidestepped another lunge, cutting the man’s legs out from underneath him. The man let out a blood-curdling scream before he started to crawl away.

“Ryder!” Damon called out. “Ryder!” he yelled again, his voice cracking with worry.

“Me Laird,” Ryder called back, running toward him with a blood-soaked tunic and matching tartan.

“Are ye injured?” Damon asked as he drove his blade into the retreating attacker, ending the man’s suffering.

“Nay, it’s nae me blood,” Ryder declared proudly.

“I left Lilith in the woods, just beyond the tree line. Christ above, help me if that woman moved even an inch. Find her and protect her.”

“Aye,” Ryder said, before tearing through the glen and disappearing precisely where he needed to turn.

“A little help here?” Tristan gritted out.

Sebastian, standing a foot taller than him, was using his height to try and knock him off balance. “I dinnae wish to kill ye, boy . Leave the swine to me!”

“Never!” Tristan yelled, twisting his younger body out of reach.

Damon pulled his revolver out of his holster and took aim. He pulled the hammer back until it made the undeniable clicking sound. Both men froze.

“Ye’re good, Morris. I’ll admit that. But I’m much better,” he growled.

Tristan dropped to the ground, leaving Sebastian exposed to not just one bullet but two. His body jerked twice at the impact and collapsed into a heap on the ground.

Fionn and Hunter charged at two more attackers running toward him with their smithing hammers. Both culprits went down beneath their matching blows, their skulls cracking with a sickening crunch.

Cameron raced toward them, with Kerry close behind, both blood-soaked but smiling.

They had clearly won.

Sebastian was breathing heavily now, his fingers digging frantically into the ground for some sort of release before Damon could get to him.

“Nay escape now, old man,” Damon drawled as he knelt down next to him.

“Ye think killin’ me will fix any of this? The people still hate ye. Magnus’s men will never follow ye. It’s already in motion—ye cannae stop it.”

Damon shrugged. “I dinnae ken.” He looked around at the makeshift army behind him before his eyes met Sebastian’s once more. “I reckon I’ll be just fine.”

Then, he drove his dagger into Sebastian’s torso, before wrenching it out and slitting his throat.

Silence fell over the glen. A festival turned battleground turned execution arena.

The remaining attackers fled, the villagers chasing them in hot pursuit.

It was over.

“Collect the others. Bring them to the dungeons,” Damon ordered quietly.

Finley, quickly noticing Ryder’s absence, turned and gathered the idle men to carry out the orders.

“What will ye have us do, Me Laird?” the Parrish brothers asked in near unison.

“We need to clean this up. Cameron. Kerry?” Damon called, casting a glance at both village leaders.

Without another word, all four men got to work, calling for the support of others standing nearby.

“Me Laird?” Tristan said between heaving breaths. He looked like he was about to vomit.

“Ye didnae kill him. I did,” Damon grunted before standing up and offering the man a hand.

“I couldnae find Ariah. I dinnae ken if she’s safe or nae,” Tristan panted, fear flashing in his eyes.

“She’s… fine. She’s back at the keep.”

Tristan’s face contorted with confusion as Damon’s eyes fell on Sebastian’s limp body and then met his again, and unfiltered realization tore through his expression.

“Wha—” he started to exclaim, but Damon clapped a strong hand on his shoulder and then walked away.

Still not trusting the man’s intentions—unsure if the battle was all for show or not—Damon decided to keep him at bay.

“Stay close, Gunn. We’ll need to discuss it later,” he called over his shoulder and left him standing alone in the glen.

Serves him right. If he has anything to do with this, he’ll bleed just as well.

He crossed the threshold of the Great Hall, commanding the room with controlled ferocity. The staff moved about with sharp understanding until, finally, his eyes landed on Smith.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

The housekeeper bowed, before answering him and stepping aside.

Damon found his wife sitting stiffly in his study, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, which made his jaw tick.

If she continues to harm herself, I swear to Christ I’ll lock her in the surgery.

The darkness faded from the corners of his vision as the thrill of the fight ebbed, and he nodded at Ryder to leave them.

“Ye’ll do permanent damage, clenchin’ yer broken hand like that, lass.” Damon pointed at her purple hand with a raised eyebrow.

Lilith’s eyes left his momentarily, roaming over his blood-stained tunic, and widened with concern.

“Are ye hurt?” she stood up quickly, too quickly.

He grinned as she powered through the first couple of wobbly steps to close the distance between them, her hand outstretched. Eyes searching his body, her hand lifted his arm and his forearm warmed to her touch.

Of all the blood on me tunic, she finds the spot where I’m injured?

“How did ye ken?” he asked, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

She looked up at him incredulously. “Yer tunic is ripped only here.” She lifted the flimsy fabric with two fingers and then dropped it, rolling her eyes.

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Did ye just roll yer eyes at me?”

“So, what if I did? It’s nae like ye deserve much more than that,” she scoffed, tugging the tunic over his head and throwing it into the fire roaring in the hearth.

“Oi! What th?—”

“Sit,” Lilith demanded, pointing at the couch next to her.

Damon huffed amusedly through his nose and strode around her obligingly. “Are ye goin’ to treat me wound yerself?”

“Nay, but if ye came through the Great Hall, Smith must have seen ye. Which means Mrs. Bryant should be here in three, two…” The rapping at the door coaxed a smile from her, and she defiantly raised an eyebrow at him. “One.”

I could kiss the venom off those lips right now.

“Enter,” Damon ordered with icy smooth resolve, his eyes never leaving her perfectly plump lips as the heavy door swung open.

Mrs. Bryant clicked her tongue before getting right to work.

Damon’s eyes tracked Lilith as she started pacing around the study, every now and then stopping to glance over the healer’s shoulder to check her handiwork, before resuming her pacing.

Something’s on her mind… still. The letter!

“Lass, do ye wish to speak to me?” Damon asked.

Her eyes flicked to him, and a flush of embarrassment crept up her cheeks.

A low, gravelly laugh escaped his lips.

Mrs. Bryant, still busy suturing his wound, remained silent.

“Nay, just watchin’,” Lilith said with a furrowed brow.

Damon knew that look all too well.

Ye’re embarrassin’ me!

But he could have cared less.

“What mistake did I make? We didnae get that far ahead in our conversation earlier.” He lifted his arm.

Mrs. Bryant made to smack him for moving but then thought better of it and just waited for him to lower his arm.

“Stop movin’!” Lilith snapped.

Mrs. Bryant’s answering hum made him chuckle under his breath.

“As ye were sayin’, lass. What was the mistake?”

“I cannae remember now. Ye’re distractin’ me with all of the…”

“Flesh?”

“Damon!”

“What?”

“All of the blood! The blood! Christ above, ye’re impossible.”

It was Mrs. Bryant’s turn to chuckle under her breath, which was not lost on Lilith at all.

The wound was much deeper than Damon had thought, though the pain of the stitching far exceeded the initial sting of the blade.

“Foolish. Nasty. Rotten,” Mrs. Bryant muttered under her breath with each stitch.

Knowing very well that she wasn’t talking about him, Damon asked, “Did ye hear then, Mrs. Bryant?”

She didn’t look up at him, but Lilith stopped pacing and waited for the healer’s response as well. “Aye, I heard enough.”

“The attack…” Damon started.

“Was an absolute shame,” Mrs. Bryant finished. “The festival was goin’ so well, Me Laird. Will ye think about holdin’ another one?”

That was something Damon hadn’t thought about yet, but the look on Lilith’s face told him that her mind had already been made up.

“Aye, we’ll meet with Cameron and Kerry to make sure we celebrate rightly, once the dust settles.”

“Aye, the dust ,” Mrs. Bryant muttered, busying herself with her work once more as Damon’s eyes met Lilith’s again.

“Which was yer favorite stall, lass?”

“I liked the music,” Lilith said defiantly, resuming her furious pacing. The anger in her steps drew his lips upward.

“Aye, the music was fair. The flowers were bonny as well,” he mused.

“Sure,” she replied mindlessly before her steps faltered—precisely as he intended.

Good, now she kens I havenae forgotten about the letter.

“Was it those men near the tree line who attacked?” Lilith asked, changing the subject.

“Aye, and?—”

“And they were the ones who attacked Branloch and Kiel?”

“I didnae recognize them from the attack on Kiel, and Cameron didnae mention the attack on Branloch. Why?”

“Did they fight similarly?”

“Come to think of it, nay. They fought almost like the assassin I killed, but nae like the attackers we fought in Kiel.”

“So, the threat is still out there?”

“Most assuredly, lass. Could have told ye that afore.”

Lilith considered, each step turning the wheels in her head. “Do ye ken where they’re from? I recognized a few from our villages, but nae all of them.”

“I’m sure Magnus’s influence kenned nay boundaries—ye would ken better than anyone.”

“Well, he met with several clan leaders before I went to the wedding.”

“Who?”

“He kept ledgers. Smith would ken?—”

“Laird Buchanan. Laird Sinclair. Laird MacNab. And Laird MacAllister,” Mrs. Bryant said absentmindedly.

All eyes swiveled to the healer.

“Those were the clan leaders Magnus met with before and after ye left for Brahanne.”

“ All of those?”

“Several left quickly without reachin’ an agreement. But there was one who shook hands wit’ him before he left.”

“Out with it,” Damon ordered as Lilith took a step closer to them.

Mrs. Bryant finished setting the final stitch and pulled the line taught before cutting it.

“It was Laird Sinclair, Me Laird,” she elaborated as she rose to her feet. “Try nae to let him rip this one open,” she said to Lilith, before looking over her shoulder once and then shuffling out the door. Ryder leaned in and closed it behind her, remaining just outside.

“Sinclair?” Lilith echoed.

“Aye, they’re on Brahanne’s eastern borders,” Damon said, moving to the desk to write his brother a letter.

“Damon?”

He didn’t look up at her, busying himself with the letter.

“ Damon ,” she hissed.

“What, lass?” he asked, still not looking up at her.

“Christ! Will ye look at me!” Lilith blurted out, her voice cracking.

Damon’s eyebrows rose with surprise.

What on earth?

“I’m listenin’, dove. What do ye need?”

“Ye promised me seven nights!” The words tumbled out of her mouth clumsily, but they took him aback.

“What?”

“I wish to spend our seventh night together, as ye promised.”

“Lilith, now isnae the time. I have to write to Keegan?—”

“It is the only time, Damon.”

“That doesnae matter right now,” he said without thinking, and the words very clearly hit her like a slap across the face.

Shite.

He watched as her breath caught and her throat bobbed as she fought to respond. It was like watching her on his first night here—fists clenching, eyes rolling, body teetering off and on balance.

Damon stood up, his palms facing her. Her eyes darted down, tracking them. Grounding her.

“I—” she started to say, the haze of her unease still obviously affecting her vision as her eyes watered. “I matter,” she gritted out, her hazel eyes flashing with fear and determination.

His jaw tightened.

Fight this, lass. Come on now. I need ye to fight it on yer own.

“ I matter,” she spat out again, regaining her core strength, blood rushing back into her limbs with a flush of color.

Damon looked her over, assessing her balance before leaning back against the arm of the chair.

“Lilith—”

She stepped closer. “If ye are done with me, if this was only a game to ye, then tell me to me face. Tell me that it meant nothin’.”

What? Where is this comin’ from?

Damon inhaled sharply, careful not to let his eyes give away his confusion because clearly, he pushed her away. But he hadn’t intended to push her this far away.

Did I?

Lilith held his gaze, her eyes watering through the burn of rejection that he hadn’t meant for her to feel.

I cannae risk crossin’ that line again. It’s for the best.

He chose not to say a word.

He didn’t deny it. Didn’t confirm it. Just silently turned away from her and walked out of the study.