Chapter 19
19
T he library was quiet except for the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Lilith ran her fingers along the spine of an old tome, her thoughts tangled between the words on the page and the events of the past few days.
Her mind wandered too easily to Damon—his touch, his words, the way his presence seemed to consume every space he entered. She shook her head, forcing her focus back to the text, but it was hopeless.
A deep voice pulled her out of her thoughts. “Come with me.”
She turned to see Damon standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, the flickering firelight casting shadows over the sharp lines of his face. She hadn’t seen him for a few days, and looking at him now, she could tell there was something different about him tonight—an urgency, a quiet excitement.
“Where have ye been?” she asked, closing the book and setting it aside.
“Monroich.”
“Ye never said,” Lilith said.
The hint of disappointment in her tone made the corners of his lips quirk up.
“I told ye. It wasnae me fault that ye were asleep.”
“Nay note?”
“I’m sorry, lass. Business called, and I had to see to it.”
“What business with Monroich did ye have so suddenly?”
“They heard of the attacks and wished to aid us. They sent me with more information than I had before—maps, intercepted letters, and apologies for gatherin’ such things from our clan.”
Lilith’s breath hitched. “They were spyin’ on us?”
“Nothin’ more than what we do to them.”
“We spy on them?”
“Dove, everyone kens what’s goin’ on with everyone around here. It’s considered another form of art in the Highlands.”
She scoffed. “It isnae!”
Damon’s hands shot up, his palms facing outward in surrender. “It is , lass. Anyway, they wished to help us, so they increased our numbers on the borders. I have a meeting with Ewan in a few days as well—probably for the same reason.”
Lilith chewed on the inside of her cheek in contemplation, and Damon seized the moment.
“Why the anger? Did ye miss me?”
She shot bullets from her eyes as he chuckled and stepped aside, gesturing for her to precede him into the corridor.
“Come, now,” he beckoned.
Lilith eyed him curiously before closing the distance between them. When she was right in front of him, she hesitated. “Where are we goin’?”
“Ye’ll see soon enough, but we need to leave now before the sun sets.” He stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. “Cloak. And sturdy boots,” he added, pointing to the items lying neatly on a nearby bench.
A thrill shot through her at the prospect of another one of their nights together, though she masked it with feigned skepticism.
“Nay more clues?”
“None.”
She huffed but obeyed, slipping into a thick cloak and fastening her boots. When she was ready, Damon led her outside, where the cold evening air nipped her cheeks.
They rode through the forest first, the rhythmic thudding of the horses' hooves a steady beat beneath the rising moon. As they neared the base of the hills, Damon dismounted and offered her his hand. “From here, we walk.”
Lilith eyed the incline ahead and let out a breathy laugh. “Should I be worried?”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “Only if ye cannae keep up.”
They climbed up the rugged terrain, stepping over fallen logs and weaving between towering pines. Damon moved with a sure-footed grace, his pace strong and steady. Lilith trailed slightly behind, watching him as he walked, the way his broad shoulders shifted beneath his cloak, the way his stride never faltered.
It was frustratingly attractive.
He broke the silence first. “Tristan wasnae pleased about the festival.”
Lilith raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly. “He wouldnae be, in general.”
Damon stopped and turned to face her. “He made his displeasure known. Passionately . Why?”
“That’s his job,” she pointed out, sidestepping a large rock and stopping, resting her hands on her hips. “It’s his job to ensure that plans arenae made hastily. That they dinnae put the clan in a bad position.”
He hummed in thought, his expression unreadable, before turning back around. Then, without warning, he picked up the pace, his long legs covering more ground up the steep rock face.
Lilith huffed, quickening her steps. “Is this punishment for expressin’ doubts?”
For the first time, he laughed—an unrestrained, genuine sound that sent warmth through her. It was rare to see him so unguarded, and it made her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with exertion.
“Nay, it’s just steep. Ye should pick up the pace as well if ye ken what’s good for ye.”
“Well, I’m nae used to climbin’ steep terrain in a dress. Ye could have warned me.”
“Would ye have come down in breeches, ach! I never…” Damon laughed again, a thunderous belly laugh.
Lilith remained silent because she, in fact, would have come down in riding pants. She could even picture them hanging in the wardrobe, next to her riding jacket.
“Ye cannae tell me ye never saw a woman in breeches. The absolute gall,” she mumbled to herself, only to pause when she came upon a vast, remarkably untouched clearing.
She paused to catch her breath. Her gaze fell to the ground around her, covered in shades of green she had never seen before. Inhaling the scent of sweet honey and something fresh but foreign, she let her eyelids close and tilted her head back to bask in the aroma and sunlight.
Deep, rumbling, masculine chuckles coaxed one of her eyes to open and rest on the seemingly out-of-place Highlander.
“Ye come here often?” she ventured.
“Nay, only once before,” he said.
The excited lilt in his voice tugged on something deep inside her core.
“But ye found it again, tonight?”
“Aye, I found it again—to show ye. Look…” Damon said, gracefully taking a seat on a large, flat rock.
Lilith closed the distance between them, but before she could wrestle her skirts around to sit next to him, he lifted a hand to stop her from stepping on something.
She took his large hand, letting his strength guide her down between his legs. The scene could have been mistaken for something private, were it not for the delicate pale pink flower that jutted from the rugged earth at their feet. She gasped.
Damon smiled boyishly at her. “Ye like it?”
She knelt, her fingers brushing the delicate petals. “Gosh, it’s beautiful. I’ve never seen one before. Do ye ken what it is?”
“Aye, the illustrious and allusive Twinflower.”
“Twinflower?”
I dinnae have one of those in the book…
“Nae typically from these parts.”
Confused, Lilith pressed him further, “Did ye plant it?”
“Nay, I found it after the attack.” His voice was quiet. “I thought of ye when I saw it.”
“Which one?”
Damon grimaced. “The most recent one, lass.”
Something warm and unfamiliar spread through her chest. She looked up at him, her heart thudding against her ribs. Without thinking, she leaned in, balancing her body weight on his thighs, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
He stilled, his eyes darkening, and before she could second-guess herself, he captured her lips with his own.
This kiss was different. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a moment of fleeting passion. It was deliberate, controlled, yet filled with a hunger that made her knees tremble.
When they finally pulled apart, his breath was warm against her lips. “Come.” He smiled subtly. “Come look.”
He led her further into the clearing until they reached a small cavern. Inside, the ground was blanketed with a bed of flowers, their petals glowing softly under the setting sun. Lilith turned in slow circles, drinking in the sight, the scent, the feeling of being somewhere untouched by the outside world.
She turned to him, breathless. “Have ye been here before?”
He shook his head. “Nay. I just saw this when we climbed up and wanted to explore. This is me first time here. With ye.”
Something about that made her pulse stutter. “Explore?”
“Aye, Night Five was meant for exploration. I wanted to start with the Twinflower and go from there. I didnae think many kenned this area, as it seemed untouched.” Damon playfully batted at a hanging, flowered vine.
This night was meant for exploration…
Lilith’s mind wandered to the notion of exploring him. What it would be like to touch him without hesitation, to feel the warmth of his skin against hers.
Her face flushed, and when she met his gaze, his eyes were nearly black with unspoken desire. Her breath caught, but instead of acting on it, he pulled her into his arms.
The hug was tighter, more intimate than any touch they had shared before. She melted into him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He held her like she was something precious, something worth keeping.
She was losing herself in him. And it terrified her.
The walk back was quiet at first, both of them lost in thought. Damon stole glances at her, at the way her lips still looked slightly swollen from the kiss he had stolen from her earlier, at the way she carried herself with a newfound softness.
Ye werenae supposed to kiss her at all tonight, ye daft cad…
He mentally kicked himself for letting himself lose control, even for an innocent moment.
How to get me mind off her body, her lips, her ? —
He cleared his throat. “Tell me more about the festival. What decorations would ye like?”
She brightened at the question. “Lanterns. We could hang them from the trees or keep them down on the ground, like Fairy Foxgloves.”
“Aye, and where did ye have in mind? The forest?”
“What if we held it on the glen on Robin Hill? The one almost right between Kiel and Branloch?”
“That’s a fine thought, lass. What else, then?”
“Ribbons. Something to make the place feel alive. They’ll catch in the wind like lovely, little bog cotton or even harebell!”
Damon listened as she spoke, her voice light, her hands moving animatedly. He watched the way her eyes sparkled when she likened everything she talked about to flowers.
“Should we bring in food or enlist the villagers to provide McCallum-quality food?”
Lilith stopped in her tracks to give it some thought. “I think?—”
He watched silently as she chewed on the inside of her cheek.
“I think nay McCallum festival is complete without Branloch Baker’s bannocks and honeyed pastries. And… if we ask them for help while supplyin’ whatever they might need for the festival, then we could also ask the butcher in Kiel for roast meats and even have the children get involved by havin’ a berry pickin’ competition.”
Her beaming smile faltered slightly as a breeze cut through the night, making her shiver.
Damon didn’t think. He acted.
He pulled her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She let out a soft gasp, but she didn’t pull away.
He hadn’t meant to hold her this long, but the warmth of her against him, the way she fit so perfectly in his arms… it tugged at something deep inside him. He was reminded of that morning at the inn, of the way she had curled up against him in her sleep.
Seven nights and nae a moment more. Seven nights…
He smiled despite himself. Instead of taking her right then and there, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “Thank ye, lass. For yer insight.”
She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, an undecipherable emotion flickering in her eyes.
Eventually, he released her, though his hand found hers, their fingers intertwining naturally as they walked the rest of the way back to the castle.
Seven nights… I’ll keep me promise, even if it kills me.
Hand-holding was a novel concept to him. But with her, it felt right.
They walked the remaining distance back to the castle in silence, but Damon’s mind raced.
His grip on her hand tightened for just a moment before he forced himself to loosen it and, ultimately, let her go. He swatted at the leaves on low-hanging branches to play off the distance he was putting between them. Glancing over at Lilith, it didn’t seem like she minded either way.
Good.
He let his gaze drift to the distant torches in the keep, his mind shifting to something else that plagued him nearly as much as his need for her—her words about bearing no children.
He hadn’t pressed her on it, not yet, but the thought festered like an open wound. It was not her refusal itself that niggled at him, but the reason behind it.
Was it simply her fear? Or was it something deeper, something painful she hadn’t spoken about yet? And more than that, could he live with it if she truly meant to never have children?
He had never thought of children much before her, never really cared whether he would sire an heir because he was the second son. That had been Keegan’s destiny, but now… now, the idea of having a son or a daughter gnawed at him in ways he could not explain.
I have to figure out a way to bring it back up again. Nae tonight, but soon.
Lilith’s steps quickened, and he widened his stride to match, reaching out to grasp her wrist gently.
“Ye arenae so desperate to leave me, are ye?” he teased, enjoying the way her lips parted slightly in surprise, the flicker of hesitation in her expression.
It was clear that she had enjoyed the night as much as he had, but she huffed dramatically, feigning too much nonchalance. “It’s late, and I?—”
Damon smirked, dragging his thumb lazily along the inside of her wrist before releasing her entirely. “Go on then,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement.
She turned, though not before he caught the smallest downturn of her lips, the hint of disappointment she likely didn’t even realize she was revealing.
He chuckled softly and leaned in, brushing a slow, deliberate kiss against her forehead. “Sleep well, lass.”
She didn’t answer, only turned on her heel and disappeared into the shadows of the keep.
His smirk faded the moment she was gone.
A figure emerged from the shadows, where he had been lurking, keeping a respectable distance yet never straying too far.
“Ryder.”
“Me Laird,” Ryder acknowledged, falling into step beside Damon as they made their way to his study.
“She didnae notice ye at all,” Damon remarked.
“That was the point ye emphasized, Me Laird,” Ryder answered with a shrug.
They entered the study, the heavy door closing behind them with a quiet thud.
Ryder stood at ease, waiting, but Damon could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. Whatever report he was about to receive, it was not good.
“Well?” Damon prompted, pouring himself a drink and leaning against the edge of his massive desk.
I can bend her over this—Ach! Damn it man, focus!
Ryder exhaled, his eyes dark. “Nothin’ around the cavern or rock face. The man left nay trace.”
“Figured,” Damon replied dryly.
“The healer recognized the pigment used in the message painted on the wall outside yer room.”
Damon stilled, having not expected this in the slightest.
Was it nae just paint?
“Go on.”
“It was monkshood.”
A muscle jumped in Damon’s jaw. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. He didn’t need to ask what that meant. Monkshood was not just a plant—it was a death sentence. Every part of it was laced with poison strong enough to kill a man in moments. He knew that handling it carelessly could bring harm, and Lilith had just been standing there.
What if he threw it at her?
“That bastard left more than just a threat—that’s a bleedin’ promise!” he gritted out, his vision darkening.
His body tensed up with the need to act, to kill whoever had dared threaten what was his. His mind was racing, calculating, planning.
Security has to be doubled. Nay, tripled. The festival must be halted. Nay one—I’ll… I’ll gut the piece of ? —
“Ye’ll need to find the bastard first,” Ryder said calmly as if reading Damon’s mind, his arms crossed over his chest.
Damon whipped around, slamming his glass on the desk with enough for that the entire thing just shattered under the pressure, liquid spilling everywhere violently. “I will find them.”
“I have nay doubt,” Ryder said unflinchingly.
Silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of unspoken thoughts. Damon’s hands curled into fists at his sides. The sting of the liquor seeping into the cuts on his palms was a welcome pain. His breaths came in sharp bursts. Every instinct in him screamed for violence, for vengeance, for action.
I need to do somethin’… anythin’.
Memories of the man he was not too long ago flashed through his mind. The ruthlessness, the slayings, the blood.
I can do it again. Easily…
“Ye cannae go into this blind, Damon,” Ryder advised, using his Laird’s first name cautiously—as a friend. “We dinnae ken who we’re chasin’ yet. If ye charge out there fueled by this rage, ye’ll be playin’ right into their hands.”
Damon turned his glare onto him, but the man didn’t waver.
“Think,” Ryder continued. “They wanted ye angry. They wanted ye rattled and caught off guard. And look at ye now.” He gestured vaguely toward Damon’s tense frame. “Ye’re givin’ them exactly what they want.”
The words hit him like a slap. Damon’s breath caught.
Damn him.
He hated to admit it, but Ryder was right. His anger, his raw, unbridled fury—it was exactly what the enemy wanted. If he lost control, if he acted recklessly, he would be playing their game.
Who kens me or kens about me well enough to ken that I would react in such a way?
His teeth clenched. His mind shifted, redirecting, focusing.
Control. He needed control.
A slow breath left him, though it did little to quell the rage still simmering beneath his skin. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter, but no less lethal.
“We find them,” he said, his voice pure steel. “We find them first. ”
Ryder nodded once. “Aye.”
“Find out who had access to monkshood within the keep, and then Branloch and Kiel…” Damon instructed, walking over to the chairs in front of the roaring fireplace.
Ryder nodded firmly and then mirrored his movements with an impressively quiet, deadly stealth.
“Security increased. Patrols doubled. The Market Day Festival must go on.”
“Aye,” Ryder said, halting his movements only when Damon finally took a seat. Lifting one of his hands, Damon watched as the man tugged on an invisible rope. “Smith will be in shortly to take care of that hand with Mrs. Bryant, Me Laird. I’ll be on me way. If ye need me, ye ken where I’ll be.”
Stationed outside Lilith’s chambers.
Damon relaxed back into the armchair.
I’ll make him wish he had never been born. Sorry bastard!