Page 9 of Taken by the Highland Villain (Breaking the Highland Rules #2)

Jude watched the seamstress as she bounced from stall to stall, engaging each merchant with an easy familiarity as if they were chance-met friends, rather than strangers.

He’d thought she spoke in jest, or perhaps overly prideful boasting, when she said she could bargain well and gain the full measure of worth for each trade. But he’d been wrong.

Valerie Blackwood bargained as though she’d been born to do so and taught at a master merchant’s knee since her first steps.

She had an easy manner about her, and the warmth of her smile seemed able to win over the surliest trader.

When she haggled, there was a teasing note to her voice—coaxing, good-humored, with just a hint of conspiratorial laughter—that made the whole exchange feel almost like a game.

It was a skill and an attitude that Jude couldn’t have imitated if he’d been whole and had a hundred seasons to practice.

All he could do was watch in growing amazement and admiration as she convinced men he would have sworn were misers to reduce the cost of their wares to prices that made him want to sink to the ground with his head in his hands.

She convinced the ink maker to give her three jars for the price he might have paid for two, and the chandler to part with a crate of candles and another of soaps for a full three silvers less than what he’d have paid had he been the one bargaining.

By the time she’d finished bargaining with the leatherworker, Jude was certain that her words had been no idle boast. If anything, Valerie had understated her skills.

She’d secured half a dozen flasks of the oil Craig said they needed, and a tanned and cured hide so soft it felt like water under his hands, for two silvers and seven coppers under the merchant’s asking price.

By that time, his knee was aching from the strain of riding and standing, and they’d amassed a fair amount of goods for the castle—far more than their two horses could carry.

Jude waited until Valerie had finished with her latest round of bargaining before he limped to her side.

“Ye continue on to the cloth and thread merchants. I’m goin’ to the tavern for a drink, and to send the innkeeper’s boy up to get some men to take everythin’ back for us.”

He saw her gaze flick down to his injured, crippled leg, but to her credit, she pulled her eyes back to his face immediately, so fast he wouldn’t have noticed had he not been looking directly at her when it happened.

She also made no comment, no suggestion that he might want to rest. She simply nodded.

“Aye. We’ve purchased more than I thought we would… I hope ye dinnae mind.”

Jude shrugged. “It is items we need, and ye bargain well. So long as ye use the same skill with the cloth merchants, I dinnae mind.”

Valerie grinned, her eyes bright with mirth.

“Och, My Laird, have ye never heard? There’s nay one who haggles so hard over a trade as one who makes their livin’ off their wares.

I’m a seamstress, and ye can be sure I’ll be using every trick I have to get everything I could want or need for ye.

Speakin’ of which, do ye have any preferences for color or fabric? ”

“Fabric? Comfortable,” Jude huffed. “As for colors, clan colors and darker shades. I dinnae care for bright hues or patterns.”

“Well enough for ye, My Laird, but do ye want anythin’ else? I’ll be needin’ some brighter colors for the tapestries and the linens, I’m thinkin’, as well as dyes to redo some of the fabrics.” Valerie tipped her head. “What is yer favorite color?”

Jude grimaced. Once, he’d loved the color red, but now it reminded him of blood and red-hued skies before a storm broke over the horizon. Green as well—though that reminded him of sunlit meadows and laughter. He wanted neither.

“Earth tones, if ye must,” he muttered, then turned and limped away before she could ask him anything more.

Colors were another thing that had lost any meaning for him after Kendra’s disappearance. For the fortnight after, he’d worn unrelieved black, until Craig swore at him for frightening three maids into leaving and insisted he at least wear a tartan sash.

Jude half-expected Valerie to follow after him, but he was relieved when she remained with the merchants. It had been a long time since he’d had a long interaction with any person, man or woman.

Just as it had been a long time since he’d ventured into his lands, among his people. He was still pondering that as he stalked up the two stairs to the tavern door and tossed a silver to the boy waiting near the stables.

“Run up to the castle, lad, and tell the guards to fetch Craig MacCann. Then have him send some men down to pick up all the purchases made by Valerie Blackwood.”

“Aye, My Laird!” The lad grinned and raced toward the castle.

Jude watched until he disappeared down the road, then shoved the door open and limped inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold, silence fell, like stones dropping into a well.

Conversations died down as every eye turned in his direction.

Just as quickly, those who met his gaze looked away, hunching over their drinks and avoiding his eyes as though they thought him the Grim Reaper come to claim them.

Jude stepped further into the room, and those nearest the door scurried away, clearing a path as if by magic.

At any other time, he might not have noticed or cared.

But now… Now it stung. He couldn’t help comparing the sullen silence that greeted him to the open smiles and friendly conversation that Valerie initiated so easily.

While she put people at ease with a soft grin and a quiet word, he inspired only silence, uncertainty, and fear.

It hadn’t always been that way. Before Kendra had disappeared…

His leg twinged, and he let out a muffled curse before making his way toward a table by one of the windows. The corner behind the window was relatively dark, but from there, he could see the street, the cloth merchants, and Valerie.

People pulled away as he settled into the chair, and he waited in silence until, finally, a barmaid made her way hesitantly to his side. “What can I get ye, My Laird?”

“Whiskey. Bring two glasses.”

He was tempted to demand the entire bottle, but the sight of Valerie bargaining happily with a man—he thought it might be the dye merchant, though it might have been the wool merchant too—reminded him that he had no desire to be drunk outside the walls of his castle.

Bad enough to be crippled, he’d not be a drunkard who forced a woman to carry him back to his castle as well.

The whiskey arrived a few minutes later, and Jude handed over the coin for it, then sat back and sipped the drink, watching as Valerie continued to bargain.

Every now and then, she would set something to the side, and he amused himself briefly by making a mental wager as to whether they were purchases or discards.

A man appeared at the end of the street, wearing neat clothing of a quality far superior to anything worn by the merchants.

His hair was a dull brick red, long and impeccably styled into a loose tail.

Jude watched as he made his way directly toward the cloth merchant’s stall, arrogance oozing from every step.

He could have been a bard or troubadour, but every instinct Jude had screamed otherwise. The intuition that so often guided him whispered of danger, and Jude found himself tensing in his seat.

A moment later, the man stopped near Valerie, far closer than might normally be acceptable. At once, Valerie’s entire demeanor changed. Her shoulders tensed, the ease vanished from her movements, and her smile became wooden and forced, rather than easy.

Jude was on his feet and limping toward the door before he had time to make any sort of conscious decision. Only one thing filled his thoughts as he pushed his way into the street.

Something’s wrong.

“My dear Valerie. Imagine meeting ye here! What a stroke of good fortune for me!”

The words plunged into her like icy daggers, and it took everything within her not to collapse on the spot at the sound of the familiar, despised voice.

Och nay… Please, nay…

Even as she thought the words, her heart pounding and stomach twisting with despair, Valerie turned around. There, not even an arm’s length away, stood Laird MacOlley, a wide, insincere smile on his face. She swallowed back bile and forced the best approximation of a smile she could on her face.

“Laird MacOlley. Great to see ye. What brings ye here?”

“I was concerned, of course. I heard ye’d left yer sister’s home, and after all yer words afore, I thought ye might have done it to escape me again.

” There was a malicious glint in his eyes, and Valerie’s heart sank.

“But of course, ye’re such a kind, hardworking lass, I suppose I shouldnae be surprised ye wanted to come and help a crippled man. One last task afore the wedding, aye?”

“One… last task?” Valerie swallowed.

He cannae mean…

“Aye. Of course, I cannae have a lady who runs around playin’ at bein’ a seamstress—sewin’ clothes, mendin’ fabric, and barterin’ like a commoner. Ye’ll nae be doin’ any of that as my wife, ye ken. Ye’ll have far more important matters to attend to.”

The avaricious gleam in his eyes and the way his gaze slid over her—like a snake watching a mouse it wanted to devour—made Valerie want to vomit her breakfast directly onto his boots. She forced herself to continue smiling instead.

“Of course. I understand. It was just… I heard the other seamstresses talking about Laird MacFinn’s need, and the way they spoke about him was so like how people used to speak about Brigid’s husband. I had to see if he was as bad as all that.

“Then, I discovered that he wasnae so bad at all. A bit gruff, perhaps, but nae so ill-tempered as people make him out to be. And his injury isnae so terrible either. I thought…”

The smile was slipping from Laird MacOlley’s face, and underneath was something cold and dangerous.

Valerie realized her mistake and shook her head. “It doesnae matter what I thought. The truth is, I can help him, and mayhap make a better man out of him. So, of course, I had to take on the job. Especially as nay one else would, it seems.”

Laird MacOlley laughed. “Ye do like a challenge, and ye have such a gracious heart. It will be somethin’ for me to brag about when we’re wed—my little wife and her industrious, charitable ways.”

He reached out to put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m glad ye’re thinkin’ of yer reputation and others—It will make our union all the better.”

Valerie grimaced at the heavy hand on her shoulder. She felt like there was some poisonous beast draped over her arm, and it made her want to squirm away, perhaps even strike him with a stick.

Staying still when he touched her was an effort, but she knew she would have given the game away if she tried to avoid his hand. And that, she could not do—not if she wanted to protect Brigid, Conall, and their newborn daughter.

“Och, I’ve told ye afore—serenity suits ye best, Valerie.” Laird MacOlley lifted his other hand and rubbed his thumb over her forehead, across the lines caused by the frown she hadn’t even realized she wore. “We dinnae want any wrinkles to mar yer skin, ye ken.”

She was drowning. She was being squeezed in a trap, choking on the insincere words and the cold covetousness of his gaze. She wanted nothing more than to wrench herself free and hit him—kick him where it might hurt, perhaps. But the memory of Brigid and the bairn was too strong.

She forced herself to smile. “Och, ye ken how I am. I dinnae remember such things as often as I ken ye would like.” She glanced at the market. “I dinnae want to keep ye, and I do have some shoppin’ to finish…”

“Och, and why should I deprive myself of the pleasure of yer company, now that I’ve met ye here? Ye cannae expect me to do anything other than accompany ye—” Laird MacOlley broke off as a large hand fell on his shoulder and jerked him backward, away from Valerie.

He stumbled, his mask of suave, urbane politeness and his confident air broken by the shock of being manhandled. For one instant, his true self shone through, anger and spite sweeping across his countenance before he straightened.

However, that one moment was enough for Jude Reid to limp past him to Valerie’s side and plant himself in front of her like a shield, glowering at Laird MacOlley all the while. “Who is this man, and why is he disturbin’ ye, Valerie? Do I need to kill him for ye?”