Page 13 of Taken By the Highland Villain

The realization had left him stunned, in a slight daze of disbelief, until he’d finally fallen asleep.

For the first time since Kendra’s kidnapping, he felt a spark of hope. Valerie was the origin of that spark, and so long as she stayed, he would remain as close as he could to her warmth—even if it meant facing the ordeal of riding into the village he’d last visited with his mother and sister over a year ago.

Valerie was surprised when Laird MacFinn declared his intention to accompany her to the village, and even more so when she emerged from the castle to find him in the courtyard, standing beside the saddled horses.

Two horses, instead of three.

Her surprise must have shown on her face because the Laird answered her unspoken question before she could think of a way to voice it. “Craig said that he was stayin’ behind to take care of matters at the castle, as ye have an escort and the village isnae far.”

Valerie nodded. She liked the friendly man-at-arms the way she might like a brother, if she had one, but she had to admit that, of the two men, Laird MacFinn was far more intriguing to her.

She noted that he didn’t seem to have any trouble swinging himself up into the saddle, nor did he appear to have any difficulties as they guided their horses through the gate and down the track toward the village. Whatever injury he had, it didn’t seem to prevent him from riding or sitting.

Most likely a knee injury. A bad ankle would give him more trouble with the stirrups, I think. And he’d nae be so comfortable in the saddle if it were a hip or a thigh injury.

She wondered what had happened to him, but there was no polite way to ask. Even if she could have found the words, the day was too fine to darken it with such thoughts.

And so she was content to keep her silence, riding alongside her quiet companion and enjoying the brisk breeze and the scent of heather and growing grass.

Beside her, Laird MacFinn looked equally comfortable, relaxing slowly into the saddle until even the severe lines of his face softened.

It made him look years younger and far less stern, and Valerie felt her heart flip in her chest at the sight of him—sunlight bathing his craggy face, and the wind ruffling the wild tangle of his hair and beard.

She could have easily remained enthralled by the sight for hours, had he not turned his head and caught her watching him.

Valerie blushed and looked away, and was relieved to find they’d reached the outskirts of the village.

“Where is the seamstress’s shop? Do ye ken?”

“Of course, I ken. There is only one.”

Jude guided her to the center of the village. Long before they reached it, however, Valerie heard a clamor she recognized. The familiar sound of voices talking, haggling, and bargaining.

She smiled. “Och, it is market day! I didnae ken.”

She caught him grimacing. “I didnae remember.”

His face clearly showed his discomfort.

Valerie recalled the rumors about him and the dreary state of his castle, and she could guess why he appeared ready to turn around and ride back to the castle without a second thought.

Moira said he likes the castle silent, and the halls are quiet. A crowd may be overwhelming to him, especially if he’s used to solitude.

She smiled and nudged her horse closer. “I enjoy hagglin’; I have a fair amount of experience with it. If ye like, I can seek out anythin’ ye might need and make the purchases for ye. If ye need any metal, wood, soaps, candles, spices…”

Jude grunted. “We came for fabric and thread.”

“Aye. But it doesnae mean we cannae get other things. Candles, for example, since ye seem to use very few.”

He grunted again.

For a moment, she thought he would either ignore her entirely or tell her that it was none of her concern. But then he spoke, his words slow as if he had to think about them.

“Craig mentioned that we could do with more leather oil for saddles and the like. Moira might want some candles and soap, and I’ve been meanin’ to send someone to get ink and paper. We dinnae make them at the castle, though we did afore…”

“I can get them for ye at a good price.”

One dark eyebrow quirked upward, skepticism clear on his face. “Are ye a trader as well as a seamstress then, lass?”