Page 15 of Taken By the Highland Villain
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 gazelooked 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 merchanttoo—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.