Page 110 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander

“Ye guard Lilith. I need Ryder to get the horses,” Damon said, turning in the direction of his chambers.

Finley nodded and took off down the corridor.

After grabbing his cloak from the wardrobe and donning his riding boots, Damon tore through the keep toward the courtyard.

“Me Laird?” an all-too-familiar voice echoed through the darkness of the Great Hall.

Damon twisted around, his cloak billowing dramatically before settling.

Tristan.

His patience instantly thinned as the man shuffled toward him. His hand rested on the hilt of his blade as Tristan came into view.

The man’s eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep.

Is that fromgrief or drink?

“I need to see her,” he begged. “I need to ken what’s happened—what’s happenin’ to her.”

Damon exhaled through his nose, his irritation flaring. “Go home, Gunn.”

Tristan’s mouth twisted. “Ye cannae expect me to do that after leavin’ me standin’ over me future faither-in-law’s dead body and suggestin’ that Ariah had somethin’ to do with it.”

Damon clenched his fists. He had promised Lilith that he wouldn’t kill Ariah, but she never said anything about Tristan. Taking in the sight of the normally put-together man, now out of sorts and disheveled, he considered putting him out of his misery and ending it now.

Somehow, though, infuriatingly so, his promise to keep Ariah alive had extended to her fiancé—the man would be spared as well.

“I have things to see to, man. Go home,” Damon ordered, before turning back and heading toward the front door.

Tristan’s voice broke through the darkness. “Damon,please.”

But Damon ignored him and stepped outside.

Mist clung to the earth, curling around the hooves of the horses as they crossed the outer courtyard and onto the dirt road leading to the perimeter. Damon led the way, and Ryder kept the pace.

Damon barely noticed the cold. His hands gripped the reins too tightly, his mind tangled in the events of the previous day—tangled in thoughts of her.

Lilith…

He exhaled harshly, his jaw tightening as he spurred the horse forward.

Damn her. Damn her for distractin’ me and gettin’ under me skin.

But each curse was directed at himself, and he knew it.

Curse meself for wantin’ her.

Curse meself for needin’ her.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves filled the silence between him and Ryder. Neither of the men spoke, both focused on the long ride ahead.

It wasn’t until they neared the tree line that Damon finally broke the quiet.

“I saw Tristan in the Great Hall as I departed.”

“Aye, he hasnae left since the attack last night.”

“He asked to see his betrothed,” Damon gritted out.