Page 96 of Taken By the Vicious Highlander

“Rightful heir?” She felt the whisper leave her lips.

“What is that?” his dark, demanding voice asked, dangerously close, sending ominous shivers down her spine.

Damon caught the piece of parchment vanishing into the folds of her skirts. “Guilty conscience, lass?”

“Nay,” she snapped, smoothing her skirts as if that would erase the tension in her body. “Ye startled me, is all.”

Damon cocked his head, his gaze sharp. “Did I?”

She turned back to the flower stall, pretending to admire the arrangements. “It’s just a bloom,” she said, reaching out to brush her fingers over the delicate petals of a deep purple thistle.

And that’s when he saw it. Her hand.

It was swollen—red and purple, a deep angry bruise blooming across her knuckles.

His blood turned to ice.

How had I nae noticed that before?

Damon caught her wrist before she could pull away, turning her hand over. “What the hell is this?”

Lilith stiffened. “Nothin’!”

His jaw clenched. “Nothin’?” He lifted her hand higher, letting the light catch the bruises. “Yer hand looks like it’s been through a millstone, Lilith.”

She yanked her hand back, but he didn’t let go. “It’s. Fine. Damon. Ye’re makin’ a scene.”

His grip tightened. “When did this happen?”

“It doesnae matter?—”

“When?”

Her lips parted, then pressed into a stubborn line. “I… might have hit somethin’.”

Damon’s nostrils flared. “Yemighthave?”

“Will ye kindly lower yer voice,” she hissed, wrenching her hand free and cradling it against her chest. “It’s nothin’,” she repeated, her voice suddenly raw.

“I have every right to make a scene. Tell me what happened,” he demanded, his narrowed eyes unrelenting.

Something was off.

This wasn’t about her injury or the way she was brushing it off like it didn’t matter, but the way she kept glancing away, the way she had tensed up, as if something more than a bruised hand suddenly weighed on her.

What was in that letter?

Damon inhaled slowly, reining in his temper. He stepped closer and asked in a low voice, “What did the boy give ye, Lilith?”

Her throat bobbed. “What?”

“Dinnae play me for a fool.”

Lilith pulled a white bloom from the folds of her skirts and twirled it between her slender fingers. “It’s a bloom I favor,” she said softly. “Reminds me of me sister.”

His patience snapped. “Just tell me the truth!” he growled. “What did the boy give ye?”

She swallowed. “Itoldye?—”