Page 1 of A Touch So Wicked

Prologue

London, 1746

Damian Stratton knelt before his monarch, his dark head bent, his broad shoulders rigid. Though still a young man, he had fought bravely for this honor. Damian was proud of the way he had saved his foster father’s life at the battle of Culloden when a savage Scotsman had aimed a claymore at Lord Farnsworth’s unprotected back, and now he was to be knighted for his courageous deed.

Damian felt the heavy weight of a sword on his shoulder and concentrated on King George’s words. The monarch’s strongly accented English made understanding extremely difficult, but it mattered not to Damian. He had finally earned knighthood, and he couldn’t be more pleased. At the age of seven Damian had been fostered by Lord Farnsworth, and he looked upon the man as a second father.

“Rise, Sir Damian Stratton,” the king said in thick, guttural English. “Your country has need of your sword and your courage. Go forth and distinguish yourself for the honor and glory of England. Serve me well and one day you will be rewarded.”

Damian rose, bowed deeply, and backed out of the Presence Chamber.

“Sir Damian. Might I have a word with you?”

Damian gave Lord Farnsworth a welcoming smile. “My lord, I am at your service.”

“What say you, Sir Damian? Will you go on to greater glory as a captain in the king’s army?”

Despite his youth, Damian knew where his destiny lay and did not hesitate to accept the post. “Aye, my lord. I am a landless knight, without family or direction. I am willing and eager to serve my country for as long as it has need of my services.”

“King George is not an ungrateful monarch, nor does he easily forget those whose services are vital to our country. Someday you will receive the recognition, honor, and rewards you so richly deserve. You are young yet. In a few years you will be a seasoned soldier and ready to accept greater challenges.”

At two and twenty Damian had already survived the bloody battle at Culloden. He was strong and disciplined and ready for more formidable ventures. He would fight for king and country willingly and gladly, and perhaps one day in the not too distant future he’d receive the reward he’d been promised.

Chapter One

Scotland, 1751

The battle-weary warrior stood on a ridge, his broadly muscled shoulders braced against the wind, his long legs firmly anchored to the gorse covered earth beneath his feet. He pushed his thick, black hair away from his strong, angular face as his silver-gray gaze made a sweeping survey of cliffs, valleys, and mountains.

After the fateful battle at Culloden, Sir Damian Stratton had served in King George’s army in Scotland, quelling hotbeds of resistance in the Highlands. The rebellions had been fueled by Highlanders who had been deprived of their lands and routed from their homes with nothing but the clothing on their backs. Those defeated Jacobites still held out hope of placing Bonny Prince Charlie on the English throne.

After five years Damian was thoroughly disgusted with the militant Highlanders who continued to plot and connive for a hopeless cause. Nevertheless, he’d done whatever was required of him by his country as he worked his way up to the rank of captain. He’d looted, plundered, and killed for England; he’d never forgotten that his father had been slain by Highlanders.

Over the years Damian had lost all hope of gaining land of his own, a small piece of England where he could take a wife and raise children. Despite having distinguished himself many times over in England’s defense, Damian had yet to receive a reward greater than recognition as a fearless warrior and king’s champion.

The Demon Knight, the name Damian had justly earned for his relentless courage in battle, mounted his faithful steed, Cosmo, and returned to his barracks at the military outpost of Inverness.

A young soldier ran up to take the reins as Damian dismounted. Damian could tell by the boy’s eager expression that something important had happened in his absence.

“What’s amiss, Private?”

“A messenger from the king, Captain,” Davey sang out excitedly. “He’s awaiting you in your quarters.”

Deep in thought, Damian entered his cramped room, wondering where he and his men were needed next in the cursed Highlands. He was weary of his post in Scotland and wished the country would drop off the face of the earth. At seven and twenty he had naught but a modest war chest, an exaggerated reputation, and a trail of women he had tumbled and forgotten.

The king’s messenger jumped to his feet. “Captain Stratton?”

Damian eyed the rolled up parchment the messenger held in his hand with wary curiosity. “Aye.”

“A message from London, sir. I’m to wait while you read it.”

“Very well,” Damian said crisply as he broke the royal seal and unrolled the parchment. Where was he to be sent now?

A puzzled expression crossed Damian’s handsome features as he quickly read the message. “The king wishes me to attend him?”

“That is my understanding,” the messenger said.

“Who are you, sir?”