Page 4 of A Touch So Wicked

“Nay. Have you forgotten that I am a great lover?” Dickon bragged.

“You may be a handsome devil, Dickon, and a favorite with the ladies, but it will take more than fancy words to win a Highland lass’s heart.”

“I don’t want her heart,” Dickon protested. “I’m more interested in what’s between her legs.”

Damian loosed a shout of laughter. “Ah, Dickon, I look forward to having you with me, for I suspect I will have need of your lighthearted spirit.”

“When do we leave?

“Very soon.”

“Then I’d best get back to my lodging and pack.”

After Dickon left, Damian glanced about the room for likely candidates willing to hire themselves into his service. His gaze found several battle-scarred soldiers scattered about the room.

Two hours later, Damian had hired twenty mercenaries grateful for the opportunity to serve the Demon Knight. He took an immediate liking to Sir Brody Clements, a grizzled knight who claimed neither land nor wife and had seen more than his share of battles. When he learned that Sir Brody could read and write, Damian appointed him Misterly’s steward. Sir Brody eagerly accepted the position.

Two days later Damian rode north, accompanied by Sir Richard, his own hirelings, and twenty soldiers. Damian’s thoughts were bleak despite the honor given him. Becoming overlord to people who hated him was not the life he had pictured for himself whenever he’d dared to dream of possessing his own lands. Despite his misgivings, Damian’s face hardened with purpose. Misterly was his by order of the king, and if the Gordons and Frasers rebelled, he would do whatever was necessary to bring them to heel.

It was with good reason that Damian Stratton was called the Demon Knight.

Chapter Two

Lady Elissa Fraser stared into the pier glass without really seeing her image. A wealth of coppery curls tamed into a coronet atop her head; startling green eyes and slender curves were blurred by the dire predictions her old nursemaid whispered into her ear.

“Ye willna wed the Gordon laird, lass,” old Nan hissed. “He isna meant for ye.”

“Oh, Nan, why must you be such a skeptic?” Elissa chided. “You know Tavis was my father’s choice of husband for me. He will protect us should England’s king remember that my father led a Highland regiment at Culloden moor and decide to punish us. Thanks to the remoteness of Misterly we’ve been fortunate to have escaped his notice, but we need Tavis and his clansmen should the English suddenly recall that we exist.”

“Ye willna wed the Gordon laird,” Nan repeated. “He is an outlaw and will bring trouble to our kinsmen.”

Elissa turned away from the mirror. “Donna be foolish, Nan. I will wed Tavis. He and his clansmen have already arrived at the village kirk. Lachlan and Dermot Fraser are waiting below to escort me to my wedding. ’Tis time to leave. Are you coming with me?”

“Ye willna leave the castle,” Nan said mulishly.

Elissa gave an unladylike snort. “You sorely try me, Nan. Though I love you dearly, you canna stop what is meant to be. I donna know Tavis well, but I’m sure I will come to love him. We both hate Englishmen and are staunch defenders of Bonny Prince Charlie. We have much in common.”

“Mayhap not all Englishmen are bad,” Nan said cryptically.

“Ha! Tell that to someone who will believe you. All Englishmen are butchers.”

“Go, then,” Nan muttered dismissively, “but mark my words, lass, ye willna marry the Gordon laird. My ‘voices’ speak of another man. Yer fate lies in another direction.”

“You may think you hear voices, but I put no faith in such things,” Elissa scoffed. “Nor do I believe in fairies or sprites or witches.”

“Ye always were a stubborn child,” Nan complained. “How did ye think I found ye those times ye wandered away from the castle on yer own? ’Twas my voices, I tell ye, but never ye mind. One day ye’ll learn to trust me.”

“I trust you, Nan,” Elissa wheedled, “but not your fanciful predictions. I admit you’ve been right about many things, but this time you’re wrong.”

“Donna say I dinna warn ye, lass.”

Elissa sighed as she picked up a bouquet of freshly cut flowers and turned once again to look into the pier glass. She had chosen to wear the Fraser plaid for her wedding and knew the gray, green, and white became her, though she was a mite pale. She pinched her smooth cheeks to force color into them and turned away from the mirror. Her delicate features set in determined lines, she marched out the door without waiting to see if Nan followed. She was going to marry the Gordon laird just as her father had intended, and nothing, not even her old nursemaid’s vivid imagination, was going to stop her.

Damian called a halt at Misterly’s outer portal. The gatehouse was deserted and the gate itself was raised. No guards patrolled the walls or were visible within the courtyard.

Damian’s first view of Misterly had been impressive. The majestic towers and parapets had been visible from a great distance, rising above swirling mist and darkening sky. The promise of rain hung in the air, thick and oppressive, and Damian wondered if it were a portent of trouble.

Pushing his gloomy thoughts aside, Damian and his men proceeded through the gate and into the courtyard. Damian’s shoulders were tense, his hand hovering above his sword. The alarm should have been given before now and their presence challenged. Where was everyone?