Page 71 of A Touch So Wicked

“Lord Damian, thank God. Please tell me the truth. How is my daughter?”

“Nan says she’ll be fine and I have no reason to doubt her. I didn’t aim to kill and my bullet only grazed her. I had no idea I was shooting at Elissa until a gust of wind tore her bonnet from her head and her hair tumbled down her back. But it was too late. What can you tell me about her decision to leave now? Who helped her?”

“I canna say why she chose to leave now, but I can tell you who helped her. ’Twas Lady Kimbra.”

An unassailable rage shook Damian. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, aye, Elissa explained everything before she left. I warned her not to trust your lady, but you know Elissa. She was that determined. Something or someone upset her.”

Damian took a deep breath and asked, “Does she love Gordon? Is that why she was so anxious to go to him?”

“’Twas not a love match,” Marianne explained. “Elissa’s father wanted the marriage and Elissa is a dutiful daughter.”

“Thank you for telling me this, my lady. I will settle with Lady Kimbra when I’m done with the Gordons.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Drive the Gordons from my land,” Damian bit out. Then he bid Lady Marianne good night and took his leave.

Before seeking his bed, Damian returned to Elissa’s chamber to check on her. He found Nan dozing in a chair beside the bed. She lifted her head and beckoned him inside.

“How is she?” Damian asked. “Has she said anything?”

“The lass hasna stirred since ye left,” Nan replied. “Ye should find yer own bed, yer lordship. Dawn will arrive sooner than ye wish. I know ye go to meet the Gordons, for my voices speak of yer victory. Ye are an Englishman and I shouldna wish ye well, but Tavis Gordon showed his true colors when he torched the village. And ’tis my belief that Misterly will prosper with ye as its lord.”

“Thank you, Nan,” Damian acknowledged. “Take care of Elissa, I’m going to follow your advice and get some rest.”

“What about Lady Kimbra?” Nan asked.

Damian smiled grimly. “I will deal with her in my own good time.”

Sleep eluded Damian. The knowledge that he could have killed Elissa weighed heavily on him. But for an errant wind and a quirk of fate, Elissa might be dead now. He was an excellent shot; he hadn’t aimed to kill but one never knew. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself had he slain the woman he cared for.

And he did care for Elissa. No woman of his acquaintance had ever affected him like the redheaded vixen. Though other women might be more conventionally beautiful and refined, Elissa had a special quality that made her unique.

As dawn approached, Damian rose and readied himself for battle. He strapped on his sword, placed his pistol in his belt, and descended the stairs to the hall. Servants were moving about the tables, setting bowls of porridge and platters of fried ham before his men, and from the corner of his eyes he saw Dickon and Maggie in a shadowed corner, conversing in hushed voices. He watched as Dickon touched Maggie’s face in a tender farewell.

“Maggie arranged to have an early breakfast served,” Dickon explained when he pulled up a chair beside Damian. “Our mounts are waiting in the courtyard for us.”

Damian clasped Dickon’s shoulder. “You’re a good man to have around, Dickon. Shall we break our fast?”

A soggy dawn that promised more rain crept over the gray horizon when Damian rose and signaled the end of the meal.

“’Tis time, men,” he said. “The enemy awaits us.”

The Gordons were just stirring from sleep when Damian and his men burst into their campsite. Staggering from their bedrolls, the Highlanders quickly rallied under their battle cry and engaged the attacking Englishmen in hand to hand combat. The forest resounded with the sound of battle. Damian’s forces were outnumbered but the Highlanders’ weapons were crude and their warriors lacked the fighting skills of trained and seasoned knights.

The fighting was fierce and bloody, but Damian had the weight of countless battles and as many victories on his side. He was a canny strategist and soon devised a plan to surround and divide the Highlanders into small groups.

Too many men had fallen, Damian decided, as he deflected a sword thrust aimed at his heart. Spying Tavis Gordon, he fought his way toward the chieftain.

“Surrender, Gordon,” he demanded.

“Never,” the man snarled, immediately engaging Damian in swordplay. “We outnumber ye.”

Damian turned aside Gordon’s sword and thrust beneath his guard, smiling in satisfaction when he drew blood.

“You can’t win,” Damian asserted. “Look around you. Your men are falling. Despite your numbers, our superior weapons and skill will win the day.”