The Highlander’s Accidental Wife (Queen’s Edict #3)

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

For a moment, they stared at each other, and Helena couldn’t help it—she glanced around to make sure they were alone. Nothing but this stretch of stone wall, a snow-covered tree, and fields that ran down to a stretch of wood. Still, someone could round either corner at any moment and find them alone here.

“You should not have followed me, Damien,” Helena gritted out, then she gasped and fell back, her face flaming.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across the Laird’s face, and the blue of his eye danced with unholy delight.

Even though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she said, “Forgive me?—”

“Nothing to forgive,” he interjected. “So long as ye say it again.” He cupped a hand around his ear. “Go on, love. I liked it. Almost as much as…”

“Don’t,” Helena burst out and looked around. “Have you lost your mind? Why are you doing this?”

He took a step forward, and she forced herself to hold her ground. “I could ask ye the same. And why the hell do ye think ye will get away with runnin’ off this time.” A sarcastic Scottish sound rumbled in his throat, and Helena’s hands tingled with the urge to wrap her hands around that very neck, no matter how thick it appeared. “Did ye nae learn yer lesson?”

Learn my lesson?

Her mind screeched. Helena went to retort, then changed tack, drawing herself up and looking coolly into his face. “What will you do with this information, Sir?”

He blinked and took a step back. “Come again?”

“You seem so keen to get all these answers, and I must confess, I cannot understand why.” Helena took a step forward, while the Laird’s chest rose and fell. “I thought it was a jest on your behalf, but now I’m not so sure.”

“A jest?” Laird MacCabe repeated, and something softened in his expression. “Never.” Her breath became unsteady as he leaned in, and fire pooled in her belly. “Nae when I ken ye want to ask for another…” He paused as Helena’s eyes went wide, then he leaned back. “Dance, of course.”

“You call me a liar and pretend you are not making a mockery out of me, but I see you, Sir,” Helena burst out. “You find this funny.”

He shrugged one big shoulder. “A little. And I confess I didnae care for lyin’ to me best friend.”

“What, should we have explained how we met?” Helena asked sarcastically.

“Of course. Grant would’ve liked that story, and so would Emma, I think.” He leaned in. “Besides, I already ken that ye told her about me. Just nae me name.”

“I did not know your name when we kissed, you bloody fool,” Helena shouted, her fists clenched at her sides.

“That was ye?” Laird MacCabe teased, and then he caught her with ease around the waist. Her entire body went hot, and she knew she should push him away, for he did not hold her tightly. “Helena, ye ken that I would sooner forget me own name than our kiss.”

“Is that true?” she blurted out, and again, something softened in his expression. Then, she shoved at him, causing him to let go, even as he caught her hand. “No—never mind that. And stop talking about our kiss.”

“So, ye admit it happened.”

“Never.” Helena tossed her head. “I’ve never met you, and we’ve never kissed, Damien.”

“You kissed Damien?” shrieked a voice behind her.

Helena gasped, her shoulders up around her ears as Laird MacCabe stepped forward, protective, his hand clamping around her opposite elbow, and his strong arm a bar across her back.

Behind her, charging up the path, with Laird Ronson hot on her heels, was Emma.

“I heard that you two snuck away from Agnes, and I could not believe it, but here you are. This means Grant was right—you two have met.” Emma was there, all bright blue eyes and indignation mingling with mischief, her cheeks high with color from exertion and excitement. “So, Damien is your stolen kiss?”

“Ah, so that’s what ye told her, is it nae, Milady?” Laird MacCabe teased.

“No!” Helena shouted. “He’s jesting. We’ve met, but no—no, never.” At that, his grip slackened, and she slipped away, hurrying toward her friend. “Emma, this is your wedding day. You should not be here, asking about kisses, but dancing?—”

“What’s this about kisses?” Laird Ronson cut in. “Did this brute kiss ye, Lady Helena?”

“No,” Helena all but shouted again, while Laird MacCabe echoed it in the most unconvincing tone known to man. “You are impossible,” she gritted out. “That is why no one wants to dance with you.”

Something flickered across his face, and he made to retort, but then another voice spoke, and Helena’s heart froze in her chest.

“Yet, it does not explain why you would meet with such a man alone, Daughter.”

It seemed an eternity before Helena could turn and face the man who spoke. Meanwhile, Emma moved closer, her blue eyes bright with alarm and protectiveness. She put an arm around Helena, frowning at the man who approached, tall and wrapped in furs, with a terrible fury in dark eyes behind thick lenses.

He spoke again in a sharp voice, “Truly, when I think you cannot be more of a disappointment.”

Helena thought she might be sick, and if Emma had not been supporting her, she might have fallen over. Her breath came in short, painful gasps, and she whispered, “What are you—how are you here?”

“Lena!” shouted a sweet voice.

At that, Helena stepped out of Emma’s grasp and opened her arms as her younger sister came loping up—all elbows and graceless limbs—and threw herself into her arms.

“I missed you. And isn’t Scotland so much grander than folk say? Just imagine—this could have been our castle. What a dream.”

Helena’s heart clenched, and she pressed a kiss to Sophia’s bright hair even as she cast a glance at her father, who gave her a sardonic look.

“Yes, I confess I wondered the same, Helena,” Lord Lovell said. “You foolish whelp, how could you let your best friend marry your intended? I thought you had come to put a stop to this and restore our honor. Instead, you’re making a muck of things as usual, for all that you think you’re so clever.” He shook his head. “Nothing but a daft woman, of course.”

Helena flinched and gritted her teeth, even as tears pricked her eyes. It was bad enough that Laird MacCabe had teased and played games with her, revealing that they’d met and kissed , and now her father was here to pile on the public humiliation.

Perhaps he’ll finally disown me.

But deep down, she knew he never would. Not when he could subject her to endless torment instead. Just as he did with her poor, clever, beleaguered mother.

“How could my men not inform me of your wickedness, I wonder,” her father grumbled to himself. “Come here, girl.” Then, he whistled and shouted into the night, “Draven! Combs! Come on out, lads.”

“You had men following Helena?” Emma demanded, and Helena sensed Laird Ronson moving forward. “No, Grant, I shall not stand for this.”

Helena clung to Sophia for a moment longer before she straightened and made to step forward, but then Laird MacCabe was there.

“Ye willnae see those lowlifes ever again, Lord Lovell,” he said in a dark, stern voice that sent a pulse through Helena. She stared at him, then at her father, who gaped at the tall Laird. “After all, it’s been several months. Ye didnae wonder when they failed to show up?”

“Of course not. They needed to keep following her,” her father blustered. “What—you had something to do with this, you brigand?”

Helena took a step forward, two dull thuds of shock going through her—at her father’s uncouthness and at what Laird MacCabe was implying.

“Wait, but I didn’t ask you…”

The Laird turned to look at her, an aloof and stern warrior. “Aye, ye didnae, but ‘tis a good thing I did what I did,” he said, and she could only stare. “They got what they deserved after speakin’ about Lady Helena in a crass way, never mind what they planned to do to her.”

Again, the Laird looked at her father, and his lip curled.

“Ye would have done the same, though I wonder what sort of man would send such brutes after his kin in the first place.”

Helena could not speak.

Her father began to bluster and snap, grousing at the Highlander for interfering, then turned to her. “What’s done is done, and I do not give a damn at this point. What matters is that with Emma becoming Lady Ronson, you have decided to completely disregard the Queen’s Edict…”

“The Queen blessed my union with Laird Ronson,” Emma cut in, while her husband said at the same time, “Queen Marianna sent word that Emma and I were to wed.”

Lord Lovell waved them off. “Fine, but that does not mean Helena is freed from it. And do you think the Queen would bless you for kissing a one-eyed Highland brute?” He gave his head a mournful shake as Helena felt scorched where she stood, already anticipating what he would say next. “No one will marry you now—you are ruined . What will I do with you? Why does Providence test me so?”

Helena struggled to breathe. She moved forward and spoke softly, even as she stumbled over her words, “Is that such a bad thing, Father? I could earn money. You know I could.”

Her father glared at her. “It is not a matter of whether you could, Helena. How can’t you understand that? No matter if you became as rich as Croesus, you have ruined yourself—and your sister. You ruined her future just to kiss that bastard, do you understand that?”

His words were as lethal as blades, sinking into her chest, and she flattened her hands against her stomach.

What have I done?

She looked at Sophia’s tiny, worried face, her eyes fierce but her lips trembling. Her sister was just as clever and knew that the world was not kind or accepting of such women.

“ Laird MacCabe.” The snow crunched underfoot as Laird MacCabe stepped between Helena and her father, a shadowed wall of fury. “Ye keep callin’ me such sweet names, but I think it’s high time ye kenned me real name and position, Englishman.”

The fury in his voice almost had Helena reaching for Sophia, but Emma was there, and Helena stepped to the side to see her father gaping at Laird MacCabe in a way that she’d never seen before.

But oh, it was satisfying, no matter how wicked that might be of her.

Her father rallied, though he seemed subdued as he attempted to challenge Laird MacCabe. “That is neither here nor there, My Laird. ” He paused and glared at the man with a cruel fury. “You kissed my unwed daughter.”

Helena sucked in a breath, not sure how she wanted Laird MacCabe to answer. At this point, though, she was ruined. Her father would never let her forget that she kissed a man outside of marriage, nor would he ever let her go, it seemed.

Her heart sank, and she sucked in a harsh breath, fighting down sobs.

Laird MacCabe will deny it. She squeezed her eyes shut. Otherwise, if he doesn’t, it will mean ? —

“Aye, I kissed yer daughter,” Laird MacCabe said in such a wicked voice that her cheeks heated, for his words seemed to echo into the night, and he seemed to also be saying, And I’d like to do it again.

Instead, he said, “And I’d like…” Helena’s eyes flew open and met his. A smile flitted over his face. “I’d like to have a word with her. Alone . So, all of ye.” He looked around. “Leave us. Now.”

“Leave it to a MacCabe to give orders on Ronson lands,” Laird Ronson muttered. Then, louder, he said, “Ye heard the man. Let him and Lady Helena speak. Come on, Lord Lovell, let me treat ye to a drink at the castle. Emma, come on, love.”

Emma pouted but trotted after her husband, but not before giving Helena a wide-eyed look. Sophia seemed confused, and her father did not look at her.

Laird Ronson paused, before exchanging a glance with Laird MacCabe. Then, he gave a slight shake of his head and offered Helena an encouraging smile.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Helena blurted out, “You could have lied.”

Laird MacCabe tilted his head to the side and let out a sigh. “Dinnae make me regret it, lass.” She flinched, and his face softened. “Ach, that was uncalled for. And nay, I couldnae do such a thing to ye, nae with yer faither—” His jaw clenched. “If I thought it would help ye, I would have.”

Silence fell between them.

Helena shook her head. “Now—what?” Her mouth felt too dry. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

He gave her a searching look, and this whole business took on a surreal edge as he took a step closer. To think that they had met on a warm spring night all those months ago, had danced together, then shared a single kiss—and now this.

Should I apologize?

“Ignore that thought,” Laird MacCabe said in a stern voice, and he caught her chin. “Whatever just came to yer mind and made ye look like that, never think it again, d’ye hear me?”

Helena was too taken aback to do anything except nod.

“Good,” he rumbled. “Now, listen. Thanks to yer friend and her twin, the Queen will nay longer require specific matches, ye ken?” He let go of her, and she gave a small shake of her head. “Lass, yer faither wanted ye to think that ye had further betrayed the Queen, that she had chosen another laird for ye. But she has done nay such thing. Instead, now we can use it to our advantage. Get what we both want.”

Again, everything felt surreal. The cold night, the bright stars twinkling above Laird MacCabe’s head, the snowy woods, and the rugged Scottish wilderness around them, despite the thick stone walls of Banrose.

“What do you want, My Laird?” Helena got out.

Surely not… me?

“Is it nae obvious?” he asked in a casual tone, as though the answer would not change the entire course of their future. “A bride.”

A bride?

She swallowed something bitter. Ah, of course. Now, it became clear. This was business, even if he was treating it like a lark, too.

“That is different from what I want,” she got out. “I wish to remain a spinster.”

“Under yer faither’s bloody thumb?” Laird MacCabe burst out and shook his head. “Milady, I think ye deserve better. And I also ken that ye meant to flee, but I also ken that men of yer faither’s ilk. He willnae let ye go.” His gaze became almost pitying, and Helena swallowed something hot. “Nae unless ye have a husband, I think.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” Helena admitted softly. “But, no… I…”

“I ken it cannae be because ye didnae enjoy our kiss,” Laird MacCabe said, his tone serious even as his eye danced. “Or if it is, I do beg ye to lie.”

Helena swallowed a laugh and shook her head. “No, no it’s nothing personal. I simply do not wish to marry.”

Laird MacCabe made a Scottish sound that might have been exasperation or amusement or understanding. Softly, he said, “Lass, I dinnae think ye can run from that fate any longer. Ye tried, and ‘twas a valiant effort. I do think ye might have had a time puttin’ Grant in his place—though I do think he was always meant to end up with Emma.”

“As do I,” Helena admitted warmly.

“But ye cannae defy the Edict—none of us can. Ye think Scottish lairds want to marry the shrinking violets of the ton?” He shook his head. “And yer faither…” He made a face. “He will make yer life hell. And mine, too. I might even be killed for sullyin’ a lady. Though I admit, I dinnae mind suffering an even worse fate for such a grand kiss.”

Helena’s stomach twisted, even though she knew he was teasing her. “I know that I would be in far more trouble than you would, Sir. You are still a laird.”

He shrugged.

Even though Helena saw the glimmer of mischief in his eye, she could not help but ask, “What is this cruel fate you speak of? What bigger trouble would you have?”

“I’m lookin’ at it,” he said, and Helena felt a flush of anger even as she bit back a laugh at his insouciant tone. “Still, best to err on the side of caution with the English—‘tis what me faither used to say.” His gaze dimmed. “A pity ye shall never meet…”

“Oh, is he no longer with us?” Helena asked, though she’d already guessed as such from other hints he’d dropped. And something about the look in his eye—something she recognized, since she’d also lost a parent.

Damien shook his head, and before Helena could speak, he said, “Are we agreed, Milady? Let us marry for convenience, aye? All I need is an heir, and I shall make yer life as comfortable as a dream.”

“Then I’m afraid we still have a problem,” Helena stated, her fists clenched, and her chin raised. “The only way I will accept is if we agree that there will be no children for the first year we are married.”