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

Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Pacing through the snow, Damien had circled the Banrose gardens twice, and even his boots were beginning to protest. But he could not stop the thoughts bouncing around his skull, keeping him trapped between what had just transpired and what he’d agreed to.

And all the other things he wished he’d said to Lady Helena.

I didnae forget ye, lass. More the fool I was. His fists clenched. I thought of ye often. Ye plagued me, with yer cheek and yer circumstances. And yer bloody intriguing face, those damned hazel eyes and sweet lips.

More, just when Damien had made up his mind to forget her, to write to the Queen when he returned to Morighe after the wedding, she’d appeared. Like a vision in the snowy morn.

He’d wondered what she might do or say if they met again. Deep down, he hated to admit that the thought that she might?—

Ducking his head, Damien hated that his face flushed. Well, she had bloody well not done that. She’d done the opposite.

And yet I still won in the end—she’s still mine, said a savage voice in his head.

In deed and word, boy, said another calm voice in the back of his head. But nae yet in matters of the heart. Can ye abide by that?

His heart clenched. It was so rare that he heard his father’s voice, and to hear him say that of all things…

It gave him pause, though, and he pressed a fist to the stone wall next to him. Was he a fool to invite such a distraction into his home?

I still have blood to spill to avenge ye, Faither.

“Are ye done?” called a voice.

Damien started, then saw a lantern coming toward him, and Grant carrying it.

“Come on, friend. Let’s have a drink.”

With a shrug, he followed Grant in, knowing that his friend would bodily drag him inside if he didn’t obey.

Once they were ensconced in the study, Grant pushed a large glass of whisky toward him and eyed him.

“I confess that when I saw yer reaction to the lady this mornin’, I thought this might be an inevitability—just nae so soon.”

Damien grunted and threw back a mouthful. “’Tis necessary. I’ve put off marriage for too long. And the Queen is liable to ship me a mouse. I’d rather have the falcon.”

A smile flitted across Grant’s face. “Braither, ye can fool others with yer quips and brassin’, but nae me.”

Damien felt something heat up in his throat, but he did not answer.

Grant, wisely, and kindly, changed the subject. “Ye will marry as soon as ye can, then?”

“Aye, and I’d like ye and Emma to be there.”

Grant nodded and dragged a hand down his face. “Listen, I must ask ye this because Helena is Emma’s dearest friend, and… well, I suppose I feel some responsibility, since she was me intended once. Tell me ye arenae doin’ this because ye’re still huntin’ for the last of the Vipers.”

The Viper had been the name of his uncle’s ship, and Vipers was what his motley crew called themselves.

“I ken ye tracked one down a few months ago—in Fallenworth,” Grant said carefully. “Odd timing, that. If I’d kenned ye were so close, I would have asked ye for help in findin’ Emma—and perhaps Helena.”

“Helena found me,” Damien said. “Nearly distracted me from why I was there, but aye, I got the bastard. And a lot of drivel as to where the rest of those rats are hidin’.”

“Ye have been travelin’ too much, Damien. Lookin’ too hard for ‘em,” Grant said in a low voice, as though he were speaking to an easily spooked horse, and Damien gave him a wry look. “What? I ken what’s goin’ on. Hamish still writes to me, ye bloody fool. And now, suddenly, ye’re goin’ to marry? What, so ye can get her with child, secure yer bloodline, and then ride off into the wind to hunt down the rest of them?”

Damien did not answer. Instead, he drained his whisky.

“Christ, Damien, dinnae do this. Lady Helena deserves better, and so do ye, ye great dobber. Wait till morn, man, and dinnae make this decision out of fear.”

“I dinnae fear for meself, Braither,” Damien responded.

“I ken that, more than ye even realize,” Grant said in an urgent tone. “But heed me words—ye are bein’ more reckless than usual to protect Morighe and Galeclere. Wait till ye’re calm. Make decisions like this with a clear head?—”

“I willnae have a goddamn clear head until every single Viper is dead. They have been stirrin’ of late. The man I found—he had a letter on him mentionin’ a meeting that took place a month ago.” Damien shook his head. “So long as they live, they want revenge and Morighe. Just as I do.”

“Ye are a laird, ye cannae?—”

“Nay,” Damien said and shoved away from his friend, gripping the glass in his hand so tight that he thought he heard it crack. “I cannae wait for them to slink out of their hiding places. I must smoke them out. I must act first, so we arenae besieged again.”

“I ken that,” Grant said, but his voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance. “When they make their move, we shall ken. Ye seem to forget that we have men watchin’ and lookin’ into this—ye dinnae need to do this. How did ye even ken to be in Fallenworth, hm?”

Damien did not answer. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he remembered the taste of salt as he chased the man down, that brief flicker of terror that he might get away.

“I will always stand beside ye, Damien, but ye shouldnae drag a sweet, innocent lady into this mess because ye have become even more bloody impatient?—”

Hazel eyes flashed through Damien’s mind, and his blood thrummed. His arm moved of its own accord, and he threw his glass against the stone wall of the study, before rounding on Grant.

“Innocent, little lady? Dinnae make me laugh.” He jabbed a finger at the rest of the castle, his breath nearly breaking in his throat as he roared, “She asked me to kiss her.”

And I havenae been able to forget it since. The wench has bewitched me. Nearly kept me from me goddamned prey in Fallenworth, to boot.

Grant did not even blink or look at the smashed glass. Instead, he raised a single eyebrow, and Damien felt his temper cooling.

“Perhaps I overreacted a bit just now.”

“A bit?” Grant asked. “Sure. And now I think I’ve earned the full rights of this story.”

Damien growled and shook his head. “I dinnae have time for this, Grant.”

“Aye, ye will tell me how ye met, or ye can clean up that mess,” Grant said.

“I’ll do that anyway,” Damien muttered, even as he threw himself into a chair, and his shoulders slumped. “She did ask me.”

“Braither, I married her best friend. I believe ye.”

As he had yesterday, Damien ducked out of Banrose through the kitchens, jesting with Grant. Only, his heart felt heavier, though his step was lighter. Glancing back, he wondered if Helena had risen yet.

Grant caught him looking and gave him a grin. “Worried she might’ve changed her mind?”

“Nay, she’s too clever by half for that,” Damien retorted. “Wonderin’ how long I’ll be waitin’…” he trailed off as they walked through the stone arch and into the stable yard.

There, standing in a fine, dark, fur-lined cloak, stroking the nose of a horse, was his betrothed. She smiled down as the woman next to her said something.

Damien didn’t realize at first that the woman was Emma. Nor did he realize that he’d stopped until Grant lightly pushed his shoulder.

“Nae long at all.” Grant stepped next to him, calling out a greeting.

Emma turned to him with a bright smile, her hands flying out as she came to meet her husband, pulling him down for a kiss.

Damien’s gaze went back to Helena, who was now looking at him.

The early sun glinted off her glasses as she hastily turned, pretending to be checking over her things. He felt the urge to stroll over to her, to pretend to help and tease her about such poor subterfuge. Instead, he greeted Emma and winked at Grant.

Helena joined them, and the four of them stood talking for a few moments before Damien knew they had to get on the road. He glanced up at the sky, and tension rippled down his back.

Damn it all to hell—a bloody storm is rollin’ in.

“We need to go, now,” he said abruptly.

Emma gave him a stern look, to which Grant grinned, but then his expression changed as he glanced at the sky as well.

“Are ye sure?”

“Of course,” Damien said easily. “Thanks for puttin’ up with me in-laws, by the by. We’ll send for ‘em as soon as we’re settled.”

Grant scowled and muttered something about deserving to be caught in a bloody storm, before moving forward to give Damien a rough hug. There was a round of embraces, and then Damien went to help Helena onto her horse, but she’d already swung up with practiced ease.

Mounting his horse, this time he did not look back to ensure that she kept pace—he knew she would follow.

And though it could have been yesterday morning when he rode out to cool his boiling blood, everything had changed since then.

He drew his horse to a halt when they’d come to the final rise from which one could see Banrose in its entirety and the curve of the Loch. Helena pulled up beside him, and he looked over at her.

She nodded, her gaze steady, and said, “I have not changed my mind.” A pause. “Have you?”

“Oh, lass, ye couldnae be so lucky,” Damien purred. “Ye are stuck with me.”

He thought that might push her to jest with him. Instead, she frowned and looked him over. “Then what troubles you, My Laird?”

Damien drew back and felt his face twist into a scowl. Damn this woman for thinking that she could read him.

“ Ye , continuin’ to call me ‘My Laird.’ Actin’ too English, love, when I ken that ye’re as wild as any of us here in the north.” He winked. “Call me Damien.”

And with that, he spurred his horse on, riding hard. His blood was up, and he wanted to see if his wife-to-be would keep pace or demand that he slow down.

She did neither, instead keeping at a pace that kept him in sight until he was forced to slow down. He wanted to tell her that they needed to hurry, that they should press for the next town before the wind picked up more.

Only, the wind was picking up a lot faster than he’d anticipated, and soon snow began to fall, then rain, and then, finally, a rumble of thunder.

“Thunder snow?” he heard Helena exclaim over the wind. “I’ve read of such things?—”

Damien felt his fury rise as he realized that the daft thing had stopped in the road and was staring upward, holding her hood on her head. “What are ye doin’? We need to find shelter.”

“This is incredible,” Helena said.

Damien growled, riding back and grabbing her horse’s reins. He led them off the road and into the woods, making for an area of dense pines where they would wait out this stramash.

“I would’ve liked to see lightning.”

“Too damn bad,” Damien said as he swung down and set about tethering the horses. “We cannae risk one of them boltin’.”

“They both seem calm,” Helena said and dismounted, albeit less gracefully than she had when mounting. “Are you?”

He barely managed not to flinch. “Enough questions.”

“Well, what else are we supposed to do while we wait out the storm?” she asked and pushed up her glasses.

Damien leaned against a stone and glared at her.

“You know that won’t work. Hm.” She seemed to cast around for something to ask. “Why were you in Fallenworth that day?”

Now Damien did start, and his fists clenched.

Of all bloody things to ask.

He knew she meant nothing by it, and yet that did nothing to cool his temper. “Never ye mind.”

“All right,” Helena said and bit her lip. “How long have ye been a laird?”

Damien clenched his jaw. “Almost seven years.”

“Oh,” Helena said and bit her lip. She came to lean next to him against the rock. “Did you travel much? For school? Or did you have a tutor?”

“Enough, Socrates,” Damien said as the Viper flashed behind his eyes, ragged against the sea. “Again, I beg ye, dinnae make me regret this.”