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

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Again, Damien had said the wrong thing, even as his temper seemed to frost over. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Helena flinch, and he sighed.

I dinnae want her to continue this line of questionin’, and Lord kens she’d never stop. Still…

As she fell silent, hugging herself, Damien felt a small pang underneath the icy storm of his heart and mind.

As though to match his mood, a torrent of rain and snow snarled through the boughs overhead, while more thunder rumbled against the mountains. The horses swayed and kicked nervously at the earth, and even Helena peered out from beneath her hood, her eyes seeking the sky.

The shiver that ran through her decided for him.

Damien moved forward, acting more on instinct than anything else. In one movement, he pulled his heavy cloak off his shoulders and draped it around hers. She started, and their gazes met for a moment. He ran his eye over her high cheekbones, the faint fogginess of her glasses, the pink of her cheeks, and the red hue on the tip of her dainty nose.

“We’ll need to get ye a proper cloak, nae these ridiculous, flimsy furs that the English prance around in for five minutes on a winter stroll,” he said with a snort.

“No, I cannot take your cloak, please?—”

“I dinnae run as cold as ye do, believe me,” he said in a grim tone. “Once the Irish sea has bitten ye—even in the goddamn depths of midsummer—ye have a different idea of what the cold means.”

Damien’s heart throbbed, and he stepped back.

Christ, why on earth had he said such a thing? This weather was making him daft.

“Honestly, I was fine,” she protested again even as her gloved fingers pulled his cloak tighter.

Her sharp eyes ran over him. They narrowed when another roar of thunder came, closer this time, and Damien tensed up all over. Her eyes flicked down, and too late, he realized that his fists were clenched.

“You truly cannot stand a storm,” she murmured.

Damien felt heat crack through his icy temper. Now, he did not give a damn and leveled her with a glare that would have made his enemies go down on their knees, one eye notwithstanding.

Helena did not flinch, however. She merely gave him a searching look, and he could almost see the quickness of her thoughts as she tried to think of something to say or do. He gave her another pointed look and moved over to the horses, checking on them.

When he looked up again, she was gone, and an ugly curse escaped him. “Where the bloody hell?—?”

A trill of laughter answered him, and he looked over to see that Helena had wandered to the edge of the clearing. She gave him a wave, then vanished around the tree.

Cursing again, Damien took a moment to ensure that the horses were tied and then bolted toward his errant fiancée.

“Helena, ye are a batterin’ ram on what little patience I have left—” He nearly plowed into her and frowned at the humidity that touched his face. “What deviltry is this?”

“Come on, would you?” Helena shot him a triumphant look over her shoulder that had him stepping forward to join her.

Ahead of them, coming in and out of view through the mist and rain, was a narrow body of water, with dark rocks rising on one side and spongy moss on the other, dotted with stones that made him think of fairy rings.

For, as in the tales of old, it was a place of strange, beguiling beauty—and its surface was thick with giant water lilies.

Though Damien intuitively knew that the vapor rising from the water meant there was a hot vent of some kind in the earth, feeding and keeping the flower alive, it was still a strange thing to see a fresh lily in the depths of winter.

Truly, it was like they’d stumbled upon the threshold of the Seelie court, and Damien couldn’t help but reach out, grasping Helena’s arm.

Helena, though, was too enraptured with the sight to take notice. “The mist was the first clue. It was so dense this way, and quite white—yet I thought I felt a bit of warmth. This must be a hot spring.” She let out a happy sigh. “And to think, water lilies. Have you ever seen them so big?”

Damien gazed out at the bubbling water, vapor rising from it, and lilies floating on the surface. “Nay, I havenae. I’ve heard of these springs, but nae the lilies. What an odd thing.”

“Not so odd,” Helena said and began to explain the heat and the flower, and how such a thing could come to pass—then broke off when she noticed his gaze. “Anyhow, when I first came here, I felt a bit like Odysseus, gazing upon white flowers out of myth, in a myth.”

Damien’s grip loosened and dropped in surprise, even as he stepped closer. Of all things.

He let out a rueful chuckle and shook his head. “Aye, lass, but if we chew on these lotuses, we probably willnae forget a thing.”

Believe me, I wouldnae mind forgettin’ me time on a ship away from home.

Helena turned to him sharply, her eyes wide. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Damien fought a grin and nodded, his gaze still on the lotuses. “Aye, I’ve taken many a sail with Odysseus.” His throat tightened. “That helps me forget.”

“What do you want to forget?” Helena asked.

He stirred, glancing at her now. Her eyes were twinkling with curiosity, and it stirred his blood.

But then she stepped back, abashed. “Ah, and here I forget myself. You asked me to stop.” Her eyes danced. “Though not very nicely.”

“Hmph. Perhaps I’d like to ask a question or two myself, Socrates,” Damien said, almost feeling like she was helping him steal a bit of calm from the storm. He did not even flinch when the thunder cracked again. “Somethin’ I’ve been wonderin’ about since we met.”

Helena inhaled, then nodded at him.

“Why me?” he asked in a low voice, and she furrowed her brow slightly. “Why did ye pick me, lass? For a kiss—a stolen kiss.” He drew in a breath as her lashes fell and her cheeks turned a brighter pink. “There were soldiers ye could’ve found, who would’ve been happy enough to offer ye a kiss—or two.”

Helena bit her lip and seemed to withdraw, but Damien reached out and caught her chin, lifting her eyes to his.

“Dinnae tell me ye can ask for a kiss but cannae tell me why, lass.”

She rolled her eyes and batted his hand away. “Oh fine. It’s rather simple.” A dainty finger pushed up her glasses, and she met his intense gaze. “You were the most intimidating man there. A Scot to strike terror into the heart of anyone with or without a whit of sense.”

“Och, was I, now?” Damien asked and took a step forward, noting that she had scant room behind her—caught between the edge of the water and a cluster of ancient trees. “Were ye afraid of me that night, Helena?”

Her lashes fluttered, and she seemed to struggle to find the words, then she let out a soft “ oh ,” as her backside met the tree. She glanced around and then up at Damien, who placed a hand on the tree and gazed down at her.

“I was…” Helena’s breath seemed unsteady. “Well, I do recall my heart beating quite fast, the kind of tempo one gets from a brisk swim or jumping a horse or…”

Damien smirked and watched her eyes trace the contours of his mouth.

Och, ye remember.

Out loud, he asked, “Beatin’ fast out of fear, aye?”

“Hm?” Helena murmured, tipping her face up more, and those full lips were right there.

Damien knew he was a bastard for letting his breath feather over them, for letting her think he was about to kiss her and then drawing back.

Indeed, when she frowned at him, he knew that if he laughed, he’d deserve a slap across the face. But because he was no saint, he purred, “Och, apologies, Milady. I only wondered if ye were sure.” Again, that adorable furrow in her brow. “Sure that it was fear that made yer heart race so. Or if…” He leaned in, pushing back her hood, letting his lips graze her ear. “If ye have another theory, I’d be interested—I think it might have far more merit.”

A shudder ran through Helena, and she stood straighter, glaring at him as he drew back. “How dare you take advantage of-of Homer and this lovely place with all the lilies and the weather to try and seduce me, Sir!”

Damien felt a broad, impish grin spread across his face, and he knew that the blue of his eye had to be dancing with MacCabe mischief. Lord, but how hard it was not to laugh at that moment—but he was canny enough to know she’d smack him rightly.

“Seduce? Nay, nay,” he said and stepped back, splaying his hands. “I was only askin’ questions, love.”

Helena straightened and shook out her skirts, drawing her hood back up and giving him a cold look.

Unable to help himself, Damien laid a hand on his heart and added, “Unless ye are askin’ me to.”

Her nostrils flared, and she made to storm past him, but he stepped in front of her. “I know what you are up to, Damien,” she said in a fierce tone. “And?—”

“Nay, love,” he said and caught the edges of her hood, tugging on it playfully. “This is a bit of harmless flirtation. Though, to be sure, I adore the way it works on ye.” She flushed and made to push him away, but he caught her wrists. “If I were to try and seduce ye…” He tsked. “Helena, ye wouldnae stand a chance. Ye would beg for mercy in the end.”

Helena tried to wrench free but only succeeded in dislodging her hood, and he couldn’t help it—he laughed. Her eyes blazed at that, then she went still, and he cocked his head as she offered him a slow smile.

“Go on, then.” Her eyes flashed. “Make me beg for mercy.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. I dare you to try to seduce your wife-to-be, My Laird.”