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

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

“And this is Bluebell Corner, lass,” Lady Merie said as she threw open the carved door to reveal a cozy, charming suite.

There were floral tapestries, yes, but it was the woodwork that caused Helena to exclaim. Along the center of the walls, to the fireplace, to the chairs, desk, and bedframe, was a gorgeous dark wood carved in a pattern of leaves, trees, and bluebells.

“Exquisite!” Helena exclaimed. “I confess, I did not know what to make of a room called such, but yes…” Her eyes ran over it, noting the deep windows on two walls, and realizing it had to be tucked into a corner of the castle. “Nothing else would make sense.”

“I stayed here when I first came to Morighe,” Lady Merie said in a soft voice, and Helena turned to see the woman wandering in, her fingers tracing the blue bedspread. “A lady is meant to have her own chambers, but within a week of bein’ married to Adair, these rooms had little purpose, so we kept them for guests —usually me sisters, and nowadays me nieces.” She smiled at Helena. “I am glad to see them occupied by a Morighe bride once again.”

“Thank you. I love to learn the story of a room.”

Merie nodded and put her hands on her hips, all business once again. “Right, yer hot water and food shall be here soon. Oh, and Lady Helena?—”

“Helena, I insist,” Helena interrupted softly.

A smile, reminiscent of Damien’s warmest grins, spread across Merie’s face. “Aye, Helena, then. When should I expect yer parents? Just so I can ensure that guest chambers are prepared. And should we wait for yer maither before we start thinkin’ about yer dress?”

Helena’s throat tightened, and she glanced away. “Ah, it is just my father and sister who will join us—probably soon. We shall write to them tomorrow, and I expect them within a week or so.” She paused. “My stepmother and stepbrother are in London.” She made a wry grimace, thinking how pleased her stepbrother must be to finally have her out of the way. “And my mother passed many years ago.”

“Och, poor dear, I am sorry.” Merie was suddenly there and gave her a brief, fierce hug. “Well, I am here, and I shall write to me sisters, so ye willnae have any lack of a woman’s opinion, all right?” She squeezed Helena’s hands. “Good night, dear. Welcome to Morighe. I couldnae be happier that ye are here. Believe me.”

Merie took her leave, and Helena wandered around the room, a little dazed. She was glad when two lady’s maids came bustling in, along with other servants, bringing hot water for the bath and covered platters.

Helena snacked as they prepared the bath. Then, she took a long, luxurious bath, attended to by capable Shona and Fiona. After, they insisted on braiding her hair in two long, thick tails while she supped and tried to stay still. But the two maids were best friends, and like everyone else in Morighe, they had a quick and clever wit that made her sides ache.

Of all things, I did not expect to laugh so much if I were to become a bride of the north.

No, all of Helena’s imaginings had involved dreary days, a surly Scot, and haggard people. Not this warmth, light, and laughter. Not this artistry and care—or such good food. She’d never been so satisfied with a simple meal of potatoes, meat, and bread.

“There,” Shona said and eyed Helena. “Ye have such lovely hair, Milady. I look forward to pinnin’ this up tomorrow, to be sure.”

“Thank you,” Helena said and stood up, picking up her glasses and peering at herself.

She leaned forward, touching her flushed cheeks, and then her hair, then leaned in closer.

“Is something wrong, Milady?” Fiona asked quickly.

Helena started and turned around, shaking her head. “No, I was just admiring your handiwork. I’ve never had such a lovely braid that was also comfortable.”

Both maids beamed at her.

I cannot tell them that they did such a good job that I hardly recognize myself.

Again, Helena looked at herself. Everything was the same, and yet she felt like she was seeing herself differently.

Or perhaps clearly, said a voice that sounded like Emma’s.

No.

Helena shook her head. If anything, it was her new surroundings, plus all the travel and fresh air. And the year ahead, the promise of time needed to finally finish her work.

Shona and Fiona cleaned up with alacrity, and then Helena was alone again. She sighed as she climbed into the glorious, large bed, sinking into the pillows, and her eyes fluttered shut. Only to wake up moments later.

She lay there, unsure of what woke her up. Then, she heard the familiar, intense patter of rain against the windows and the low whistle of the wind, which grew, and then she jumped as a bolt of lightning slashed across the sky. Snuggling under her blankets, Helena watched the windows, and she could not help it—she thought of Damien.

His rigid posture in the forest, the way his fists clenched and his knuckles turned white with every boom of thunder and the way he had shut down—the way he’d pushed her away.

Only to later pull her close.

“If I were to try and seduce ye… Helena, ye wouldnae stand a chance. Ye would beg for mercy in the end.”

Helena bit her lip as her hand crept up and pressed against her tingling neck. She could still remember the wicked pressure of Damien’s caress there, the tickle of his beard contrasted with soft lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, even as a small voice whispered in her head, He was right. You were about to beg for mercy—only not in the way you thought.

No, she wanted the mercy of relief, of more, of something she could not articulate but had her legs sliding together and heat coiling low in her belly. Even her breasts felt strange, and for a moment, she imagined Damien sliding his hands over them, touching, kissing?—

She gasped and rolled over, then bolted upright.

Another crash had come, a near-echo of the thunder outside, but this was inside the castle. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she slipped out of bed, slipping her boots on her and then grabbing the heavy dressing gown that had been left for her. It was a bit too big, but it kept her warm as she crept to the door.

Another bang, this one closer, and shouts. Her breath caught. Were they under attack? Or was someone in a drunken rage?

Then, she heard another roar and a smash , and she realized that she knew that voice.

With a huff, Helena wrenched her door open and flew down the hall, passing a knot of flustered servants who all bowed, then scattered as another curse came.

“I will handle this,” she called softly. “Keep everyone away.”

Approaching a door from where cursing and then a crash came, Helena took a deep breath and then entered.

“Are you trying to wake the whole castle, My Laird?” she asked in a wry tone, then panic seized her.

Damien was breathing hard, his hands braced on the desk, his head hanging down. His hair was wild about his face, and tension rippled through his body.

“ Damien . Are you well?”

She made to move closer to him, but a low snarl stopped her. “ Dinnae. ”

“You don’t even know what to do,” she couldn’t help but retort, watching her husband-to-be struggle to breathe, as though it took all the effort of his body and mind.

Meanwhile, her entire body burned with the desire to go to him, to soothe him, and she took a few silent steps closer.

“Ye stubborn minx,” Damien muttered and shoved up from the desk, pushing his hair out of his face.

Helena’s heart flipped as she beheld him in a loose white shirt, gaping open to reveal dark chest hair and the edge of pectoral muscles, and dark breeches, and bare feet. He looked as though he’d just come from ravishing a fair maiden in a bard’s tale.

He’s so—so beautiful.

Her fingers tingled as she imagined herself cradling his face, soothing him with her touch, and pulling his head down to her shoulder. Holding him and running her hands through his hair.

“What is that goddamn look?” he bit out, and she jumped. “Is it because I dinnae have me eyepatch on?”

Helena blinked. “Oh, I did not realize…”

She took in the scarred side of his face, the blue eye gone to silver, and her chest convulsed with agony. That was no normal injury, and it must have caused him so much pain.

Damien stared at her for a moment, and the awful tension in the room lessened a bit, then he snorted and turned away. Stalking to the window, he glared out, and she stared at the hard lines of his muscular back.

In this room, in the soft firelight, with the storm raging outside, she’d never felt so aware of the promises and future between them.

Soon, they would marry, and then one day, they would consummate their union. She would see him unclothed, then touch him?—

“Ye need to go.”

Her breath hitched, and for a wild moment, she thought it was because Damien had sensed the direction her thoughts were taking. Then, she shook herself and moved to a sideboard, where a decanter of whisky and a glass awaited. She might not know much about men, but she knew what helped calm her father when he was in a mood.

Taking a deep breath, she poured Damien a glass, and he stirred at the sound of it. His eye narrowed on her as she carefully lifted it and walked over to him, hoping that her face was serene as her nerves rioted.

What if he took the glass and threw it at her for giving him too much or too little, then threatened to strike her—or simply did? Her father had done it more than once.

But when she got closer, some of the tension left her, even though her chest still ached. No matter the hell Damien had found himself in, he would not do such a thing. Thanks to her father, she had an unerring instinct about truly dangerous men.

She gave him a small smile as she held out the glass, and he gently took it. He took a sip, then stared down at the glass and took a deep breath.

When he looked at her again, the silence between them grew taut, and Helena felt her skin tingling. She’d never imagined that one might find refuge in words, but this shared space of soft breaths, intense rain and wind, and fire felt like a language she might like to learn. One that she suspected Damien knew well and could teach her.

Then, he took another long sip, finishing off his drink, and turned back to the window. “Go back to bed, Lena.”