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

Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

Helena’s head jerked up, and she stared at him, clutching her fork a bit like a sword. “What—whatever do you mean?”

Damien did not speak at first, and her mind began to spin. Heavens, but she was so tired. Every thought felt like sludge, and every fear felt too true. It had to be about her bloody year again. He was going to ask about that at breakfast ? This damn insatiable Scot.

Yet, underneath her caustic and rather unfair summation of Damien was a lurking desire mingled with hope—that if he kissed or touched her again, she might…

No!

She shook her head and shot him a glare.

Damien raised an eyebrow. “I mean that ‘tis a bit late for cold feet, me bride-to-be, but we havenae tied the knot yet.”

Helena stared at him, completely at a loss, and a slight furrow appeared in his brow. As though he were rowing out to join her.

“Cleaved unto one another, Lady Helena.”

Again, Helena was mystified, though that did sound familiar.

He huffed a sigh. “ Wed. ”

Her fork clattered to the table. “That is a poor jest, My Laird.”

He furrowed his brow now and searched her face, then clenched his jaw. “Ye were late. Even after I sent servants to fetch ye. So, ye meant to avoid me, did ye nae?” His eye glinted. “And I think I ken why.”

Dizziness washed over her, and she pressed her hands to the table. But she felt herself flush, because she had tried to avoid him, and he’d not only caught her but also demanded satisfaction.

“I-I, no. Avoid you ?” she scoffed. “No.”

“Nay?”

Suddenly, Helena’s stays felt too tight. Why did he care? Why did he seem so upset?

“Why does it matter?”

As Helena looked at him, he seemed tense, with shadows under his eye and a restlessness under his skin. A restlessness that echoed in her body and made her want to snap at him, or bite him. Or throw back her head and scream.

What happened during the time we were apart?

Damien seemed thrown by the question, and his eye darted away. She wondered what he was thinking, and a part of her wanted to shove back her chair, crawl into his lap, and embrace him. Lay her head on his shoulder and beg him to tell her what was wrong.

Yet, another part wanted to flee for even thinking such a thing. She was Lady Highbrow, too smart for her own good and an uppity wench of the ton. She did not do such things. And men did not expect her to.

Damien might.

Ah. Perhaps Damien sensed that she’d withdrawn and did not like it. Perhaps he knew that she was not going to allow anything of what transpired in the study to happen again. At least not for a year.

All the muscles in her body seemed to drag down, and Helena thought she’d like nothing more than to go back to sleep. She’d never been so exhausted in all her life. It was hard to keep from slumping in her chair, especially with Damien sprawled next to her.

He said nothing as she picked at her food, but he watched her like a hawk, a relentless predator waiting for the mouse to make the wrong move.

Or… perhaps she had made a wrong move. Perhaps this was his way of riling her until she broke off their agreement.

Deep down, Helena knew that she was not being logical, that she was more tired and overwrought than she’d been in years, so panic seized her.

And she summoned Lady Highbrow to crush it down.

Giving Damien a cold look that hurt her heart, she said in a remote voice, “I’m not sure what you think I’ve done, but I think I understand. You have?—?”

She could not finish her question— you have changed your mind? Had he seen a glimpse of what it would be like to have her as a wife and concluded that she’d make a poor Lady MacCabe?

Her heart sank, and she choked back tears.

“Aye,” he said finally, and she jerked upright, heart pounding. “I’ve gone a bit mad. Feel like I’m losin’ me mind.” He took in her wide eyes and furrowed his brow. “That’s what ye were goin’ to ask, was it nae? Ye have finally lost yer mind, My Laird ?”

Helena started. “No.” Her voice sounded strained now, and Damien frowned, leaning forward, so she turned her face away. “That was the furthest thought…”

“What were ye goin’ to ask then, Lena?”

“N-Nothing,” she got out, sharp and final. “But I do… I do think we are a bit at odds this morning, My Laird.” She swallowed. “And I’m not sure why.”

A snort came from next to her, and she steeled herself, looking up.

He gave her a sardonic smile. “Callin’ me that and ye wonder why. Well, I shall tell ye why I’m at odds. Ye were late and tryin’ to avoid me?—”

“I wasn’t,” Helena blurted out.

“And ye are lyin’ poorly about it, too, which is just feckin’ insulting, lass,” Damien continued. “Also, because I could find nay feckin’ relief after ye left me.” He dragged a hand over his face. “And then ye had the nerve to haunt me dreams.”

What?

Helena felt her temper surge under her skin, and her fists clenched. “I was not late because of you , Damien. My God, your ego. Did you think perhaps that I am tired and felt ill-prepared—” He gave her a strange look, and she swallowed the rest of her words. Instead, she fired at him, “And you silly, superstitious man. You cannot be serious as to claim frustration with me because of a dream .” She snorted. “How Scottish.”

Damien went still except for his nostrils, which flared, and Helena knew she’d gone too far.

“Aye, verra Scottish.” he bit out. “But ye are wrong. It was more than one dream. It was all me goddamn dreams.”

Helena trembled all over. “Ridiculous.”

The air grew more tense.

“Is it?” His jaw flexed again. “Ye ran away. Is that nonsense in yer head again? At least do me the courtesy of sayin’ that ye’ll leave me at the altar, woman.”

Helena slammed her hands on the table and stood up. “I have no plans to leave you at the bloody altar, Damien MacCabe, and I would like you to stop with these foolish accusations, when I’ve done nothin’.”

His good eye glinted. “Baird.”

“What?”

“Me last name is Baird, nae MacCabe. MacCabe is me clan, me title. Ye should learn that if we are to be wed.”

Helena fell back in her seat and pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing up her glasses. “Right. I forgot that’s how it works in the north. Forgive me.” She rubbed her forehead. “Although, I do not seek forgiveness for what dream Helena did. Take it up with her.”

“Aye, she was naughty.”

Helena sucked in a breath and stared at him, glad she was sitting again. Then, she glanced around. Damien did not seem seductive, but more tense, almost furious. Again, she had the sense of a great hawk—no, a lion, waiting to pounce.

“I do not know what you want from me, Sir,” she said after a pause. “Perhaps we might take a break from each other. We were thrown together and have spent many, many, long days traveling—too many.”

“I kenned that was it,” Damien said and cursed, shoving back his chair. “If ye wish to be rid of me, Sassenach , simply ask.”

“I wish to be rid of your bad temper, yes,” Helena snapped. “It is not my fault that you did not get enough sleep.”

She gasped as her chair was wrenched around and Damien placed both hands on the armrests.

“Actually, Lena,” he said in a low voice. “It verra much feckin’ is.” Then, he stood straight. “Later, I want ye to go to me maither and tell her why ye were up so late, sobbin’ yer bloody heart out.”

Helena’s lips parted, and she went rigid, staring after her husband-to-be as he strode away, his shoulders tense, his hand gripping the back of his neck.

At the threshold, he paused and half-glanced back. “I ken that ye willnae tell me. But she has a kind heart and a listenin’ ear.”

“I-I was tired from the journey,” Helena got out, even as her chest and eyes burned.

Damien had heard her weeping last night. So, he’d come to her room… Her chest constricted. Was it to try and seduce her further?

“Och, Helena,” he said and turned to face her. “Dinnae lie.” He paused. “And the worst is that ye locked the damn door. Ye dinnae trust me.” His face twisted. “Nay better than I should be, eh, a bloody Scot?”

“And yet you proved me right,” Helena shot back, standing up. “Also, perhaps I-I did so for another reason.”

“Do tell,” he drawled.

“No,” she said. “You do not get to know that.”

Damien huffed and took a step forward. “As I thought.”

“Well, why did you come to my room, Damien?” Helena asked. “Tell me that, and I shall tell you?—”

Further words were lost as Damien gave her a look that made her wonder at the Helena of several months ago who’d asked him for a kiss.

He was a Highland warrior. She thought he could see her every weak spot, know how to get around her defenses—and for a moment, she wanted him to. Wanted him to storm down the length of the room, grab her, and?—

“Oye, Milaird,” called a merry voice, breaking the spell, and Helena fell with a gasp into her chair.

Orrick strolled in. “I’ve got that report from our friends. D’ye…” He fell silent and glanced between Helena and Damien, then tsked loudly. “I’ll come back.”

“Nay, let’s go,” Damien said and spun on his heel, storming out in the other direction.

He did not look back once, and Orrick shot her a commiserating glance.

Turning back to the table, Helena shoved away her plate and grabbed her teacup, then grimaced. It had gone cold. Still, she took a bracing gulp, then stood up and hurried back to her suite.

Grateful Shona happened to be there. Helena told the sweet lass that she was not feeling well and climbed back into bed, where she slept until the next morning.

The next morning dawned bright and lovely, and Helena felt restored. Which also meant she felt mortified by her behavior the day before.

It was very unlike me, she wanted to tell the Laird.

She attributed it to exhaustion and nerves, plus the strange push and pull between herself and the Laird. But he’d agreed to the year, and she’d agreed to wed him. All would be well; they were just getting used to each other, and both had strong personalities, too much wit, and enough stubbornness between them to bring down mountains. It made sense that there would be friction.

However, when she arrived at breakfast and found the hall full of folk, lively conversation, and laughter all around her, she did not see Damien.

And her temper surged under her skin, while her fists clenched.

Holding her head high, she walked to the table and sat down, smiling around, introducing herself and inquiring after folk. Not looking around for Damien.

Not even when a wicked, little voice whispered in her head, Oh, not so pleasant, is it? To expect your spouse and not see them. This is exactly how Damien felt. Can you blame him for being so short with you?

The cloying frustration mingled with expectation was dreadful, and Helena was glad when breakfast came to an end. But Damien still did not appear, and then his mother gave her a puzzled look, catching her glancing at the door again.

“Och, forgive me, lass. With ye bein’ indisposed, perhaps ye dinnae ken, but Damien isnae here. He’s away on business for a few days.”

Helena felt as though all the air left her lungs as she gave Lady Merie a nod and laughed. “Of course,” she said lightly. “I should’ve known. He told me that might happen, though I admit, I did not think it would be so soon.”

“Me neither,” Lady Merie said wryly. “But we shall spend the day together, and I will introduce ye around.”

Yet, Helena could hear in the woman’s tone that she thought her errant son should be the one doing it.

Still, Helena plastered a smile on her face and set about doing the rounds with Lady Merie. She met everyone, from the kitchen cooks to the stable hands to the maids to the seamstresses and guards. Everyone was kind and lovely, and far more welcoming than she had secretly expected.

She thought at least a few would be furious about the fact that an English lady, so clearly a bluestocking, would be their future lady.

They call me Lady Highbrow, she wanted to warn them, and they do not mean it as a compliment.

Only, to say such a thing seemed to insult her people, especially since she got no sense that felt that way. If anything, sometimes she swore she saw relief in their eyes. So, even after an incredibly long day, her heart should have been light.

Except, Damien’s absence had pushed thorns into her heart, and they grew denser by the hour. Even when she tried to resume her translation, she made mistake after mistake and finally had to take a break. Her thoughts constantly turned to him, furious questions she wanted to ask him, along with the fruitless wish for him to think her unaffected.

You worried about me running off and then you do? was the question that came to her in the middle of that second night and dogged her for the next few days.

Days that took on a pleasant routine, despite the thorns, with ample time in the morning and afternoon for her translation and learning about her duties as Lady MacCabe.

Still, there were times—too many to keep track of, at this point—when lessons snagged or came to a halt because she needed the Laird.

It took everything in her not to inquire where he’d gone, or when he’d be back. Everyone seemed to assume that she knew, and she had no interest in telling them otherwise.

Still, four nights in found her standing at the window, twisting the end of her braid around her fingers, staring out as fine swirls of snow caught the waning embers of her fire. Her stomach twisted as she thought of Damien out in the storm, without a warm, thick cloak. Somehow, his cloak had ended up in her rooms, and she was sure he’d gone out with just a thin one.

Touching the cold glass, her heart pattering out a fast beat, Helena told herself that no one could see her or hear her thoughts—least of all Damien.

Still, the next thought seemed shy, peeking out of a deep, buried corner in her heart.

I hope wherever you are, Damien, you are safe and warm.