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

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

Helena found Damien in the stables, talking in a hushed tone with a groom and gesturing toward his horse in the distance. He did not look up as she approached, but he seemed to go still, and she knew he knew she was there.

Loitering by the doorway, Helena waited until the groom left, smiling and nodding to him, then looking at Damien. He was feigning interest in checking over a foal, lifting its head and inspecting its teeth. She glanced around and saw that she’d cleverly boxed the Laird in without realizing it.

He had no way out except past her.

“Thank you,” Helena said in a soft voice.

Damien grunted and nodded, then stepped inside the stall and stripped off his clothes. She quietly stepped over and saw him running his hands over the foal, his rough hands gentle on the silver flanks.

Helena sighed and leaned her elbows on the door, before cupping her chin in her hands. Still, Damien did not look at her.

“Did you have business, or were you just cross with me for being late for breakfast?”

At that, he jerked his head up, and anger flared in his good eye. For a moment, he did not seem to know what to say, then he growled, “Nae everythin’ is about ye, Milady.”

“So, it was breakfast,” she sighed, and his face twisted, his gaze going back to the horse. “We’ll have to learn to talk these things out, Damien.”

“Will we?” he muttered. “I confess I’m shocked that ye are still here and did not run off.”

Helena straightened so fast that she nearly fell. “That was a bloody test? You have lost your mind.”

A smile flickered across his face. “Now, ye ken. And nay. I did have business. The situation that looked like a test was a mere boon.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Helena fired at him. “You cannot get rid of me.”

Now, Damien offered her a slow, dangerous smile and smoothly rose from his crouch to tower over her. Helena was glad for the little wooden half-door between them, no matter how paltry against his strength.

“The furthest thing from me mind, lass,” he purred. “And I was jestin’ with ye. I did have business.”

“And you couldn’t say goodbye?” Helena demanded.

She swore that his breath caught and his eye flickered with some emotion that made her clutch at the wooden door.

“I didnae ken that ye wanted one,” Damien murmured. “A terrible mistake on me part. Willnae happen again.” Then, he stepped closer and looked down at her. “What if I said I missed ye?”

Helena flinched. “Another poor jest on my behalf?”

“Unlike ye, I dinnae lie,” Damien continued as she glared up at him. “Strange to miss ye, though.”

“Why, because it was only six days?”

Damien’s grin turned wicked, and he clasped his hands behind his back, then leaned down so that they were at eye level. “Nay. But I do like that ye kept track of the days.” He paused. “Strange, because I saw ye in every last one of me dreams.”

Helena’s grip tightened, and she couldn’t help but growl, “Not this bloody business again.”

“D’ye have some power over dreams, Hel?” Damien teased. “I should ken before we wed.”

“Yes, bringing you to those winter lilies in the woods was all a ploy to bewitch all your dreams, My Laird,” Helena said and threw up her hands. “That way, you could never be rid of me. And would not change your mind about marrying me.”

For a moment, Damien’s face became almost… tender? Helena’s palms became damp, and she stepped back, pressing them against her skirts. Why had she said such a thing out loud?

“Och,” Damien murmured, and her heart leaped as she heard the creak of the wood as he stepped out and closed the stall half-door. “Then I shouldnae complain, should I?”

Her heart began to beat faster. “Wh-What?”

“For bewitchin’ me further, love,” Damien said and stepped closer. “Twas nae needed.” He smiled down at her as he brought his hands around and pressed them to his chest. “But I am enjoyin’ it.”

Helena took a deep breath and reached for his hands, squeezing them. His eye went wide. “Neither one of us was going to change our mind, even though both of us thought the other would, hm?”

Damien’s eye crinkled into rueful amusement. “Aye, I think that about sums it up.” His head bent. “I did have foolish business that took me away. I’m sorry—I didnae think ye’d mind. More time for translatin’.”

Helena wanted to tell him that she had minded, that she’d barely been able to work, and that she’d been waiting for him at the gate, not her father.

“I did not know my father was coming,” she blurted out. “I’m sorry for his atrocious behavior. But I thank you again for…” She ducked her head and closed her eyes. “Thank you for saying what you said.”

It means so much.

“Mhm, I’m not sure if this means I should’ve said everything I wanted to say or be glad that I didnae say all those things,” Damien said in a wicked voice, causing her to let out a weak laugh. His hands squeezed hers and then they both let go. “Ye are welcome, but he has nay right to speak to ye so, lass. But ye ken why he’s so foul, aye?”

“Travel woes?” Helena tried to joke, but she sounded too bitter, and she added under her breath, “My existence?”

“Nay, he fully realized today that he’s losin’ all his power over ye—and he’s raging at that.”

Helena’s lips parted, and she gave a brief shake of the head, even as her gaze turned inward. Christ, but she was so lovely, even standing in this drafty stable, with slants of winter light brushing past her.

Damien had needed to walk away earlier before he ravished her on the spot, and now that they were alone, in this half-lit place…

He shook his head, reminding himself of the fragile light he’d seen in her hazel eyes, of the way her shoulders had slumped as her father berated and mocked her. He could’ve killed the bastard where he stood, but that would not have been a good omen to start their life of wedded bliss.

Still, his blood was too hot after dealing with several issues, from trying to get goods in and out, to the bloody storms, and to a whisper of a Viper sighting to the north.

“Ye tell me if he speaks or does anythin’ out of turn again, Hel,” Damien said, and her gaze cleared. “Ye hear me?”

Helena gave an uncertain nod, and Damien thought he saw her hand drift toward her arm. Something whispered in the back of his head, but then a merry greeting sounded.

“There ye both are,” his mother said, hurrying over. “I’ve settled yer kin, Helly.”

Damien fought down a laugh as Helena flushed pink and shot him a warning glare. Over his mother’s head, though, he mouthed, Helly?

“Yer faither is a right wart,” Lady Merie continued, and now Damien guffawed. “But yer baby sister is just too sweet. And Jolly is set, too.”

“Jolly?” Damien asked.

“The dog me sister found,” Helena said. “I think that also made my father a bit more of a wart than usual.”

“Aye, well, some folks are sour milk—and do more to spoil things for themselves than anyone else. Don’t mind him, ‘tis the best way to deal with such folk. Yer wedding willnae be spoiled by him, even if I have to tie him up and stash him in the larder till it’s over.”

Merie put her hands on her hips as Damien exchanged a gleeful glance with Helena.

Do you think that she really would? I would love to see that, he thought he could hear her saying, and he nodded, answering, Aye, she would, and we can ask…

“Ye rapscallion, leavin’ in what should’ve been our preparation for the celebration. We need to begin work now.”

“I trust ye, Maither,” Damien said. “And Helena.”

Lady Merie reached up and patted his face, then pointed her finger at him. “I dinnae care if ye are a feared warrior of the north—ye arenae weaslin’ yer way out of this with a compliment. Come on.”

That is how Damien found himself sitting in his mother’s parlor two hours later, reviewing the menu with Helena and listening to his aunt run through the events of the day for the third time.

“And yer dress, Helena—we cannae put that off any longer.”

“Really, I do not mind wearing something I already own,” Helena said.

“Nonsense,” Lady Merie said idly. “Nay daughter of mine will get married in somethin’ she already owns.”

“Well, something simple, then,” Helena said. “But befitting of MacCabe.” She leaned forward and placed her chin on her hands, while Damien leaned back, his arm thrown over the back of the couch they shared. “And it would be lovely if it were easy to dance in.”

Damien smiled at that, while his mother and aunt exchanged delighted smiles, then beamed at Helena with affection.

“I never thought of pickin’ Damien’s bride, but Lord if I could, Helly, it would have been ye,” his mother said. “Such a practical bent, but fun under it all.”

Meanwhile, Helena had gone still, then sat up, pressing her hands to her stomach. “Oh, thank you. I-I’m not sure I deserve such praise.”

“Oh, but ye do, lass.” Lady Merie bustled over and pulled Helena up, ignoring Damien’s scowl. “We are so blessed to have ye joinin’ the clan. I hope in time ye realize that.” Helena went to speak, but Merie fixed her with a fierce glare. “None of that. And all of us mean to make ye feel more welcome every day until ye believe us.”

Then, she pulled Helena down for a hug, kissed her cheek, and pushed her back down onto the couch.

Helena all but fell onto Damien, who had draped his arm over the back of the couch.

“She’s right,” he said softly.

“She’s too sweet,” Helena said.

“Nay, dinnae let her fool ye. She has her own plans for the wedding,” Damien said.

“Aye, of course,” Lady Merie said as she strode by, her arms full of fabric, and tossed it onto a table. “For a laird’s wedding isnae an ordinary wedding, which ye both ken.”

Helena looked at Damien, and the Laird drawled, “Do we?”

“Mm, me son, and me new daughter, ‘tis a chance for alliances, for we celebrate those we hold dear. Clan Ronson, for example. And it’s for yer people, for them to celebrate and make merry.” Lady Merie stepped back and gazed out the window, her hands clasped at her heart. “When I wed yer faither, we celebrated for days.”

“Days?” Helena squeaked.

“Aye, that’s right,” Damien said at the same time and yawned. Then, seeing his mother was distracted, and his aunt was furiously writing something, he leaned into Helena. When she glanced at him, her breath caught, and he stole a quick kiss. “So much to celebrate. Seems we’re done for the day.” He stood up and stretched. “I need rest?—”

“I think we need more time to plan, Damien,” Lady Merie said, and he started, staring down at her. “Could we nae wait for a month or two? Or till Spring?”

“Aye, a Spring wedding, just like yers, Merie!” Aunt Heather exclaimed. “Now, that’s a lovely idea.”

“Nay, it bloody is not,” Damien snapped and was met with several reproachful glances. “Dinnae even think about it. I want to wed Lady Helena as soon as possible. I’d wed her tomorrow if I could.” He made a curt motion with his hand. “Nay delays. We wed in three weeks to the goddamn day.”

“People need more time to travel, Damien,” his mother began.

“If folk dinnae make in time, then it’s their loss. It willnae be mine.”

“Ye act as though Helena might vanish,” Lady Merie said and glanced at Helena, who was slowly rising to her feet, her hand outstretched. “Tis nae fair to her, me son. I dinnae care for this…” she trailed off, her eyes widening, as she looked between Helena and Lady Merie again.

If he didn’t know better, Damien would swear that his mother thought she had discovered something, something that he did not yet know himself, or so she had thought. He did not care for that a whit.

“We’ll wed as per the Queen’s Edict,” Damien said in a rough voice. “Nae for love. ‘Tis nae yer story, Maither, and I’d appreciate it if ye could remember that. We wed soon because this—” He gestured to Helena, who was giving him a reproachful look. “This is an alliance. Nothin’ more.”

For a moment, his mother looked stunned and even a bit glassy-eyed. Then, she recovered and glared at him, before snapping in Gaelic, “An alliance and nothin’ more, me foot. Damien Gray, I see the way ye look at her.”

“Ye are wrong,” Damien replied, also in Gaelic. He glanced at Helena, who’d narrowed her eyes at them. “And I apologize if I was rude, but I am bloody exhausted, so enough.” His body sagged toward the floor. “Enough. She doesnae even want a real dress. Is that nae proof enough that this isnae like yer wedding?”

“Damien—”

“Nay.” He gazed at his mother for a second, debating whether to add, And aye, Maither, I do fear that she might take it into her head and vanish. She ran more than once. She doesnae want this.

But I do.

“Feck me, I need a drink,” he muttered.

And then, feeling like a royal arse, even more than the bloody English Queen, Damien strode out of the room.