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

Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

Damien’s hands clenched into fists on his thighs, and he was glad his future father-in-law could not see them. Meanwhile, Orrick quickly closed the study door and shot him an alarmed look.

Lord Lovell sauntered forward and sat, then tossed Orrick a glance. “A dram, my good man.”

Christ, but it would feel good to run a blade through this smug bastard. Somehow, Damien resisted the urge and settled for a glare.

The Englishman held up his hands. “Think of this information as an early wedding present. Besides, we got off on the wrong foot.” He leaned back, barely acknowledging Orrick as he handed him a glass. “I had no idea you lost your father in a pirate raid, Son. A terrible tragedy.”

Orrick gave a quick shake of his head as Damien’s hand moved toward his sword. “Aye, and it was the day I became Laird.”

“Of course,” Lord Lovell said with a chuckle and then held up his glass. “My god, your people are nearly heathens, but you do distill God’s ambrosia.”

Before Damien could react to that, or think of how his mother would throw this man into the sea for doubting her faith, the man continued.

“I’ve been speaking with your folk, and I understand that you’re determined to eradicate the vermin.”

“And have nearly succeeded,” Orrick cut in. “Barely any are left.”

“Exactly,” the man said with approval, as though he’d been part of the business, and it was a credit to him.

Orrick and Damien shared a look of hilarity, and Damien wondered if Orrick was imagining their fathers roaring with laughter at the English bastard’s presumption.

“But now you are needed here, Laird MacCabe. So, let me offer my help.”

Damien found that he could not wait to hear this. “How?”

“Well, through your marriage,” Lord Lovell said with a chuckle, and Damien felt his heart begin racing, his hand now on the pommel of his sword. “I have friends in the Navy, have interests in the Navy, and may have helped pay for a few warships.” He tapped a fingernail on his glass. “We can spin your marriage to Helena as a tactical alliance between your merchants and my own.”

Damien stared at him, blood roaring in his ears.

Lord Lovell frowned. “You do not seem to take my meaning. I want to send out a story to my friends that you sought Helena’s hand not because of her foolhardy behavior and her trapping you into a marriage of convenience, but because of our mutual interest on the sea.” He smiled—a pitiless, cold thing. “It saves me quite a bit of face, and it’s a clever, clever ploy. Think what those pirates will think when they find out that you have ties to the English navy. They will not even dare come within one hundred miles of your shore!”

“Ye would use yer daughter—me Helena—as a pawn to secure yer trade interests?” Damien asked through numb lips.

“She is a woman,” Lord Lovell said with a snort. “She was born a pawn. And you are forgetting the most important part—she can be useful to you. Deter pirates.”

“ Never. ”

Damien surged to his feet and glared at the startled Lord Lovell, who cursed as he spilled whisky on his sleeve.

“Ye willnae involve me wife-to-be in this mess, d’ye understand me?” Damien said, barely keeping his tone civil, even though he knew he looked terrifying, from the way Lord Lovell paled. “If ye want to discuss trade interests, tell that foolish story to yer friends, fine. But ye willnae suggest that she align the MacCabes with the Navy.” His chest rose and fell. “Christ, man, that doesnae make Helena a deterrent. That makes her a prize. ”

Lord Lovell went red. “You—you give those vermin too much credit, Laird MacCabe. They are simple folk—they fear our Navy.”

“Not enough,” Damien said. “Ye are too confident of yer reputation, havin’ never tested it against steel tested in seawater. These men are opportunists. They could—they could use such an alliance to try and blackmail us. To…”

To hurt Helena. To strike at both MacCabe and her ties to England.

“Swear to me that ye will put this out of yer mind.”

Lord Lovell scoffed and shoved upright, his tall and thin frame bristling like an offended cat. “I can see it was foolhardy to try and reason with a Scotsman. I will not make such a mistake again. And if you could marry my daughter sooner rather than later, I shall be glad to take my leave of your hospitality. ”

With that, the man strode out of the room, and Orrick shut the door, barring it as Damien stepped out from behind his desk.

“Again, I must remind ye that ye cannae murder yer bride’s faither.”

“Are ye sure?” Damien snarled.

“Aye,” Orrick said and grasped Damien’s shoulders. “Proud of ye for nae doin’ so—because I was about to do it meself.”

Damien blew out a breath and offered Orrick a smile. “How about I pour ye a drink?”

Orrick laughed, and then they sat and had a drink. Damien tried to join in while Orrick jibed about the Englishman, but his insides would not stop churning. Would Lord Lovell listen to him? What if he did write to his allies and used Helena in such a way? It was too much—she was not to be wielded against his enemies.

“The old bastard is cunning,” Orrick said, breaking the silence. “Heartless, though. Even for an Englishman.”

“It wouldnae work.”

Orrick pursed his lips and gave Damien a look. “Here’s the trouble. I think it would.” He held up a hand. “Lachlan’s pirate allies? They have nay interest in attractin’ the attention of the Navy.” He sat back and closed his eyes. “But Lachlan? Aye, that sends fear into me heart. He would find some way to wield it against us—against ye.”

Damien clenched his glass so tightly that he feared he’d break it, and he set it aside. “Should we monitor his correspondence?”

Orrick’s eyes flew open. “I dinnae think he’d be stupid enough to go behind yer back. Ye are truly that concerned?” he asked, waving his glass.

“Nae, ye are probably right. He’ll listen. He was about to piss himself. I’ll just give him some trading value, and he’ll forget the whole business,” Damien replied.

“I only fear that if His Lordship found us searchin’ his mail, it might nae bode well for yer relationship.”

“I couldnae give a damn about that,” Damien said. “This is about Helena. Keepin’ her safe. It’s bad enough that he still disrespects her in our bloody home, but now he wants to hold her up as bait to our enemies.” He closed his eyes. “Ye’re sure I cannae kill him?”

“Nay,” Orrick said with a chuckle. “Tell me more about the Lady, instead. I like her, and so does Gwendolyn.”

Gwendolyn was Damien’s closest cousin and Orrick’s wife. He was not surprised that she’d already met Helena and filled Orrick in.

“Ye should go and be with yer wife, Orrick,” Damien said. “Ye have done more than enough today.”

“Ach, I cannae go until ye tell me somethin’ about yer bride.” Orrick’s eyebrows rose.

Damien made a sound of frustration, and before he knew it, words were pouring out of his mouth. “We should get on well enough, and sometimes we do. I can see what it will be like when we’re Laird and Lady, but at other times she drives me mad. I have never met a woman who is so damn confusing, who is like a burr in me brain.” He stood up and began to pace. “Ye cannae imagine—she has a mouth on her and likes to argue every last point.”

“Ah, but ye could never be with a boring woman. Ye are a MacCabe—ye need an outspoken lass.”

“Of course,” Damien said with a snort. “But I need her to realize what it means to be Lady here. To move her bloody things into the Lady’s suite, at the verra least.”

“Och, can ye blame her for wantin’ to stay in Bluebell Corner? ‘Tis a lovely spot. Everyone says so.”

“It doesnae matter. I need her there. That way, I can get some peace and maybe get her out of me bloody head for five minutes. I cannae be—” Damien stopped himself. From the small smirk on Orrick’s face, he realized that he’d gone too far. “Oy, that stays between us.”

“On me honor, Milaird,” Orrick drawled and held up his glass, his smirk growing wider and wider.

“What the feck are ye laughin’ at?” Damien boomed.

Orrick sat up and shook his head. “I cannae believe I have to say this to ye, but have ye forgotten how to woo a lass?”

Damien stared at him, then pointed at the door. “Get the feck out.”

Orrick tsked. “Och, ye have, or maybe ye never had to or wanted to before. But Christ, man. Have ye even tried to woo Lady Helena?” He gave him a look over his glass as he drained it. “Ye need to keep her happy if ye want to be happy—so every happily married man has told me, and I heed them well.” His gaze softened. “Gwennie was right—ye need to woo her.”

“ Woo ?” Damien stared after Orrick, shaking with silent laughter. “Ye need sleep, man. Ye and yer wife.”

“Nay, I need me wife—who is right. Think on it.”

And with that, Orrick was gone, while Damien sank back into his chair.

Wooing a lass. Why did his mind go completely blank at such a thing? Had he ever wooed a lass?

It was very different from seduction or a tumble, he knew that much. However, he also had a feeling that wooing Helena Lovell would be far different from the usual attempt with a woman. A real challenge that he suspected most men would fail at.

But from the humming energy that filled his bones, he also knew that he would not.

Smiling to himself, perhaps with a little too much satisfaction, Damien sat back and considered how he might go about it.