Chapter 26
CHAPTER 26
The morning had passed, and the afternoon was coming on, with the remnants of their picnic scattered around them. There was nothing quite like eating a good meal outside, with the scent of the sea in the air, a brisk breeze, and a lovely lass to look at.
They’d talked more about Helena’s work, which led to books they’d loved, their childhoods, and their families. And yet Damien was greedy for more. He wanted all of Helena’s past in his pocket, where he might keep it safe. He wanted to smooth out that troubled furrow in her brow when she spoke of her sister. And he wanted her.
It had been a good idea to bring her here, but damn, it was hard to keep his hands to himself. He reminded himself over and over that this was meant to be a courtship, that he should be pleased that he already knew Helena well enough to bring her to a place like this.
He said as much to her. “I had nay doubt of how fearless ye are, but I admit, I am impressed with how well ye take to the wilderness. Ye fit here.”
Helena flushed with pleasure, tossing back her head as she laughed, and then shook her head. “I think it’s more my curiosity getting the better of me.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “I have to admit, if I picture the expression on my father’s face, or anyone who called me Lady Highbrow—especially my stepbrother.” She made a face as Damien stirred. “Well, it does make me laugh. They would be staggered beyond belief.” She wrinkled her nose. “Not that I want them here.”
Damien tried to smile, but his curiosity was piqued. “Lass, I dinnae mean to provoke ye, but…”
“No?” Helena teased.
“Well, I find it strange that ye use that nickname, when it’s clear to me that ye dinnae care for it.”
At that, a cool look passed over Helena’s face, one that Damien had seen before. When she retreated into herself, pulling on haughty airs like armor, and her eyes grew distant. He almost reached for her, but like a cloud over the sun, it was there and gone. She shrugged her shoulder and gave him an impish look.
“I found it better to claim it than to fight it.” Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses. “I’m sure that is an affront to your warrior spirit, My Laird.”
“Only a bit,” Damien grumbled.
“Hmm, these are more the tactics of the ton. How one stays afloat—alive, really, among all the intrigue.” Her pretty mouth twisted. “I will say this—my father was always excellent at it. It’s why he remarried my stepmother, another widower. She was useful, from a powerful family, and she could make use of the Lady Highbrow sneers.”
Damien frowned. “How do ye mean?”
“Her son, my stepbrother, was one of those who used them most.”
His hand on the pommel of his blade, Damien drew even breaths as disgust and rage roiled in his stomach. “Is he comin’ to our weddin’?”
“Oh, never,” Helena said with a laugh. “And you misunderstand. I never cared a fig what Bartholomew thought or said. It gave me more power for him to be my brother, for it made him look more foolish when he mocked me.” She shook her dark head. “No, I’m sure my father has already mentioned this—he married my stepmother for her ties to the Navy.”
Of all things for Helena to bring up.
Damien turned and glared at the sea, sure that her father must have been discussing it. Or said something that made her mention it now. He felt her gaze on the side of his face as he tried to swallow his rage.
“Damien?” Helena moved closer and touched his arm. “Is something amiss?”
“Yer faither had a mad plan to turn our marriage into a mercenary alliance, for both trade and connectin’ our clan to the Royal Navy.” A shudder of rage ran through Damien, and he looked at her. “I told him that he could tell his friends whatever he wanted about the money, but to never suggest that ye are a pawn—somethin’ I wanted only to have protection from pirates with his foolish warships.”
Helena settled next to him, wide-eyed but not alarmed. The latter caused him to sit up straight and curse his unruly tongue. He should not have told her about this. She’d endured enough of her father’s cruelty.
“He is very proud of his warships,” she said in a faint, ironic tone, and her gaze flickered to the sea. “You cannot imagine how they love being close to valor without having to lift a finger.” She paused. “I’m sure my father will tell all his friends of your exploits and castle.”
“I shouldnae have told ye.”
“No, I’m glad you did. Thank you.” Helena rested her soft cheek on her knee to gaze at him. “In a strange way, I am flattered.”
A growl tore from Damien’s throat, and he glared at her. “Flattered that he suggested to use ye as a bloody pawn, Hel? He’s a right bastard. I should’ve thrown him out of Morighe for even suggestin’ such a thing.”
“I would have enjoyed seeing that,” Helena murmured. “And yes, I know that he’s using me as a pawn, but I think it’s the first time he’s ever found me useful.” She sat up in a fluid movement, her back straight, and she tilted her head as she studied Damien.
More alarm flared inside him, and he gave her a warning look, wanting to put off whatever idea brewed behind those clever hazel eyes.
“You should let him. It’s a good idea.”
“ Never .”
Helena shook her head as though indulging a child. “At least consider it. I do not know the whole story of these pirates who plague you, but I do know that people want you and your men home. Orrick’s wife longs to start a family but does not say anything because she knows that Orrick must help you.” She leaned forward. “If I am to be your wife, let me help you and our people.”
Damien felt dismayed upon hearing about Orrick’s wife, but outright panic hit him as Helena calmly offered herself up.
“Nay.”
“Damien—”
“We arenae speakin’ more about this,” he said in a harsh voice, his jaw clenched, and he stared her down. “Put it out of yer head. Yer faither is selfish and foolish. Ye arenae. And it me decision. I ask ye to respect it.”
Helena pressed her lips together, her nostrils flaring, her eyes narrowed. For a moment, he thought she would argue, but then she shrugged. “Fine. But if you change your mind?—”
“I willnae,” Damien said, amusement stealing back into him. “And thank ye. I thought ye’d put up more of a fight.”
“Well, that’s not how a proper courtship works,” she said. She smiled as he glanced over at her, his eyebrow raised. “What, even Lady Highbrow knows that much.”
“Those fools never saw ye, nae truly,” Damien murmured. “Or they didnae appreciate what they saw—ye were too powerful for them.”
“Powerful?” Helena repeated, as though tasting the word, and Damien felt a bolt of heat rush through him. “I never thought that a man, much less my betrothed, would say such a thing to me—and mean it as a compliment.”
“Well, ye didnae plan on marryin’ a Highlander, did ye?” He leaned in, and her eyes flicked to his lips, which curled into a smile, and then back to his eye. “Ye have too much fire to bear that foolish nickname. I see the dragonness in ye.”
“Do you?” Helena asked. “And you’re not… Well, ‘afraid’ seems silly. But aren’t you put off?”
“Nae at all,” Damien growled, leaning in close enough to kiss her. “Hellfire, love, I want nothin’ more than to set the dragonness free.”
Their breaths mingled, Helena’s eyes fluttered shut, and Damien was about to reach for her, pull her against him, and tease out that fire—but then he stopped himself. He let his lips brush against hers, a whisper of a touch, and then he pulled back.
Helena’s eyes slowly opened, and he fought back a laugh.
“Now, that’s a look worthy of a dragonness,” he teased, and she drew back. “Sorry, Lady Helena. I forgot meself.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Convenient.”
“Aye, but I did.” He leaned in again, and Helena straightened, lifting her chin and looking away. Letting his lips hover near her ear, he whispered, “I cannae kiss ye.” She jerked back and turned her gaze to his, her eyes cold. “Well, nae unless ye ask.”
Helena pushed herself up and stood, her skirts fluttering in the breeze, then stared him down. “Ask? So, this not a courtship, but a game?”
Damien stood up too, slow and easy. “A game?”
“Yes, this is another poor jest, and I confess I do not—what are you doing?”
He’d caught her wrists and pulled her toward him. “Hel, ‘tis the furthest thing from a jest or a game. This isnae a lark to me—this is torture,” he rasped. “A game would imply pleasure or fun, nae this intense ache. Ye cannae ken how much I ache for ye, for a glance from ye, never mind how every little touch that leads nowhere tortures me.”
Helena’s breathing was rapid, and she searched his face, her lips slightly parted.
“Ask, I beg ye,” he continued. “Ask me to kiss ye and put me out of his hell that I find meself in every goddamn time ye are near.” He leaned in closer and added in a rough voice, “Nae that it’s any better when ye are far. I have nay respite, love. None.” He paused. “Ask. Me.”
“Please,” she said in a breathless voice. “Kiss me.”
A desperate snarl escaped him as he captured her lips, even as relief filled him, too. A potent mix, where satisfaction stoked hunger. He pressed a hand to her face. Then, he wrapped his other arm around her back and lifted her against him. She wound her arms around his neck and parted her lips, causing him to groan.
Good lass, he groaned inwardly as he tasted her.
He knew it had not been so long since they’d last kissed, but it felt like an age. Too long. When he should be kissing her every day. When she should be within arm’s reach every day.
His hand pushed into her hair, scattering pins, and she made a sound of protest, but he kissed her hard. She went pliant against him, her breasts pressing against his chest, and he could not help it—he ran a hand over her pert bum.
Helena gasped into his mouth, but she did not pull back. Instead, she arched into him, and he smiled, knowing her curiosity was winning.
Aye, let me show ye everythin’ ye are so desperate to ken, lass.
He began to gather her skirt in that hand, slow and methodical, while the hand in her hair drifted down her neck, over her collarbone, and then squeezed a firm breast.
Again, she gasped, that delicious sound that Damien would never get enough of. He was about to lay her down when a whicker carried on the breeze.
He stilled.
Gorgon.
Lifting his head, he tried to shake off the blood pounding through him, to not stare at Helena’s half-lidded eyes or swollen lips—to focus.
He cursed and spun Helena around, by some instinct, and red-hot pain burst across his upper arm. She sprawled on the ground, gasping and confused, while he pressed a hand to his arm, where blood trickled from a shallow gash.
And behind them, in the center of their picnic blanket, was a quivering black arrow.
Damien stared at it for what felt like an eternity, then shifted his gaze back to Helena.
That was meant for ye. His heart throbbed in his eardrums. I almost lost ye.