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

Chapter 27

CHAPTER 27

Damien drew one blade and reached for Helena at the same time. She was already scrambling to her feet, but he pulled her up. At the same moment, he spotted her precious bag, snatched it, and shoved it at her.

“Damien—”

“Get out of here, Helena,” he said. “Into the cave, and dinnae come out unless I tell ye to.”

“I-I can’t leave you,” she began.

“Now,” he said in a harsh tone, pushing her forward and shoving her inside. Then, he spun back and took up a fighting stance. “Ye shall nae get another chance like that, ye bastards. Come out and have a proper fight.”

Only the soft rustle of the wind and the continuous babble of water answered him. There was not even a scrape of stone or a twang of a bow. He glanced toward the horses, gratified to see that they were fine if prancing nervously.

Over the water, then.

But the arrow had come from the southeast.

Again, Damien reeled, as though the earth rolled under his feet like a ship in a storm.

They meant to kill Helena.

His mind snagged on the image of her rushing to the cave, and then his imagination ran riot, picturing her hurt or scrambling back from armed foes.

What if I cannae stop these foes?

A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he gritted his teeth.

Nay, they are dead men walkin’.

Still, Damien wondered at himself and the struggle to fight the battle at hand—something that had never happened before. It took several deep breaths for him to settle into a warrior’s focus, to use the danger to Helena to stoke his bloodlust and let his instincts guide his steps.

He crept through the rocks while being careful to keep the cave within sight. At the same time, he grabbed the small axe on his belt and weighed it in his other hand.

There had to be multiple attackers. Probably one up on the cliffside, who’d shot the arrow, and another few among the rocks. So far, they’d left the horses alone—perhaps to try and prevent one of them from raising the alarm.

They’re familiar with me fightin’ techniques .

They’d known to try and distract him—hurt him another way. He could not even be sure they wanted him dead, and his pulse throbbed in his temples.

These are nay bandits.

Above him, Damien heard the faintest scrape of a boot on stone, and he whirled around, his entire body behind the throw of the axe.

The man did not have time to even cry out, much less loose the arrow on his bow, before the axe embedded itself in his chest. A guttural sound escaped him, and then he tumbled off the cliff, plunged into a deep pool of water, and was swept out to sea.

Damien heard a curse behind him, and he turned to see a man leaping through the stones, fast and strong, wielding two blades. He drew his second blade with a snarl.

Vipers.

His swords crashed against the pirate’s, and he felt his blood surge with glee, even as rage choked his heart.

“Tell yer feckin’ master to face me himself,” Damien roared. “Lachlan, I will kill every last one of yer men.”

“He ain’t here,” the man spat, his accent flat and rough, from London’s slums. “This is to avenge our mates, remind you that no matter how many of us you kill, you cannot kill us all.”

“Watch me.” Damien swung his sword, aiming for the man’s neck.

Only, the man laughed and dodged it with ease, his body moving like a snake. Then, he turned around with a wide, manic grin. “Oh, you can’t kill us all, MacCabe. No matter how hard you try. Haven’t you realized that yet?”

“Yer man on the cliff might say otherwise.”

“Ah, he was a shitty shot anyway. No loss.”

The pirate swung his swords fast, and Damien caught a blur of color to his left as another pirate tried to creep around him. He barely had time to block the two swords with his own and shove the first Viper back. He spun and lashed out at the second Viper, who wielded a dirk and a short blade.

Damien cracked a grim smile as he drove the second Viper back, sending the short blade flying, and nearly taking off the head of the first Viper.

The first Viper laughed again, sending Damien into a cold rage. “Ah, I almost forgot, MacCabe,” he crooned as he swung his blades faster and faster. “Our Captain seeks revenge, says he must have a life for a life, and with all the lives you took…” He grinned and shook back his mane of pale hair, revealing glinting, inky eyes like those of a shark. “Can you blame us for starting with your lassie?”

Damien let out a roar and charged at him. The man’s face fell then, alarm flashing in his eyes, and Damien pressed his advantage. Only, the bastard spun, shoving the other pirate at him.

The second Viper managed to slice through Damien’s injured shoulder. But at the same time, Damien’s blade pierced through the other man’s chest.

He sagged on the blade, and Damien threw the body aside, stalking after the first Viper, who skipped back.

“Two down,” Damien said and lifted his blades. A gust of cold wind came, stirring his hair. “One to go.”

They clashed together, their swords bright. Damien felt a rush of confusion, something prickling at the back of his neck, when he realized he had not imagined it.

The sky had darkened overhead, and the wind rose around him in a wail. When they broke apart, Damien chanced a glance back toward the horses and the cave, but then a crack of thunder had him shift his gaze back.

“Let’s end this,” he growled and shoved forward, wielding both blades in one hand and pulling out a dirk with the other. “Ye willnae live.”

The man scrambled back, his chest heaving. The cuts across his cheek and his chest were bleeding profusely. His eyes darted beyond Damien, suddenly widening and lighting up with joyous cruelty.

“What will you choose, I wonder,” the Viper said.

At that, Damien faltered, forcing himself not to glance back. At the same moment, the wind rose, and rain lashed down. Another crack of thunder came, closer this time, and his heart began to beat faster. Still, he pursued the pirate, tightening his grip on the handle of his dirk, and lifted it to throw?—

“ Damien .” Helena’s voice was barely audible above the wind.

Damien could not help it—he stopped to look back. She was outside the cave, struggling with both horses, trying to bring them in, and terror seized him.

“Oh, she’s brave,” the Viper said, his voice soft among the chaos of the storm. “That will serve her well in the rightful Laird’s court.”

“To hell with ye,” Damien snarled and spun around, throwing his dirk.

It missed the fleeing Viper by inches, slicing through the man’s thigh. He stumbled but did not stop, and vanished into the growing gloom of the rocks.

Damien took a step after him when Helena let out a scream and called for him again.

For a moment, he hesitated, knowing that he could still catch the bastard, but then he turned around and ran back to Helena. She had managed to get Gorgon in, but his horse, Fife, kept shying and bucking. Helena’s skirts were soaked, and her hair was loose, falling around her. From the dirt on her side, he concluded that she’d fallen.

He let out a shout as she fell again and surged forward, shoving Fife back before his horse trampled his betrothed.

“Get inside,” he gritted out and then caught Fife’s reins, pulling hard on them.

He stroked his hand down the beast’s neck, murmuring in Gaelic until the horse had calmed down enough that he could pull him forward. And though the horse pranced nervously, he followed Damien in.

With a sigh, Damien tethered the horse next to Gorgon by the entrance, in a hollow of rock that would give them a bit of light from outside—or what was left of the light—and protect them from the storm.

Helena, meanwhile, was on the other side, resting against the curve of a wall.

Damien grimaced as he walked over to her. “Ye shouldnae?—”

Helena threw herself at him and buried her face in his neck.

“Dammit, lass, let me lecture ye about nae listenin’ to me.”

“I heard the horses spooking and the fight,” Helena murmured, then stepped back, staring at his wounded shoulder. “You’re hurt. Come sit—I know a bit about cleaning cuts and bandaging them.”

“From books?” Damien tried to tease her, but his body felt too heavy, his steps leaden, and he glared out at the storm as he sat down with her.

I should’ve gone after the bastard.

“Where else?” she asked.

Damien turned back when he heard the rip of fabric. Helena had his dirk in one hand and was slicing into her white petticoats.

“Can you take off your shirt?” She looked up and frowned at him. “Well?”

He continued to stare at her for a moment, then shook himself and slowly took off his sporran, his hauberk, and then peeled off his shirt. A hiss escaped him as the cold air hit his skin, and Helena shook her head as she moved closer, eyeing his arm.

“Whisky?” she asked, and he made a face. “Damien.”

“With the horses. In Fife’s saddlebag.” He watched her hurry to retrieve it and gave her a look as she sat back down. “Nae too much, oy .”

He let out a yelp, more out of indignation than pain, as Helena all but dumped the flask on his arm. She ignored him as she cleaned his wound, then took clean strips of cloth and tied them in a neat band around his arm, before sitting back and wiping her forearm across her forehead.

“Ye make a fine healer,” he admitted, then tensed up as the rain came down harder and a crack of lightning lit up the sky. The horses whickered, and he did not blame them. “Ruddy storm.”

“Here.” Helena held out the flask. “I saved you some.”

Damien took a few mouthfuls, the strong whisky warming him, but it was not enough to ease the tension in his spine.

The storm wailed and raged outside, and even the thought of that pirate getting caught in it did nothing to calm him. He could feel his chest growing tight and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Damien.”

“Aye,” he bit out, harsher than he meant.

“Here.” A cloak went around his shoulders, and he jerked his head up as Helena pressed in close, sharing it. “Better? Or should I help you put your shirt back on?”

He let out a soft laugh. “Nay, it’s cut to pieces and bloody.” He gazed at her, and his stomach churned as the storm grew more vicious. “Would ye…?”

Hazel eyes wide, Helena leaned forward and asked, “What?”

“Distract me,” he murmured. “Please.”

“Oh,” Helena said, and her expression grew thoughtful. That, combined with her scent, began to ease the pressure in his chest. “Should I read to you, or maybe…?”

Damien’s eyebrows rose, and he leaned in. “Maybe what, lass?”

Helena pressed her lips against his for a fleeting, heated second, and then she drew back, impish.

“How about that?”

“Och aye,” Damien growled and caught her face, before sliding his hands into the cool, damp mass of her loose hair.

He knew he should take his time, savor her and tease her into this moment. Instead, he devoured her hot, sweet mouth.

She whimpered as he caught her around the neck and slid his other hand down, catching her around the waist and pulling her against him. Nothing mattered—not the storm, not the hard ground, not the threats of the Vipers. Not when he had her lithe, soft form in his arms and her lips at his mercy.

Not when he’d almost lost her.

His grip tightened, and Helena squeaked, but he did not stop. Though he slowed, wondering if she would push him away.

Instead, Helena pressed closer, then her hands pressed against his bare chest, and he hissed into her mouth.

She jerked back. “Did I hurt you?”

A slow grin spread across his face. “Nae at all, lass.” He caught her wrist and pressed her hand against his chest, watching hers rise and fall rapidly. “Much the opposite.”

“Oh,” Helena said. Her fingers slid through his chest hair as he dragged her hand up, over, and then let go. “Your heart.”

“Aye,” Damien said. “Ye ken now?” He caught her other hand and placed it on his stomach. “Be as curious as ye like.”

Helena’s eyes darted up and down as she began to run her fingers over him. He tried to control his breathing, but he could feel his blood surging up, his length swelling, and his need for her reaching its breaking point. All the while, she ran her fingers over him like a map she wanted to memorize, her lips parted and her pupils dilated.

When she looked up again, he yanked her against him, capturing her mouth again. Now, her hands were on his shoulders, smoothing over his neck and down his back. His hands gripped her waist, and he rocked against her, eliciting a delicious gasp.

His lips trailed down to her neck, and then his hands were on the front of her dress, tearing it open as though it were paper. Her stays were next, and then her pretty, round breasts were pebbling in the cold.

For a moment, Damien drank her in—the cascade of her dark hair, her bare breasts, the pink hue on her cheekbones, the way she bit her lip. Her hands were tight on his shoulders, and the hazel of her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

A lazy grin spread across Damien’s face as his thumbs brushed her hard nipples, and she arched into him. He watched her come undone with each stroke, until she was writhing on his lap, moans escaping her lips.

And then he leaned forward to take a tender peak between his teeth, causing her to scream out in pleasure.

He laughed against her breast, then laved it with his tongue and murmured, “Ah, Sassenach , I almost lost ye. We’re only gettin’ started.”