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

Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

One feckin’ night since Hel started sleepin’ in the Lady’s suite and I cannae sleep a wink.

Damien stared up at the dark green canopy of his bed, with its barely perceptible pattern of bronze and golden leaves in the gloom of his bedroom. He knew he’d been lying awake for far too long, listening to the wind batting at the window, the rustle of blankets, and the soft pad of Helena’s feet in the adjacent room. If he turned onto his right side, he’d be able to see the bolt of light under the door, flickering to let him know that his wife-to-be was still up at this ungodly hour. With no idea that her husband-to-be was lying there, tortured by the fact.

He’d thought having her closer would ease the tension in his chest, that protectiveness that had taken over him. Instead, it had heightened it. In less than two weeks, they would be wed, and it felt both too far and too fast. They’d received word that Emma and Grant should arrive on the morrow.

Damien had also received word that after an initial delay, his wedding present would arrive on time as well.

It had caused his heart to leap in his chest. He had smiled over the missive, causing Helena, who he’d summoned to his study for lunch and the news about Emma, to make a grab for it. When he’d held it out of reach, teasing her, she’d smiled at him, and he’d been so distracted that she’d almost ruined her own bloody surprise.

Damien put his hands over his face and suppressed a groan. How had this happened? He was going out of his way to get her to smile, figuring out the difficult logistics of her damned wedding presents, and getting restless from hearing her walk around her room.

Sitting up, he let out a sigh and gripped the back of his neck. He’d liked the lass since the first moment she’d stepped up to him, sure. After they’d gotten engaged—which had happened fast and been prudent—Damien expected to grow fond of her. She was sharp and clever, funny and sly, and so ridiculously beautiful in her own way.

He fell back against the headboard, a hand pressing over his heart as it thundered in his chest. But Christ, he had not expected this. Had not expected to care for her so much that it became a constant source of distraction. One that he wanted, too, dammit.

He’d thought that Helena would make a good partner, a sturdy wife in more ways than one, and give him an heir. They’d been amicable, yet also had fun, and he’d liked that she spoke her mind. He’d looked forward to seducing her, teasing her out of those airs she felt she had to tote around like armor, and God, her kisses were sweet.

Now, though, it went deeper. That interlude in the cave had undone him. He’d relived it a thousand times since then while working his hand over his manhood, seeking impossible relief.

But the need was in his bones, in his blood.

And worse, he now knew that Lachlan and the Vipers knew about Helena. Orrick had been away yesterday, and while Damien trusted the men of Morighe to keep them safe, he also knew his headstrong wife. If she had a mind to go to the village or back to the waterfalls without an escort, she would.

He’d wrung a reluctant reassurance out of her to stay put until the threat was handled, but it had not put him at ease. If anything, he almost wished he hadn’t said a thing, because he saw curiosity flicker in her eyes. And worse, too, she knew what her damned father wanted to do to help with the Vipers.

If Helena tries to use herself as a pawn…

Nay. She wouldnae.

Or would she? It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—it was that he knew she was too fierce and smart to sit idly by.

At that moment, a crash came from Helena’s rooms, followed by her muffled cry. A moment later, Damien wrenched open her door and burst inside, a sword in his hand.

“Helena, what—?” He stared. “ What? ”

Helena started and nearly dropped the golden, furry mess in her arms as she stared at him. A flush rose in her cheeks as she stared up at him from where she was kneeling on the floor, her lips parted, her white nightgown pooled around her.

“Are we at war, Damien?” she asked tartly and stood up, clutching Jolly—damned Jolly —to her chest. “Has something happened?”

“I could ask ye the same,” Damien rasped and lowered his sword. “Jolly’s usual antics?”

“Yes, the poor thing broke a vase,” Helena sighed. “He was scratching at the door, but I think he just wanted to say good night, not stay here. I was reading and not paying attention… until he bumped into that table.” She nodded toward the small table, now flipped on its side, and a broken vase on the floor. “I want to make sure he’s not hurt. Can you help me?”

“Aye,” Damien said and set down his sword, following Helena to the bed, where he gently held the dog, who was whining and writhing as Helena inspected his paws and stomach.

“What a relief. He somehow didn’t cut himself.”

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, and Damien crossed to it, pulling it open to see the lady’s maids there.

“About time,” he growled.

“Sorry, Milaird, we were helpin’ Cook prepare for tomorrow,” Fiona said. “And, well…” She leaned forward. “Shona heard yer voice. She didnae ken whether to interrupt, but I said?—”

“Jesus,” Damien said, and Fiona grinned. “Alright, alright. Help us clean up this mess and maybe have Shona take Jolly to young Sophia.”

“Right away,” Fiona said cheerfully.

In no time at all, the maids had cleaned up the remnants of the vase, taken the dog, and then left the chambers.

Damien heaved a sigh and put his hands on his hips as he eyed the closed door. He could not imagine the stories that would make the rounds tomorrow.

Especially since…

He glanced down at himself, a rueful smile on his face. He looked like a proper ruffian, in nothing but a soft pair of trews, not even a sock, and he’d not thought to fetch a shirt.

I suppose I should be glad I’m in me trews at least, nae ass-naked with a blade.

And at least his heart had calmed somewhat. He’d managed to hide the tremors fighting to get free, the dizzying anxiety as he tried to take his leave of Helena. She stood next to a table, sorting through books, wanting to show him something. Acting as though it were the middle of the day, rather than the middle of the night, and this was all proper.

She is tryin’ to kill me.

Then, at that moment, as though to agree—and make a mockery of him—a crash came from outside. He leaped forward, snatching Helena away from the table—too close to the windows—and spinning the back to the wall. He’d gone to seize his blade when lightning flashed, and his shoulders sagged.

“Feck me,” he murmured.

“Damien.”

He immediately let Helena go, swallowing hard, searching for an excuse, when her hands landed on his upper arms. She looked him over and shook her head.

“You’re so tense. Every time…” She looked at the windows and winced. “That’s why you came in here ready to face down an army. It was the noise, wasn’t it?”

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

“Oh,” she said and touched his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nay, ‘tis nae yer fault or somethin’ to apologize for,” he murmured. “’Tis me. Ever since…” He blew out a breath and put his hands over hers. “Ye probably have heard bits and pieces about the siege, the pirates, and me faither’s death, aye?”

Helena gave a cautious nod, stepping back as he paced forward and stared at the rain-lashed windows.

“I swear these storms are bein’ sent to test me, but also to make me tell ye the truth of it.” He turned back. “I was taken by the Vipers. They were a motley crew of pirates and mercenaries led by me uncle Cain, a madman who fancied himself the rightful heir of Morighe. Couldnae have been further from the truth. Adair, me faither, was a hundred times the man he was. The best Laird MacCabe ever.”

He began to pace again, the storm-tossed seas, his father’s anguished face, and the flickering light of the torches being held by the invading armies flashing through his mind.

“The only reason he fell was because Cain had his men kidnap me. Take me to the sea and torture me for weeks. Me faither had nay illusions about what kind of man Cain was, and he thought I would die a horrible death—” He swallowed hard. “His love and fear for me gave me uncle the advantage.” He let out a bitter laugh. “The only one Cain could get, the underhanded snake.”

Damien turned back to Helena, who stood there, the firelight glancing off her glasses, endless compassion in her gaze.

“I wasnae supposed to survive. Nae the torture they put me through for weeks and weeks.” He gestured to his scarred chest and arms. “Nae the storm that nearly broke the ship and stole half me sight.” He gestured to his face. “But I did. Came home and killed Cain. Liberated Morighe.”

“Storms remind you of that time,” Helena ventured softly.

“Aye, it’s like they bring me back…” Damien sighed. “I hate it. I cannae tell ye how much I hate it, Hel. But I thought it was me one weakness, and one that I could fight.” At that, Helena tilted her head to the side, and he almost laughed. “For such a clever woman…”

Her eyes went wide. “You cannot mean…”

Damien stepped up to her and gazed down at her, unwavering. Her lips parted, and she shook her head, her breathing quickening as he lightly cradled her face.

“Aye, Hel. I do.”

Then, he let his hands drop and sighed, knowing he should go.

“Damien.” Light fingers brushed along his scarred cheek, and then a hand pressed against his face. “I think you should stay.” He froze and stared down at her. “Sleep here, with me, I mean.”

Pulling swiftly away from her touch, even as his body demanded less space, he shook his head.

Helena frowned, and that prompted him to let out a rough, wild laugh.

“Hel—I… nay. Nay, that is a—ye are supposed to be the sensible one, nae invite trouble.”

“Oh, pish posh,” Helena said and waved her hand. Damien let out another rough laugh. “You mistake me. Sleep here. Just sleep.” She smiled. “So that you are not alone, and I can keep you company.” Now her eyes danced a bit. “Distract you.”

He groaned before he could help it and shook his head, even as her gaze became imploring. “Dinnae give me that look, Sassenach . Ye ken nae what ye’re askin’ for. And nay, I cannae be distracted or relaxed. I cannae let me guard down while even one goddamn Viper draws breath. Or me cousin.”

“Cousin?”

Damien gave a bitter nod. “Cain had a feckin’ son out of wedlock. Lachlan. He’s the one who sent those men the other day. The one who willnae stop tryin’ to take Morighe.” He huffed a sigh. “The one yer faither thought to help me stop without havin’ a damn clue what he is capable of.”

He thought he saw Helena wince and gave her a sharp look, but she simply was looking at him.

“All the more reason to get a good night’s sleep, Damien,” she said. “I know that you came in here too fast and too alert to have been asleep.”

“Aye, well, yer pacin’ and translatin’ is keepin’ me up,” he growled.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I doubt that. And you were the one who—” She yelped as he seized her around the waist. “What are you doing? Put me down.”

Laughter rumbled out of him, and he tossed her down on the bed, then pinned her there as she tried to scramble up. Their gazes met as her chest rose up and down, her glasses slightly askew and her dark hair fanned out. He bit back a groan as his pants grew tight.

But out loud, in a stern voice, he said, “Go to bed, Hel.”

“Unless you stay in here and make me. How will you?—?”

Damien interrupted her with a kiss, teasing but intense, and then pulled back, knowing her well enough to know that she was breathless.

“I think ye will be too distracted to go back to yer translatin’,” he said in an arrogant tone as he pulled back. She sat up, her glasses more askew, her breathing more labored. “I ken that I will be distracted, too.”

Helena’s eyes went wide, and Damien fought back a grin as he gave her a smoldering look, then headed for his door.

In some ways, it was a specific kind of torture to have to stay away from his wife. But in others, this seduction and teasing almost made it worth it.

“Good night, lass,” he said before he closed the door. “Ken that I willnae be around as much over the next days, but I shall see ye at our wedding.”

“What of our courtship?” Helena fired at his back.

He half-turned, his heart catching fire at the sight of her on the edge of her bed, messy-haired, setting aside her glasses, and glaring at him.

Damien lifted a shoulder. “Do we nae have a year?”

He smiled to himself as he heard Helena make a frustrated sound and throw something at the door—probably her slipper.

And despite the storm, he managed to fall asleep, right after he handled his distraction.