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

Chapter 30

CHAPTER 30

The damned storm had rolled out, leaving the world washed clean as the sun rose, and the skies were filled with racing, torn clouds. Standing at his study window in the early hours, sipping his second cup of strong, black coffee, Damien knew he should’ve been planning what he could get done before his guests arrived.

Instead, he fought down the urge to see if his bride-to-be had woken up yet. He imagined Helena sitting up in bed, her hair tumbling over her shoulders as she stretched and gave the windows a lazy half-smile. Getting up, slipping on her glasses, throwing on a dressing gown, and diving straight into translating her play.

A kind of delirious despair went through him as he let his forehead rest against the cool glass pane.

“Aye. I remember it well.”

Damien jumped and nearly spilled his coffee. Cursing, he turned and saw Orrick lounging in a chair across from his desk, grinning from ear to ear. His windswept hair and rough clothes, along with the stubble on his cheeks, indicated that he’d just arrived and probably come straight here.

The man should’ve been exhausted, and the shadows under his eyes attested to as much, but it didn’t stop his grin from growing wider.

“Remember what?” Damien set down his mug and glared at his cousin-in-law. “And announce yerself, man.”

“Damien, Cousin, I did. More than once. Slammed the door.” Orrick’s eyes danced. “And I remember when I realized that fair Gwennie would be the death of me in a way that no foe could ever be.” His smile became soft, and he put a hand to his chest. “She had me—still does—and I’d like to see her soon. So, ye with me, now?”

Damien could feel the heat rising in his face and chest. He wanted to bark at Orrick that he’d gone mad. But he couldn’t find the words and instead turned, clearing his throat and feigning a cough, struggling to maintain a dignified silence.

A sound escaped Orrick, and Damien sharply turned back to see him shaking with laughter.

“Bastard,” he blurted out. “Enough.”

“Of course, of course,” Orrick said and waved his hand. “Worth it. Wait till I tell Gwen.”

That should’ve annoyed Damien more. Instead, he felt oddly pleased.

He threw himself into the chair opposite Orrick. “Well? Found the real bastards?”

At that, Orrick sobered and shook his head, dragging a bruised hand over his face. “Nay. And nae for lack of tryin’. We found someone on Darrow’s land who’d housed ‘em, but he didnae ken where they went.”

“Nae far,” Damien murmured. “If I believed in witchcraft, I’d have thought Lachlan was summonin’ these storms.”

“Psh, nay,” Orrick said. “But I do think he’s usin’ em to avoid bein’ caught. Probably kens enough about changes in the weather from bein’ a pirate. Or it’s stupid luck. It’ll run out.”

A sigh escaped Damien, and he thought about the Vipers who’d escaped him, nodding. “In me bones, I ken it wasnae that dog that Helena heard when we were at the falls. ‘Twas someone else.”

“Why didnae they attack ye?”

“I dinnae ken,” Damien said, even as his stomach lurched. “To observe us? Nothin’ good.”

“I can assure ye, Milaird, there are nay unfriendly eyes or Vipers within twenty miles of Morighe. We’ve added more men to the rounds, given Darrow’s man a stern warning, and alerted our allies. I think they’ve retreated.”

Damien didn’t answer.

“Ye dinnae agree?”

“Nay,” Damien said. “And dinnae ask me to explain why. Just a feelin’…”

“Nerves,” Orrick supplied with a yawn. “Alright, I need sleep. Dinnae fash too much. We’ll get them—and they ken that. That’s why they turned tail and ran, as always.”

Damien gave a tight nod, even as his pulse seemed to writhe under his skin and his stomach twisted.

Helena still isnae safe.

“Och, ye ken I’m right,” Orrick teased. “Here, think of it this way. If the Vipers return, they’ve got days to live. Meanwhile, ye have yer whole goddamn life ahead of ye with Helena.”

Damien squeezed his eyes shut as he fisted his shirt over his thundering heart.

“Damien, come now,” Orrick urged. “That’s what ye should focus on.”

Damien all but leaped to his feet, and his chair shot out with a crash. His good eye was blazing . It was as though the words were being ripped from the depths of his soul.

“ I cannae .”

Placing his hands on the desk, unable to meet Orrick’s shocked and concerned gaze, he hunched over and repeated, “ I cannae .”

What a peculiar thing.

Helena reread the letter, from her stepbrother of all people, and tried to parse out what Bartholomew really wanted between self-platitudes and smarmy congratulations.

Apparently, he’d been planning to attend her wedding to represent the Fanwrights, but now he found himself delayed and wished to hear from her. Their father had mentioned the Laird’s position as a powerful trader in the north. Could she attest to this?

Helena snorted as everything came into sharper clarity. Her father had not listened to Damien and had written to Bartholomew about allying themselves with Morighe.

Damien will not be pleased.

She picked up a quill. Tapping the end of it against her chin, she wondered if she should go and tell him. No, perhaps better to head this all off.

A thought came to her mind, and she smiled. Better to utilize Bartholomew’s foolishness against him.

Dipping her quill in the inkpot, Helena began scribbling, and then she sat back, grinning. Jumping to her feet, she folded the letter, addressed it, and hurried out of the room.

Finally, Lady Highbrow gets her revenge.

She flew down the stairs and sought out a servant who could post her letter. But as she approached a lanky young man deep in conversation with a maid, her steps slowed, and her heart misgave her.

Holding the letter to her chest, she recalled Damien’s words. “Yer faither is selfish and foolish. Ye arenae. And it is me decision. I ask ye to respect it.”

Biting her lip, Helena knew that Damien would not agree to this, no matter how good an idea it was.

He doesn’t have to know , whispered a voice, to which Helena almost huffed a laugh. He’ll know. He…

He’d suspected as much the other night, as if he knew that I’d been thinking of doing this. She pressed the letter against her chest, her beating heart. Was Barthy’s foolish letter not a sign to write and send this?

“Milady?” The runner loped over to her. His name was Micah, she recalled. “Is that a letter? I’m about to head to town now, so it’s perfect timing.”

Looking into the grinning youth’s face, then around at the folk bustling around the castle, Helena felt a surge of affection and protectiveness. These were her people, and she would do her part and protect them.

“Yes,” she said and gave him the letter, even as guilt coiled in her stomach. “It should be posted with utmost urgency.”

“Of course,” Micah said. “Ain’t it all so exciting, Milady? Yer wedding is the most fun we’ve had in ages.” He ruffled his hair. “I cannae wait for the dancin’.”

“Lady Helena,” cried a breathless voice.

She started, her guilt growing worse. Had Damien suspected her antics already?

Instead, she saw Fiona grinning from ear to ear.

“Guests are arrivin’.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she said and made to step forward, then paused.

Perhaps she could post the letter another time. She should consult with Damien; she would not like it if he did such a thing.

But when she turned around, the runner had vanished, along with her letter.

Oh dear.

She tried to shrug, but the guilt grew worse.

That’s that.

“Helly,” called a warm voice.

Helena beamed as Lady Merie approached, her eyes dancing. The older woman was dressed in MacCabe tartan, with more tartan in her hands.

“There ye are. Come on, lass, and let me tie this on ye.”

“Oh,” Helena said, conscious of the people around them stopping and gazing at her. A few even put their hands on their hearts. “I—now? Are you sure…?” she trailed off as the cloth went around her and Lady Merie tied it.

Lady Merie stepped back and took a few breaths, her eyes shining, and then she reached out a trembling hand toward Helena’s face.

“Ye will make a very fine Lady MacCabe,” she whispered, then embraced Helena in front of everyone. “I am proud to be yer maither-in-law.”

“Thank you,” Helena whispered back, hugging her tightly. “I am so happy to be your new daughter.”

Lady Merie’s breath caught, and she stepped back, waving a hand and pulling out a handkerchief at the same time. “Och, but ye will make me nothin’ but a puddle of tears. I… Och.” She smiled. “What d’ye think, Damien?”

Helena looked up at that moment, her hands tightening in the tartan as Damien strode down the hall, similarly arrayed, and a wondrous smile lit up his face.

“I think I cannae wait much longer to marry her,” he said, and titters rang around the hall. “And that ye have some folk verra eager to see ye.”

He offered her his arm, and she took it, lifting her head and then laughing as cheers and whistles broke out. Amid a lively crowd, they walked out into the courtyard, where her heart soared higher. Two laughing women came rushing toward her, their hands outstretched. Damien pressed a kiss to her temple, then pushed her toward them.

A second later, she was hugging both Emma and Agnes, laughing a little through her tears. Damien was greeting and embracing Laird Ronson and Laird MacLarsen.

Helena could not help but watch Damien over Emma’s head—his ease, his smiles, and the way he threw his head back as he laughed at something Grant said. He seemed to sense her gaze and glanced over, sending her a wink.

“Look at you!” Emma exclaimed, squeezing Helena’s shoulders.

Agnes and Emma were both looking her over in such a similar fashion that Helena laughed.

“You are glowing.” Emma leaned in. “Are you with child already?”

“What?” Helena exclaimed with a laugh. “No. It’s all this fresh air.”

“And a good partnership,” Agnes said with a shrewd glance. “Seems Leo was right. You are the only Lady for Laird MacCabe.”

“Indeed,” Emma said and raised an eyebrow. “I saw that sweet, little kiss. You’ve charmed him, Helena. Not that I’m surprised.”

You’re not? I am.

Before Helena could chat with her friends more, Lady Merie swooped in to drag her over to MacCabe relatives who had arrived. There was a whirlwind of greetings and guests that went on for nearly an hour. Then, Helena hastened to get Emma and Agnes settled with their husbands, before quickly changing for lunch.

Only, lunch turned into a feast that continued well into the evening. Helena was so tired that she barely remembered getting into bed, and she groaned when Shona shook her awake moments later.

“Milady, ye’ve overslept, and more guests have arrived.”

Dismayed, Helena hastened out of bed, casting a wistful glance at her desk, and then quickly got dressed.

That day was another whirlwind of attending to duties and overseeing the preparations for the cèilidh the day after tomorrow, and her wedding in less than a week.

“I cannae believe we left yer cèilidh dress till the last moment,” Lady Merie murmured as she fussed over Helena.

Helena tried not to make a face. She’d been standing in the middle of Lady Merie’s chambers for what felt like hours, the afternoon wearing on, and her stomach growled with hunger.

Agnes, Emma, and Sophia were snuggled on the couch, the twins telling her sister stories. Gwen was dozing on another couch, with Jolly in her lap, and a book slowly slipping from her fingers. Damien’s aunts had left a little while ago for snacks but had not yet returned.

Her head swam, and she pressed her hands to her stomach. She’d tried on dress after dress, and it was all too much. Still, for her people, for Lady Merie, she would persevere.

Finally, they settled on a lovely dark green dress that would offset the MacCabe tartan nicely. And finally, Damien’s aunts returned with a veritable feast. Helena smiled as she listened to the warm chatter and laughter, soaking in all the smiles of the women around her. It felt as though she’d assembled her own army—one she was not sure she deserved.

Suddenly, a little hand slipped into hers. She turned and saw Sophia gazing up at her with solemn eyes.

“Do you need air?” her little sister asked in a whisper.

Helena’s heart clenched, and she drew Sophia to her chest, squeezing her tight.

How many times had she slipped out of her rooms, explaining to Sophia that she just needed air? Too many.

“Perhaps that might help,” Helena acknowledged. “Are you excited?”

Sophia pushed out her lip. “No. I don’t want to leave.” Helena’s breath caught, and Sophia folded her arms. “I don’t want to lose you. Father says that from the way the Laird is acting, there won’t be anything left of you.”

“Oh my,” Helena said and pressed a hand to her face. “Father exaggerates. He is a foolish, bitter, old man.” She straightened, her heart hammering, and wondered why she had not thought of it before. “What if…?”

“I don’t want you to get married!” Sophia suddenly shouted and burst into tears. “I don’t want to leave Jolly! I don’t want the Laird to eat you!”

Gasps rang out, and Helena caught Sophia’s arm, turning her sister to face her. “Sophia, have you not been treated with the utmost kindness while you’ve been here?” Her sister’s little frame shook with sobs. “And if anything, I am more likely to eat the Laird than let him eat me.”

“Aye, Sophia, she’s a right dragonness, yer big sister,” drawled a voice, and everyone turned to see Damien lounging in the doorway.

Sophia dashed a hand across her eyes and glared at him. “What did Father mean by that, then?”

Now, Damien, who’d clearly enjoyed sneaking up on all of them, appeared staggered. He tried to speak and shook his head, his eye flickering to Helena’s.

“Father is just foolish,” Helena said in a soothing tone, fighting down laughter. “He thinks Damien can turn into a dragon, but only I can.”

Sophia gasped and whirled around to face her sister, who grinned.

“It’s true. I discovered I could do it not too far from here, at a place with magical waterfalls.” Helena smoothed a hand over Sophia’s brow. “Perhaps I’ll take you there one day.”

“We both will, Sophia,” Damien added. Sophia looked over at him, still small and furious. “Did ye mean what ye said, little one? About stayin’ here?”

“Of course,” Sophia cried out. “I do not want to leave Auntie Gwennie or Uncle Orrick or Grammy Merie. Or Jolly.” She hung her head. “Or Lena.”

“Alright,” Damien said and held out a hand. “Let’s go ask yer faither.”

At that, Sophia started and stared up at him.

He smiled now, a soft smile that Helena was not sure she’d ever seen on his face, and a moment later, Sophia flew across the room.

“Maither of mine,” Damien began as Sophia shyly took his hand. Helena’s heart seemed too big for her chest. “Would ye like to lend yer expertise?”

“Och aye, I’ve been longin’ to put that old goat in his place,” Lady Merie said with vicious glee.

A moment later, the three had left, and Helena fell back onto the couch.

What had just happened? Everyone around her was talking, and she put a hand to her head, her eyes squeezing shut.

“Hel,” Emma said in a soft voice. She’d heard Damien call Helena by that nickname and had started using it.

Helena tried to smile at her friend, but it wobbled on her face.

“I think you should heed Sophia.”

Emma held out a hand and pulled Helena to her feet. Ushering her to the door, Emma gave her a squeeze and smiled.

“You deserve so much more than what they tried to deny you,” she said. “I hope you know that. And Damien is right—you are a dragonness. The best kind.”

“Thank you,” Helena whispered, even though she’d never felt less like a dragonness in her life.

Not when she turned around and all but ran for the welcome relief of simply running away.