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

Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

When he captured her lips again, Damien decided that unless she told him to stop, he was not asking ever again if he could kiss her or not. Of course, if his bride-to-be wanted to ask for something carnal, he’d be more than happy to oblige.

A desperate groan escaped him as he slipped his hand lower and cupped Helena’s breast, working his thumb over her hard nipple.

He began to kiss her jaw, loving the way she gasped and mewled.

“Christ, but ye taste so sweet, especially when ye moan for me,” he said against her neck. He pinched the bud lightly while he pulled up her skirts with his other hand. “Are ye achin’ for me, Hel?”

He let out a curse when Helena leaned up and lightly bit his jaw.

“Yes,” she said. “So, why did you stop?”

Almost snarling at her, even as satisfaction and amusement filled his chest, Damien hiked up her skirts further. Then, he slid his hand up her underclothes, found a bare inch of hot skin, and trailed his fingertips across it. Laughter escaped him as Helena arched her back and tried to suppress her cries.

“Mhm, I shall have ye beggin’ soon, Sassenach ,” Damien said.

He stroked his fingers over her heat, torturing her a bit in return. She writhed and pressed against him, causing his manhood to harden even more.

“I mean to devour ye, as all yer foolish folk think the Highlanders do. But I fear that me appetite for ye will never be sated.”

“Damien, please,” Helena whispered, her hands clutching at his arms. “I-I— oh. ” She almost bowed over as he cupped her and pressed a finger against her pearl. “More.”

“Oh, Hel,” Damien said into her ear, kissing just below it. “Ye didnae give me answers. And ye thought to run away. I mean to teach ye a lesson—ensure that ye never think of such a thing again.”

He petted her now while squeezing and kneading her breast. All the while, he pressed light kisses to her neck. Perhaps it was unfair, but he had his own frustrations to work out, and this seemed a far better use of their time than arguing.

Helena was nearly sobbing, begging for relief, and he smiled.

“Ye are so responsive, ye ken? But I also ken that I can make ye forget yer own name.”

“Liar,” Helena challenged.

Damien could not help it—he sank his teeth into the juncture where her neck and shoulder met. At the same time, he plunged his fingers into her heat and stroked her quivering walls.

“I am goin’ to make ye regret that,” he whispered as he began to undo her, mimicking what he really wanted to do to her.

“I-I doubt it,” Helena said as her head fell back against his shoulder, and she pressed harder against him. “More, yes, yes. ”

“Aye, ye shall have it,” he gritted out. “One day, Hel, it will be me manhood inside ye. I want ye to think of that throughout yer year.”

At that moment, Helena came in a shuddering, explosive wave and sagged against him. Her chest heaved, and Damien scooped her up, tugging her dress back into some semblance of order.

“Wait,” she said as he began to walk toward the door. “I-I want to do something in return.”

Damien’s entire body seized up. Did she mean…?

“Nae here,” he said roughly. “Ye willnae undo me gesture, minx.”

Really, though, if she meant what he thought, he’d want to be locked in their rooms, with the bed nearby. All but running out of the library, Damien cursed how long it took to get to his rooms.

Shutting his door, he locked it and rounded on Helena. “What did ye have in mind, lass?”

Part of him thought that he should stop now, but he could not. His manhood needed relief—from her.

“I… I once read…” Helena flushed and touched her lips.

Damien groaned, and he could not help it—he grabbed himself through his trews. “Hel,” he said in a rough, shaky voice. “Dinnae tease me, lass.”

“I want to,” she said, drawing herself up and watching him with hooded, heated eyes. “Tell me what to do.”

Damien knew that he was being a bastard, but he could not help it. “First, undo yer damned stays and take yer breasts out.”

Helena tilted her head to the side. “Is that part of it?”

“Och, aye,” he groaned and gripped himself harder as she did so, revealing those beautiful breasts in the firelight. “Touch yerself a bit, lass. Let me watch.”

Helena sucked in a breath, then reached up, took off her glasses, and set them aside. Taking a deep breath, she did so, and Damien knew she was attempting to copy his ministrations. His tongue nearly cleaved the roof of his mouth, and he had to press the heel of his hand against his manhood.

“Feck, alright, lass. Now…” He took a steadying breath. “Let me get ye a cushion for yer knees.”

He fetched one, trying not to shake, and Helena plopped down in front of the fire. But she did not kneel, and he tried to smile.

“It’s alright, ye dinnae?—”

“No, I just…” Helena stepped closer. “Before I do… that, may I do what you did to me first? And then…”

Damien stared at her. “Why?”

“So that we’re even.”

Swallowing hard, Damien had to reach out and hold on to a nearby chair. Christ, but he’d never have the upper hand, with her standing there, her breasts bared, calmly offering tit-for-tat pleasure.

“How did I live without ye?” he wondered.

Helena let out a shy laugh, and then her fingers traced his manhood. “I find myself wondering the same.”

“Hel—och, feck me.”

His eyes closed as she stroked him, and then the minx somehow figured out how to slide her hand inside while tugging down his trews with the other. She had adept, graceful hands and strong fingers. Damien nearly came the first time she fully stroked him.

Somehow, gritting his teeth, and staring at the ceiling, he managed to hold off. Until, with a shout, he came so hard that he saw stars and had to walk away.

When he turned back, Helena was kneeling and giving him an expectant look. And somehow, he was rock hard again. Something that had never happened before, nor did it seem that it should be possible.

Pacing over to her, he caught her chin and tilted her face up. “Lass, I confess I’ve thought about this often.”

Helena gave him an impish look even as her eyes went wide and her cheeks flushed. Awe shot through Damien, and a throb seemed to go down his length.

His fingers tightened on her chin as he stared at her. “Ye have too?”

She nodded. “I was—when I felt you in the cave and… other times… Plus, I read a French?—”

“Helena,” Damien interrupted with a groan and stared up at the ceiling. “Maybe— feck! ” Chest heaving, he looked down to see Helena pressing pert, curious kisses to the tip of his manhood, and a shudder went through him. “Lass… aye.”

His hands speared into her hair, and he could not help it—he began to help her. Relief and heat pounded through him, while Helena learned how to take him in her sassy mouth.

Oh God, but this was dangerous. He’d want this every night until the year was over.

Being a bastard, Damien held off for as long as he could, wanting to savor every goddamn second of her ministrations. But when he came, it was even harder than the last time, and he nearly went down on his knees.

“To think I have such power over Laird MacCabe, feared warrior,” Helena said when they were both sprawled on his couch, dressed again, though still disheveled.

Anyone who saw them would’ve known what they were up to. She curled up closer to him and smiled, brushing her hand over the strap of his eyepatch, then into his hair.

“I do enjoy it.”

Damien huffed a laugh. “Aye, of course ye do. Minx.”

She snuggled closer, then laid her head on his shoulder and draped an arm across his torso. He immediately wrapped an arm around her waist and smoothed a hand over her brow.

Pressing a kiss to her brow, he remained like that for several moments. Until he found himself starting to drift off to sleep and forced himself to stir.

“Let me take ye to bed, Hel,” he murmured, and she stirred. “Och, damn.” He stared at her. “Were ye asleep?”

“Mm, nearly,” she murmured and smiled at him. “Do you remember what I did with my glasses?”

“Aye, I’ve got them over here,” Damien said and stood up, trying to temper the frantic beating of his heart.

Helena’s sleepy sweetness, her arms holding onto him, and her scent in his nose were stirring his desire again.

“Come on, love.”

Somehow, he got them up, fetched her glasses, and carried her to her chambers, then laid her on the bed. He went to leave when a hand caught the back of his shirt, and he turned. Helena had her face tipped up, then surged up, kissing him.

“Can we sleep together, Damien?” she whispered between kisses. “Please? I want to hold you all night.”

“Hel,” he groaned between kisses. “Ye cannae do this to me. I am barely holdin’ on by a thread.”

“Oh,” she murmured with a laugh. “So sorry. Well, good night, My Laird.”

With that, she got off the bed and went to her vanity, braiding her hair. He watched her go, savoring this, even as he told himself that he did not have to commit the moment to memory—that they had their whole lives together.

“Good night, love,” he said, and she smiled at him over her shoulder. “I cannae wait to marry ye.”

Helena dipped her head in a nod, and Damien walked to the door connecting their rooms.

“Damien?” Her voice made him stop, and he looked over at her. “I feel much the same—thanks to you.”

Even as he smiled at her, his pounding heart warned him, Ye are in trouble. Ye are fallin’ too fast.

The cèilidh was a blur of music and mayhem, with more folk than Damien ever expected, even with a year’s notice of his wedding. Family and friends had traveled in droves, it seemed, overrunning the castle.

But the way his mother beamed, walking around with Helena, warmed his heart. It was the happiest he’d seen her in years, though a few times he’d caught a wistful expression on her face as she gazed around. And he knew, then, that she wished more than anything that her husband was by her side.

It sent a pang of pain and rage through him, and again, he silently vowed to one day end the plague that was his uncle’s line.

The merriment of the cèilidh continued long into the night, and it seemed to take a day to recover from.

Then, the castle was thrown into the chaos of preparing for the wedding. He had never seen it so busy, not even for holidays or grand visits. Decorations were everywhere, servants dashing to and fro, and the entire castle smelled delicious. Still, he found time to toast with Leo and Grant, who told him stories that made his sides ache. He also saw how happy they were with their English wives.

I shall be just as joyous, if nae more, he mused, the evening before his wedding. They had a marvelous feast in honor of his father, and of Helena joining Clan MacCabe.

With all the dancing to come, his mother had not wanted to have a band, but his aunt had persuaded her to have one dance on the eve of his wedding.

As folk now stepped onto the dance floor, Damien thought back to the first time he’d seen Helena. She’d stepped toward him without fear, determination etched on every line of her face, fire in her eyes.

He smiled to himself as the tune rang out. Not quite the music from the reverie in Fallenworth, nay. It was far better than a sailor’s tune, but there was an echo of the fun from that night.

Straightening, Damien glanced around for his bride. He spotted Emma twirling in Grant’s arms, a smile on her face while his friend murmured something to her. Leo, meanwhile, had his arms wrapped around his petite wife. Orrick and Gwen were dancing so energetically that they were drawing every eye. Sophia swung in circles with his mother and aunts. But he did not see…

“Would you care to dance?”

A smile spread across his face as he turned and found Helena standing there, and his breath caught.

His betrothed had changed into a gown of silver shot with blue, with a sash of MacCabe tartan tied around her waist and her hair pulled up in a simple twist. The firelight danced across her brow, and her eyes flashed green and gold.

“Ye are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Damien said.

Helena’s lips parted, and she flushed, then lightly stepped forward, shaking her head. “Damien, you were supposed to say, ‘Ye’re askin’ me, love?’” Her impression of him was fairly good. “‘Are ye quite sure?’”

“I ken ye too well, now,” he teased, and Helena shook her head. “And ye memorized what I said, hm? Nae the impression I got when we met a second time.” He reached out and pulled her close. “When ye had the damn cheek to act like I didnae ken how ye tasted.”

Helena jerked back, her mouth dropping open in outrage. “You were the one who pretended not to know me.”

“I admit, I was sore at ye for offerin’ me a bloody handshake after our grand kiss.” Damien leaned in and whispered in her air, “More than that, I wanted ye to ask for another.”

“Oh,” Helena said and gazed at him. “ Oh .” She bit her lip, and Damien’s blood surged. “I wish I did.”

“I cannae tell ye how glad I am that I was yer first kiss, Hel,” Damien murmured. “And ye have nay idea how hard it was for me to let ye walk away.” He rested his forehead against hers. “I wish I’d chased ye down, as every goddamn inch of me screamed to.”

“I would’ve escaped,” Helena whispered, then pressed her lips against his for a brief, searing moment. “But I would’ve found you again. Eventually.”

At that, Damien pulled back and gave her a searching look. “Found me ?” Helena gave him a cheeky look. “Minx.”

“You love it,” she retorted.

“I do,” he said and then pulled her onto the dance floor, spinning her around. “Ye have nay idea how much, but I plan to show ye.”

They spun and spun, laughing together, all restraint gone. Damien thought his heart might burst from joy. Of course, the music ended all too soon, and he regretted that, but his heart soared.

One more night and ye will finally be me wife, lass. Ye were mine, all along.

Helena and Damien had one final toast with Grant, Emma, Agnes, and Leo, the six of them laughing together. Then, in what seemed like no time at all, and too much time, Helena and Damien stood alone, hand-in-hand, in front of the bonfire. It was dying down, the embers smoldering, and the stars were coming out overhead.

Lady Merie walked by then, along with Gwen and Orrick. Orrick was carrying a sleepy Sophia, her arms thrown around his neck. Jolly, meanwhile, was snuggled in Gwen’s arms.

Lady Merie shook her head at them and scolded, “Off to bed, ye two. We have a wedding tomorrow.”

“We’ll be along soon, Maither,” Damien said.

“Thank you for taking care of Sophia,” Helena called.

Damien watched them go and then turned to Helena, his chest rising and falling. Tomorrow, she’d be his wife. He’d never wanted a night to pass more quickly.

“We should go to bed.”

Helena squeezed his hand. “A few more minutes.” She tipped her head back and smiled. “A few more stars.”

Damien could only stare at her, the pretty line of her throat, and the way the firelight played over her glasses. The flush in her cheeks and the curve of her lips. Unable to help it, he lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“I cannae wait much longer to wed ye, Sassenach .”

Helena looked over at him. “I feel the same. I never thought I would. You are the only man in the world for me. I hope you know that.”

Damien’s hand tightened around hers, and his heart throbbed. He ducked his head, his face flushing, his eyes burning a little.

Trying to infuse lightness into the moment, he said, almost at random, or perhaps as a reflex, “Does this mean ye have reconsidered yer year-long condition?” He kissed her hand again and nipped her knuckles. “I confess, I thought what happened in the library and me chambers before the cèilidh would be too much for yer curiosity. But ye are so stubborn.”

“Am I?”

At that, Damien raised his gaze and narrowed his eyes. “Dinnae tease me.” Then, he stared at her, and something on her face prompted him to ask, “Wait, have ye reconsidered?”

And the cheeky English minx had the audacity to respond, “It depends.”