Chapter 18
CHAPTER 18
Jerking back from her father, Helena stared at him, her stomach churning, and he rolled his eyes.
“Do not play the innocent, girl. I’m glad to see you standing.” He paused. “Where is your betrothed?”
Helena could barely speak through her numb lips. “Not here, at the moment,” she began. “Urgent business took him away from Morighe, but I?—”
“You foolish whelp,” her father hissed, and her shoulders jumped up as she took a step back. “What have you done now? Must you ruin everything?”
Her father lifted his hand, and Helena flinched for a split second, then she saw Damien in the back of her head, felt the stones of Morighe under her feet, and stood straighter.
“Remember that I am to be Lady here, Father,” she said coolly. “Striking me would be a grave insult.”
Her father’s hand twitched and then caught her arm in what looked like a paternal gesture, but his fingers dug into her sleeve hard enough to bruise. She tried not to grimace as he leered at her.
“Oh, a few weeks in the north and you are one of them, eh?” He leaned in. “I am still your father, so I shall not forget this grave insult.”
Helena bit back a cry as he squeezed hard and then stepped away. She forced herself not to balk or rub at her arm. Instead, she focused on her pride in standing her ground, even if she dreaded that it had only riled her father further.
Before either could say another word, a carriage rattled in, and for a moment, Helena thought her sister was shrieking—or crying? No, what was that sound? She furrowed her brow as the footman hurried to open it, and then a small, gangly ball of yellow fur burst out, tumbling down the steps and then landing in a heap.
“Jolly!” cried Sophia, springing out after the puppy, who yipped and gamboled about. He stopped to sniff a wooden post and then lifted his leg. “What a good dog.”
“A dog?” Helena asked, a smile spreading across her face. “Sophia, where did he come from?”
She knelt and got the dog’s attention, unable to keep from smiling as it gamboled over and licked her outstretched fingers. It soothed the sting of her father’s words, and she reminded herself sternly not to let him get to her.
Ignore him, that’s the only way to deal with him. It doesn’t mean anything
Sophia landed in a graceless heap next to him, and he made a harsh sound of protest.
“We rescued him on the road,” Sophia explained, then threw her arms around Helena’s neck, nearly knocking her over. “Oh, I missed you so much, Lena. I didn’t know how long it would be until I saw you again.”
Helena looped an arm around her younger sister, squeezing her close. Even though their father had made sure that Sophia had the finest nurses, governesses, and other staff looking after her, they were no substitute for a mother. Their stepmother had doted on Sophia in her own way when the mood struck her, but it was to Helena that Sophia had often looked.
It wasn’t enough …
As much as Helena had tried, her father had sent Sophia to finishing schools, or off with governesses, or with their stepmother to town. For as careful as he’d been with Sophia’s servants, he was careless with who minded Helena, and she’d spent most of her time either reading or convincing her stepmother to send her to Emma’s home.
Because Sophia brimmed with sweetness, though, she did not seem to hold it against her. If anything, she loved harder and treasured every moment she had with Helena. It made Helena feel an overwhelming, bone-deep gratitude, and the sting of her father’s words faded as her sister’s tiny arms hugged her harder around the neck.
Helena squeezed Sophia back, then drew back and asked, “You called the dog ‘Jolly?’”
“Isn’t that such a good name?” Sophia asked, a smile breaking across her face. “Even though he was cold and alone in the woods, he’s such a happy puppy.”
“I agree,” Helena said, and the dog yipped, causing both sisters to laugh. “How?—”
A shadow fell over them.
“Get up before someone sees,” their father hissed. “Just because we’re in the north doesn’t mean you should act below you, mucking around in the dirt with an animal.”
“Father,” Helena began, but he seized her elbow and hauled her up.
Somehow, he’d managed to grab her in the same place as before, and she had to grit her teeth not to cry out in pain.
He all but threw her away, glaring at Sophia, and Helena’s heart twisted with agony.
Usually, their father doted on Sophia, but it seemed that the edge of his temper could find purchase anywhere.
“Your sister would not stop screaming and crying, driving me out of my bloody mind, until we stopped and retrieved that lump of wet fur. Then, she had put it in my carriage, which I expect your husband’s staff to scrub from top to bottom.”
Helena ran a hand over her sore arm, her temper rapidly rising, and she felt her lip curl as she said in a hard voice, “Why don’t you ask Damien when he returns?”
At that moment, she lifted her head. Were those hoofbeats?
Her father jerked back in surprise. “Look at you, Daughter, becoming a proper wife of the north,” he said in a low, poisonous voice. “Already driving off your husband, too?”
Now Helena faltered, and her stomach twisted. “Wh-What do you mean?”
“Where did your betrothed go?” her father all but snarled. “Where is he returning from? What did you do? I asked you a question, and you ignored me, instead mucking about with a damn dog instead of bringing us inside, acting like a proper lady of the castle.” He stepped closer. “Leave Lady Highbrow behind in England, Daughter. I warn you.”
“Enough,” Helena tried to command, but it was a whisper.
“You need to focus , Helena. Christ, but you are out here playing with a dog instead of focusing on your wedding. Instead of making children to ensure that the brute does not turn you out,” he scoffed and turned around, glaring around at Morighe. “I only hope that you will not take after your mother.”
Sophia’s arms came around her middle, but she barely felt them. “Wh-What do you mean?”
Was he talking about the long days that her mother had sat in listless silence or refused to eat—or wept? Or seemed strangely hostile? Or afraid, as though she could not trust her own moods, her own self?
“A waste,” her father spat. “Giving me no heir, so I was forced to marry Lady Fanwright to get a son.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Do not condemn Laird MacCabe to a life with two daughters as your useless mother did, girl.”
Is that what you truly think of her?
Helena wanted to scream, even as her arm tightened around Sophia, her chest tight, and her eyes burning. She felt torn apart, on what should have been her doorstep, and nasty fears snarled in her mind.
What if she couldn’t give Damien a son?
“Apologize, now. ”
Helena jumped at the low, lethal command, and then sensed a warm, large presence beside her. Slowly, she turned and gazed up at Damien— Damien, who’d appeared next to her. She saw his horse in the distance and realized he must have just arrived—that was the horse she’d heard.
“Pardon?” her father bit out, and she flinched.
Damien’s face went tight with rage even as he lifted a gloved hand and pressed it to her face.
For a moment, they gazed at each other, and she almost felt that she could understand what he was thinking, that he was reassuring her and comforting her. She pressed her cheek against his hand and bit her lip, hoping he could read her eyes.
I missed you.
Then, Damien’s hand dropped, and he stepped in front of her and Sophia. “I told ye to apologize to yer daughter,” he said. “For ye seem to have forgotten that she is now part of me household, and nay one is allowed to speak to her in such a manner.” He took a step forward and rested his hand on the pommel of one of his swords. “Unless they want to lose their tongue.”
Her father scoffed, but he seemed wary and clicked his tongue.
“It has been a long journey. I apologize if you think I am being too harsh.” He eyed Damien. “Though I admit, it was unsettling to hear that you left my daughter alone right as she arrived.”
He snorted, and the snort seemed to say, I expected no less from a bloody Scot.
Helena felt her stomach twist. God, but she’d been too much like her father at their first breakfast.
“And you forget, Laird MacCabe, that wife or not, I am owed something for her. She is still my daughter, not yet a Lady.”
“Wrong,” Damien said and stepped forward, fury radiating from every line of his body. “Verra wrong.”
Sophia pressed closer, and Helena’s hand flew out, pressing against his back. But he did not seem to notice. Her fingers dug into his shirt as he spoke his next words.
“She was yer daughter, Lord Lovell,” Damien said, and his shoulders seemed to heave. “She is me woman, now. And forever, once I wed her.”
Her father, barely visible beyond Damien’s bulk, paled, but then he sneered, “And when will that be? A year from now?”
Damien tensed up, and Helena’s hand fell away.
“Two weeks. With the storm, provisions are delayed, as are our guests. If ye had bloody waited, maybe ye would have arrived at our home in a better mood.” Damien’s voice lowered. “I welcome ye to rest.”
Helena almost laughed at that. How could her husband-to-be make a welcome sound so much like a threat?
Then, he strode off, not looking back once, and her father stood there, gaping like a fish.
She bobbed an ironic curtsey to him and then whispered to Sophia to go to the kitchen and look for Lady Merie, who would settle her and Jolly and get them treats.
Then, ignoring her father’s grumblings and demands, she all but ran to find Damien, thinking that her heart might burst if she had to wait another moment.