Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
After a long bath, a snack, and a good dram, Damien had been restored to himself. He’d meant to go through his correspondence, which had piled up, but instead had reclined in a chair, his feet up, with a good book. Too soon, though, in the comfort of his rooms, with the fire crackling, he found his eyes growing heavy.
Rain lashed in through broken, open windows, and Damien raced down the empty halls of a place that seemed to be a mockery of Morighe. Not quite his clan’s castle, but similar and strange. He rounded a corner and came to a dead end, rather than a hallway.
His heart began to pound in his throat. Were his kin here?
He glanced over his shoulder and jolted when he thought he saw a shadow pass there. Stepping forward, for he was no coward, he pulled out his sword and then glanced down. His feet were bare.
Movement again and he turned, the figure doing the same.
A mirror. Damien approached it and then stumbled back with a curse, nearly dropping his blade. But his face was unscarred, and both his eyes were blue.
Yet, when he reached up to touch his face, he felt the familiar leather, and then the figure in the mirror grinned. His hair became red, and his countenance changed.
“Lachlan,” Damien snarled and leveled his blade. “Come out of there and fight.”
“I think nae,” came a whisper. “Why would I, when I’ve already won?”
Shadows leaped around his cousin, and Damien stumbled back in horror. What power did his cousin possess? He’d long suspected that his cousin had sold his soul long ago, but this ? —
And then his cousin seemed to reach into the shadow, his grin becoming manic, before yanking a woman back. A woman who fought and twisted to get away, the light glancing off her glasses. Her hair was unkempt, the hem of her dress dirty, and yet she still had a poise to her.
Damien’s sword clattered to the floor, and he leaped forward, only to slam up against the mirror’s glass. A glass that was becoming fogged over. He slammed his hands on it, and Helena looked up. Fear leaped into her eyes, and she shook her head.
“No, Damien, I told you—” She tried to smile, and a growl tore from his throat, while Lachlan laughed. He held Helena lazily with one hand and with infuriating ease. “Let me go, I’ll be alright.”
“Will ye?” Lachlan purred, and a wicked blade appeared in his hand. The very same that had felled the former Laird, Damien’s father. The blade that Damien had thrown into the sea with curses.
“Let her go, ye bastard,” Damien snarled, but his voice sounded distant and strange, the roar of a storm coming in through the broken windows.
Helena stilled at the sight of the blade and then tossed her head. Now, she looked younger in pale blue, with her hair braided away from her face. “I am not afraid of you.”
“Nay, more’s the pity,” Lachlan said and dragged the back of the blade across her face while Damien shoved and slammed his fists soundlessly on this bloody impossible glass. “But he is.”
“Lies,” Helena hissed.
Damien felt a swell of affection even as he felt a bolt of terror.
“Aye, lass, this blade cut out his heart once, and I think it can again.”
“Christ, nay, please—kill me instead,” Damien all but screamed, his throat raw.
Lachlan tossed him a contemptuous smile, lifted the blade, and plunged it down, aiming for Helena’s heart ? —
A thud jolted Damien awake, and he tried to sit upright, his hand grasping the material of his damp shirt over his pounding heart. Uneven breaths gusted out of him, then he stilled, realizing that something—nay, someone else had woken him.
Helena sat on the wide stool across from him, straightening from where she’d retrieved the book that had fallen to the floor. She gave him a wry look.
“I tried several times to wake you, but it seems only a book falling to the floor has the power to do that.”
Damien stared at her, his chest feeling hot and strange. “How…?”
Fragments of his nightmare still clung to him, and the room felt distant, while Helena seemed unreal.
He had to be still dreaming. How else could she be here, wearing a light and pretty dressing gown, with her hair loosely pinned back—a vision that seemed evoked by his desire?
Her smile softened, and his heart raced.
I am dreamin’ .
“Why are you looking at me like that? Did you not want me to wake you up?” She tilted her head to the side, and behind her glasses, her eyes were filled with endless compassion. “It seemed you were having such a terrible dream, Damien.”
He closed his eyes and dragged a hand over his face, exhaustion pulling at him. “I was, but now it appears it’s one of the other kinds of nightly torments.”
There was no response.
Damien stirred, bemused, and opened his eyes to find Helena thrusting a glass of ale at him. “Perhaps this will help.”
His dry throat agreed, and he huffed a laugh, before downing it. “Thank ye.”
It did help, but his thoughts were still snared in that bloody nightmare, and that shite would not do. Then, Helena took his glass and refilled it.
“What are ye doin’?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Refilling your glass. Is that not obvious?”
“Ye ken what I meant, Hel,” Damien said and sat up fully, letting his feet hit the floor and eyeing the woman hovering over him. He glanced at the windows and saw the night pressing in. “What time is it?”
“Half past nine, I think,” Helena said. “You slept through dinner.”
His stomach growled at that point, and a small smile appeared on her lips, sending a bolt of heat through him. He could not deal with her, his nightmare, and these close quarters at half past nine on an empty stomach.
When he was about to tell her as much, she added, “That’s why I brought you supper.”
Damien’s chest swelled as he pulled in a slow breath, watching Helena flutter over to the sideboard, where a covered tray sat, and now the nightmare began to lose its grip. He still couldn’t be sure if he was dreaming, but he didn’t give a damn.
“You are not dreaming,” Helena said tartly, tossing him a glance over her shoulder. “I can hear you muttering to yourself, you know.”
A laugh escaped from deep within Damien, and he let his head hang down, his exhaustion rolling over him like strong whisky. “Ye mistake me, love.” Again, he laughed and rubbed at his temples, which did nothing to help him wake up. “Feck.”
He wasn’t sure he could stand; he was so tired and disoriented. They should’ve taken another day to travel, as Orrick had strongly recommended. It was rare that Damien was so tired that he felt drunk, but that was how he felt now. No wonder Lachlan had managed to sneak in and torment him.
“Who is Lachlan?” Helena asked.
Damien jerked upright, staring at her. She had the tray in her hands and then set it carefully on the small table next to him. She adjusted her glasses and regarded him.
“Are you alright? How much did you drink?”
“Have mercy, I beg ye, Hel,” he said and caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I can barely keep me eyes open, never mind keep up with ye.”
“I think you need to eat,” Helena said softly and gestured to the tray. Damien opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. “Please. Before your food gets any colder.”
“All right, all right,” Damien playfully grumbled. “But I cannae eat while sittin’ here like a fool English king, even if it’s a treat to have ye waitin’ on me. Come along.”
He stood up and picked up the tray, before walking over to the table where two chairs faced each other. Setting down the tray, he pulled out a chair for Helena, delighted and a little puzzled as to why she hadn’t stormed off.
Instead of questioning it, he shrugged, sat, and tucked into his food. Everything tasted extra delicious after so much travel, and it wasn’t cold at all. Helena must have timed it so. Again, he felt that absurd swelling in his chest, like a warm draught of cider on a bitter winter night.
Damien thought that Helena would excuse herself. Instead, she’d nibbled on a honey cake while pretending not to observe him.
Finally, Damien sat back and sighed. “Have I said thank ye?”
Helena tilted her head to the side. “Can you not remember?” His eye narrowed, and she smiled. “Yes. I should bid you good night, My Laird.”
“Ye should stay.”
Helena leaned back in her seat, drawing her hands away so that Damien could not take them as he’d intended. They stared at each other for several seconds, her face unreadable, save for a flicker of anger in her eyes, and it stirred Damien’s blood too.
“Ye will move in here soon enough, Milady.”
Now Helena clasped her hands together as a frost fell over her brow, and then she slowly straightened and stood upright. A veritable ice queen, with nothing but sharp angles and haughty English airs.
Damien sprawled and grinned at her.
“You are quite mistaken,” she said. “We-We have a year. And even then…”
“Ye must have noticed that yer quarters arenae that far,” he said. “Bluebell Corner, an empty suite, me study, and then me rooms.” He gestured to the other side. “And another suite, if ye so desire, though these are large enough for both of us, aye?”
“No, Damien,” she said. “I fail to see what is wrong with my chambers. I have become quite fond of Bluebell Corner.”
“Aye, I feared as much,” Damien muttered and reached for his glass. After filling it with whisky, he took a sip and then offered it to Helena, who glared at him. “What? Ye looked like ye needed it.”
“I am not leaving my chambers.”
Damien heaved a sigh. “Those are meant to one day become the suite for our eldest daughter, nae ye, Hel.”
That seemed to jolt her, her lips pressing together, and he paused, waiting for her to speak.
When she did not, he continued, “If ye truly want yer own chambers, they are over there. Ye can do whatever ye please with them. I can build ye a study, a library—whatever ye please.”
Her fists opened and closed, her thoughts furious, but her lips were still pressed together. “Why did your mother put me there, then?”
“Ah, she’s a canny thing. Wants to delay the weddin’.”
Helena paled and gripped the back of her chair. “Sh-She doesn’t want us to marry?”
Damien stared at her for a moment, then barked out a laugh and shook his head. “She wants us to marry in a grand, outlandish fashion. Were ye nae listenin’ earlier? First, she wanted a spring wedding. Then she’d want a fall wedding,” he snorted. “We’d be married in ten years if she had her way.”
“Isn’t that just another way of preventing us from marrying?”
“Nay, nay, ‘tis the opposite. She wants too much of our marriage, our weddin’.” He took another swig of whisky and let out a rough chuckle. “Da warned me of this.” The memory made his heart ache, but there was a gentleness there, too. “How she’d probably be more excited than me or me bride. How he’d… have to rein her in.”
Silence fell, and Damien avoided Helena’s gaze. The wind whipped at the window, and the fire crackled. Damien wondered if he was a brute not to give his mother a bit more.
At the same time, though, delaying the wedding was a fool’s errand. He would not do it, and he knew if his father were alive, he’d agree.
Da should be here. So bloody unfair.
“He’d have liked ye, too,” Damien said, more to himself than Helena. “Anyhow, that’s why ye are movin’ as soon?—”
“No, Damien,” Helena said, quietly and firmly. “I am not.” Now, he looked at her, and she held his gaze, though she flushed. “And you know why.”
He rose to his feet in a slow but fluid movement. “Do I now? I ken that ye are soon to be me wife, and ye must start actin’ soon, regardless of our bargain for yer year.” He snorted. “What, did ye think ye could avoid me in that time too? Or until our weddin’? We will spend time together every day, Hel. There’s so much for a laird and lady to do to run Morighe and keep Galeclere safe.”
“I know that, and I do not intend to avoid you,” she said in a tight voice. “If you will recall, Sir, you are the one who just ran off.”
“I had business away from Morighe, woman,” he said. “It will happen.”
“So, will I come with you, if we are to spend every day together?”
A growl tore from his throat. “Ye ken what I mean.”
“And you know that I am right. It is one year where I will be right down the hall.” She straightened. “Please, do not force this. Give me my space to achieve my dream—support me instead of trying to seduce me into changing my mind with your kisses.” Her eyes flashed. “Or defending me against my father, only to take that back the moment you feel threatened.”
“Threatened?” Damien echoed, even as his heart gave an uneven beat, and Lachlan’s blade aiming for Helena’s heart flashed into his mind. “By what?”
She shook her head. “I cannot say. But it was a mistake to come here—” She bared her teeth when Damien grabbed her wrist. “Not to Morighe. I meant here, tonight.”
“Ye didnae even see the rooms yet,” Damien said, trying to divert her off this train of thought—and his temper.
“Damien.” Helena pulled free. “We will eventually have children to fulfill our duty. And I have sworn to you that I am not going anywhere.” She hugged herself. “Now, I need you to stop with this. Because that will drive me away.”
With that, she turned and hurried out of the room.
Damien stared after her, the door swinging shut, propelling him to action. He was halfway across the room before he caught himself and clenched his fists. Dammit, that had all gone so wrong.
But she did need to move into the Lady’s suite, at the very least. Why hadn’t he moved her sooner? A growl tore from his throat, and he began to pace.
Worse, he was starting to suspect that Helena might be right, and it infuriated him. For she was also wrong, thinking that he was eager to get her to give in and forego her year. And while a part of him wanted that, it was only because he wanted her so bad.
Every inch of him ached to go to her.
Worse, though, he only stayed because he did not want to upset her more. It sent a sharp spike of rage and agony through him to think that she merely tolerated his presence out of necessity—out of duty.
I dinnae want her simply because we must have children. I want her…
He swallowed hard and stormed to the window.
I want her to want me as badly as I want her.
Feck me.