Page 1 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
PROLOGUE
Queen’s Edictfor Her People in England and Scotland: for the Union and Peace of Our Countries
In our kingdom, we know the Grace of the Most Holy Heaven and now enjoy a manifest glory in this great land, and to keep that peace, to extend goodwill and binding ties between the Kingdom of England and the Nation of Scots, comes the wisdom of Queen Marianna, long may she reign.
Hers is the royal blood of one hundred and twenty-three queens and kings, and so shall her Edict in this high year be obeyed gladly by her subjects.
If any unmarried laird or laird’s son from the Lowlands or Highlands is of age and unwed, he shall seek out a bride in the south, an English lady of noble blood.
Thus, our great land shall be so bound as it should be…
To the freedom and health of our great land, may we be united forevermore.
Any couples who wed within the first five years of this Edict shall enjoy the Queen’s favor and a rich bounty.
Long live Queen Marianna!
CHAPTER 1
Six Months Ago
A lady should never hurry.She should walk at an easy, admirable pace that evokes her grace and good upbringing. In short, as lovely as she is, so is her every movement.
Helena snorted as those words echoed in her head, her every movement as unladylike as a charger in battle, her long legs churning up the hillside. Of all dratted times to recall her tutor’s constant needling about her posture and walk—too fast, too tall, too hunched, tooeverything.
Too much, Lady Helena Lovell.Always too much.
“Oh yes,” Helena murmured to herself, “for even when a lady is running away, she should still evoke grace and good breeding, lest anyone mistake her for someone with a brain in her head.”
She grinned to herself, both for her quips and talking to herself—more unladylike habits that no tutor could ever rid her of. Not for lack of trying, of course. Helena shuddered to think of the constant smacks of reeds against her wrists as she tried to protect her hands from being injured—not because of the bruising or anything, not out of fear of not being able to write or hold a book.
Thankfully, ladies could have welts on their forearms but not their hands, even with gloves on.
At the top of the hill, she paused and turned, searching the road behind her. In the mellow evening air, there were no signs of pursuit or anyone else on the road. Nothing but the deepening hues in the sky as the sun dipped and seemed to sift through its crimson-hued jewels to hold up the brightest to the world.
She needed to hurry, though, for she was meant to arrive at her aunt’s seaside cottage yesterday. How her heart ached for it, the quiet murmur of the great sound, the cry of gulls, and the rambling walks she could take.
Emma shall arrive tomorrow,Helena thought, with a fierceness that belied her inner desperation.Once we rest and make our plans, we will set out for France and Italy, to find our own way—our own freedom—far from Scotland.
Adjusting her heavy bag, Helena pushed her glasses up her nose, and with a sharp nod to herself, set off down the hill to the town of Fallenworth. Even as she had to admit the irony of coming so close to the border of the land that she and her friend hoped toescape, even as their Queen meant for them to wed two Lairds of the North.
One of the last towns before England became Scotland, Fallenworth was a rambling, portside pile. The white sails of ships rose above the cluster of stone buildings at one end, while fields stretched out on either side, with farmhouses scattered here and there.
Helena felt the tension leave her shoulders. Beyond that small rise to the north, where a farmhouse stood, with smoke swirling into the twilight sky, was the beginning of her aunt’s land.
She let out a long sigh of relief, then quickened her pace even more and checked that her hood had stayed up. She wore a neat gray dress, with a navy cloak over it, hoping to pass as a governess or a maid, someone with enough of a salary to afford a bit of sup and a room, but not rich enough to bother.
Still, as she made it into town, she passed by a wall of fluttering paper notices and stopped dead. A man behind her barked at her, and she offered a swift apology before she moved closer, her heart pounding.
No.
Helena had to stop herself before she ripped the notice off the wall. It would attract too much attention. She forced herself to keep walking, to pretend it wasn’t her friend Emma’s beautiful face sketched there, gazing at her with imploring supplication.
Of course, Helena had known about the people looking for them, all that rot and nonsense, but when had notices gone up?
This must be Lord Cumbria’s work. Drat that man.
Helena chanced another glance, and something twisted inside of her, equal parts relief and guilt. There were no notices with her face.
