Page 14 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“Never.” Helena tossed her head. “I’ve never met you, and we’ve never kissed, Damien.”
“YoukissedDamien?” shrieked a voice behind her.
Helena gasped, her shoulders up around her ears as Laird MacCabe stepped forward, protective, his hand clamping around her opposite elbow, and his strong arm a bar across her back.
Behind her, charging up the path, with Laird Ronson hot on her heels, was Emma.
“I heard that you two snuck away from Agnes, and I could not believe it, but here you are. This means Grant was right—you two have met.” Emma was there, all bright blue eyes and indignation mingling with mischief, her cheeks high with color from exertion and excitement. “So, Damien is your stolen kiss?”
“Ah, so that’s what ye told her, is it nae, Milady?” Laird MacCabe teased.
“No!” Helena shouted. “He’s jesting. We’ve met, but no—no, never.” At that, his grip slackened, and she slipped away, hurrying toward her friend. “Emma, this is your wedding day. You should not be here, asking about kisses, but dancing?—”
“What’s this about kisses?” Laird Ronson cut in. “Did this brute kiss ye, Lady Helena?”
“No,” Helena all but shouted again, while Laird MacCabe echoed it in the most unconvincing tone known to man. “You are impossible,” she gritted out. “That is why no one wants to dance with you.”
Something flickered across his face, and he made to retort, but then another voice spoke, and Helena’s heart froze in her chest.
“Yet, it does not explain why you would meet with such a man alone, Daughter.”
It seemed an eternity before Helena could turn and face the man who spoke. Meanwhile, Emma moved closer, her blue eyes bright with alarm and protectiveness. She put an arm around Helena, frowning at the man who approached, tall and wrapped in furs, with a terrible fury in dark eyes behind thick lenses.
He spoke again in a sharp voice, “Truly, when I think you cannot be more of a disappointment.”
Helena thought she might be sick, and if Emma had not been supporting her, she might have fallen over. Her breath came in short, painful gasps, and she whispered, “What are you—how are you here?”
“Lena!” shouted a sweet voice.
At that, Helena stepped out of Emma’s grasp and opened her arms as her younger sister came loping up—all elbows and graceless limbs—and threw herself into her arms.
“I missed you. And isn’t Scotland so much grander than folk say? Just imagine—this could have been our castle. What a dream.”
Helena’s heart clenched, and she pressed a kiss to Sophia’s bright hair even as she cast a glance at her father, who gave her a sardonic look.
“Yes, I confess I wondered the same, Helena,” Lord Lovell said. “You foolish whelp, how could you let your best friend marry your intended? I thought you had come to put a stop to this and restore our honor. Instead, you’re making a muck of things as usual, for all that you think you’re so clever.” He shook his head. “Nothing but a daft woman, of course.”
Helena flinched and gritted her teeth, even as tears pricked her eyes. It was bad enough that Laird MacCabe had teased and played games with her, revealing that they’d met andkissed, and now her father was here to pile on the public humiliation.
Perhaps he’ll finally disown me.
But deep down, she knew he never would. Not when he could subject her to endless torment instead. Just as he did with her poor, clever, beleaguered mother.
“How could my men not inform me of your wickedness, I wonder,” her father grumbled to himself. “Come here, girl.” Then, he whistled and shouted into the night, “Draven! Combs! Come on out, lads.”
“You had men following Helena?” Emma demanded, and Helena sensed Laird Ronson moving forward. “No, Grant, I shall not stand for this.”
Helena clung to Sophia for a moment longer before she straightened and made to step forward, but then Laird MacCabe was there.
“Ye willnae see those lowlifes ever again, Lord Lovell,” he said in a dark, stern voice that sent a pulse through Helena. She stared at him, then at her father, who gaped at the tall Laird. “After all, it’s been several months. Ye didnae wonder when they failed to show up?”
“Of course not. They needed to keep following her,” her father blustered. “What—you had something to do with this, you brigand?”
Helena took a step forward, two dull thuds of shock going through her—at her father’s uncouthness and at what Laird MacCabe was implying.
“Wait, but I didn’t ask you…”
The Laird turned to look at her, an aloof and stern warrior. “Aye, ye didnae, but ‘tis a good thing I did what I did,” he said, and she could only stare. “They got what they deserved after speakin’ about Lady Helena in a crass way, never mind what they planned to do to her.”
