Page 16 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Helena was too taken aback to do anything except nod.
“Good,” he rumbled. “Now, listen. Thanks to yer friend and her twin, the Queen will nay longer require specific matches, ye ken?” He let go of her, and she gave a small shake of her head. “Lass, yer faither wanted ye to think that ye had further betrayed the Queen, that she had chosen another laird for ye. But she has done nay such thing. Instead, now we can use it to our advantage. Get what we both want.”
Again, everything felt surreal. The cold night, the bright stars twinkling above Laird MacCabe’s head, the snowy woods, and the rugged Scottish wilderness around them, despite the thick stone walls of Banrose.
“What do you want, My Laird?” Helena got out.
Surely not… me?
“Is it nae obvious?” he asked in a casual tone, as though the answer would not change the entire course of their future. “A bride.”
A bride?
She swallowed something bitter. Ah, of course. Now, it became clear. This was business, even if he was treating it like a lark, too.
“That is different from what I want,” she got out. “I wish to remain a spinster.”
“Under yer faither’s bloody thumb?” Laird MacCabe burst out and shook his head. “Milady, I think ye deserve better. And I also ken that ye meant to flee, but I also ken that men of yer faither’s ilk. He willnae let ye go.” His gaze became almost pitying, and Helena swallowed something hot. “Nae unless ye have a husband, I think.”
“You’re not wrong about that,” Helena admitted softly. “But, no… I…”
“I ken it cannae be because ye didnae enjoy our kiss,” Laird MacCabe said, his tone serious even as his eye danced. “Or if it is, I do beg ye to lie.”
Helena swallowed a laugh and shook her head. “No, no it’s nothing personal. I simply do not wish to marry.”
Laird MacCabe made a Scottish sound that might have been exasperation or amusement or understanding. Softly, he said, “Lass, I dinnae think ye can run from that fate any longer. Ye tried, and ‘twas a valiant effort. I do think ye might have had a time puttin’ Grant in his place—though I do think he was always meant to end up with Emma.”
“As do I,” Helena admitted warmly.
“But ye cannae defy the Edict—none of us can. Ye think Scottish lairds want to marry the shrinking violets of the ton?” He shook his head. “And yer faither…” He made a face. “He will make yer life hell. And mine, too. I might even be killed for sullyin’ a lady. Though I admit, I dinnae mind suffering an even worse fate for such a grand kiss.”
Helena’s stomach twisted, even though she knew he was teasing her. “I know that I would be in far more trouble than you would, Sir. You are still a laird.”
He shrugged.
Even though Helena saw the glimmer of mischief in his eye, she could not help but ask, “What is this cruel fate you speak of? What bigger trouble would you have?”
“I’m lookin’ at it,” he said, and Helena felt a flush of anger even as she bit back a laugh at his insouciant tone. “Still, best to err on the side of caution with the English—‘tis what me faither used to say.” His gaze dimmed. “A pity ye shall never meet…”
“Oh, is he no longer with us?” Helena asked, though she’d already guessed as such from other hints he’d dropped. And something about the look in his eye—something she recognized, since she’d also lost a parent.
Damien shook his head, and before Helena could speak, he said, “Are we agreed, Milady? Let us marry for convenience, aye? All I need is an heir, and I shall make yer life as comfortable as a dream.”
“Then I’m afraid we still have a problem,” Helena stated, her fists clenched, and her chin raised. “The only way I will accept is if we agree that there will be no children for the first year we are married.”
CHAPTER 7
Of all thethings he thought Lady Helena Lovell might say, that had been the furthest from Damien’s mind. A terrible feeling roiled through him, for he had to wonder why she would ask such a thing. Had some bastard tried to force himself on her, or did she think so lowly of him?
Inwardly, he shook himself. No, this was not about him, but her. Still, he would have to choose his next words carefully, for he thought they were at least reading the same book, if not the same page. Her sentiment, however, told him that he had not quite figured her out as much as he’d like to.
And hellfire, I would like to, lass.
Still, unease filled him as he struggled to come up with something to say as he thought back on their interactions tonight. She’d danced far longer than he had expected, hadn’t held her tongue, and had spoken her mind. But perhaps he’dalso overlooked the moments where she’d seemed upset or frustrated in favor of the fun.
He thought she appreciated a bit of bantering and such. Deep down, he knew she did, and now he knew why she sometimes held back.
Right now, though, she needed something else. Also, it was hard to miss how she was bracing herself, expecting the worst.
