Page 17 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Damien cursed her father, that manipulative bastard.
“I have shocked you,” Lady Helena finally said, a bit wearily, and offered him a tight smile.
“I cannae deny it, lass. Ye have,” he said. “For I am nae the type of man, barrin’ me appearance and rough edges, that would force ye to do something ye dinnae want to do.”
“Oh,” Lady Helena said, her eyes round and wide, and she shook her head. “I know that. That’s not why I said it.”
Damien raised an eyebrow. “Bairns are to be expected, ye ken, and especially during the first year of marriage.” He folded his arms as her cheeks flushed with a hint of rose. “Or mayhap I should say that I expect an heir sooner rather than later—as it is me only reason for enterin’ marriage. Especially one of convenience.”
Helena’s face reddened, her chest rising and falling faster, and she shook her head. He watched her turn away, biting her lip, before she said softly, “Of course, I understand that, and I won’t deny you. But if we are going to marry, I must have a year.” Damien stared at her. “I cannot give you an heir until a year has passed.”
His hands clenched, and he couldn’t help it—he reached for her and turned her around to face him. “Speak plainly, woman, afore ye drive me mad.”
Lady Helena had the audacity to give him an imploring look with those bewitching hazel eyes, and he almost gave in, before he gritted out, “Go on, then, Helena.”
“That’s how long I need,” she murmured, biting her lip again, suddenly looking younger than she had in all the time they’d spent together. So uncertain that it smote even his wicked, unrepentant heart.
“For what?” he asked softly. Too softly.
She was getting to him.
She did not answer, so he began to make guesses.
“To make me fall in love with ye, mayhap?” Damien couldn’t help but smile a little. “Lass, ye should ken that will never happen—I am nae the type of man to fall.”
Helena pulled free and rolled her eyes. “Spare me your ego, Laird MacCabe. Not everything revolves around you. I am no fool—I know exactly what you are proposing with a marriage of convenience, and I think you are right…” She swallowed. “This is my best chance.”
“Explain,” he said, growing impatient.
“I have to finish something first.”
Curiosity fired off in his brain, and he studied her face, her eyes lost in some bright distance.
What on earth could she mean to finish—and why a year? Worse, she’d piqued his interest enough that he could sense that he was starting to come around. He’d never be bored with this English lass—or worry about scaring her off.
Or so he hoped.
“Tell me this, Helena.” She started and met his eye. “D’ye plan to run away again?”
She gave him one of those small, curving smiles that felt like a dirk against his breastbone, and he ignored the sparks it set off.
“No, My Laird. You were right about that.” She glanced in the direction of Banrose Castle, where her father had gone. “I have learned my lesson—I cannot hope to hide from this fate.”
“I mean to hold ye to that,” Damien warned. “Nay runnin’ off again.” He grinned. “Though I confess, it might be good fun to chase ye down.”
Helena gave him a look, then said, “It seems you are considering giving me my year, then, Sir. I would greatly appreciate it, as you’d help me make a dream come true.”
Now, Damien could not ignore those restless sparks under his skin, and he flexed his hands to keep himself from moving closer, to stop himself from lifting her dark hair and whispering his questions against her neck, to see if he might tease out the answers to her perplexing mysteries with another kiss.
Or if it might reveal more.
“Ye have me in yer crosshairs, I confess,” Damien said. “Tell me more about this dream.”
“I will do more than that—I will show you.” Helena lifted her chin. “But you must agree to my condition first, My Laird.”
Damien felt a slow grin creep over his face and took a step closer, waiting for her to step away, but she merely pulled in a deep breath, never wavering.
Oh, how he liked that about this lass.
