Page 2 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“Is it true that the lady has not been caught yet?” someone asked near her, and she jumped, before realizing they weren’t speaking to her.
Someone else answered in the affirmative, and Helena watched them walk ahead, now speaking about thereverdie, a less famous but rollicking spring festival celebrated across Scotland and the Uplands of England.
As though in response, music came from up ahead, and Helena felt drawn toward it, even though she knew she should bunker down and find an inn. She always enjoyed music and dancing, even though no one would ever suspect a bluestocking with glasses of such a thing.
Helena glanced back for one final look, watching the notices flutter in the breeze, and wondering where Emma was.
At that moment, two men emerged from the shadows, their faces hard and their gazes keen—locked onto her. A bolt of nerves ranup her spine, and she sucked in a sharp breath before walking faster.
Her eyes darted from side to side as she listened hard, wincing when the sound of boot steps echoed behind hers. She managed to slip into a crowd moving toward a square where sparks from a bonfire shot into the air and the music had grown wilder.
Don’t look back, she told herself, even though she knew she could feel those cruel eyes boring into the back of her hood.
While there might not be notices up for the more elusive, second runaway lady, the bluestocking worth far less than her best friend, Lady Emma Wells, Helena was a prize, nonetheless.
After all, by the Queen’s Edict, Emma and Helena had both been promised to Highland Lairds.
Something her father was keen on seeing through, never mind her foolish stepbrother and stepmother. Those hunters were probably sent by them, as they’d been the most relentless and the hardest to escape—probably warned about her cunning by her father.
Rage spiked low in her belly. He never underestimated her, but he constantly sought to diminish and control her.
Her hands tightened around her bag’s straps. Though she did not wish to wed, she sometimes longed for an arrangement where things could be agreeable between her and her husband—a man who would protect her from her father’s taunts and temper, who would let her be free, who would let her be—allof her. Intelligent, prickly, focused?—
“Lovell!” someone shouted.
Helena couldn’t help it—her shoulders rose to her ears.
“You cannot get away.”
Swallowing hard, Helena moved faster, even as people around her stirred, and she thought she heard someone ask, “Lovell? Isn’t that the other missing English Lady?”
In her attempts to break free of the crowd, someone knocked into her, and she went stumbling toward the dancers. An idea came to her mind, and she straightened, her eyes scanning the crowd. There was a mix of sailors, townsfolk, and even some Scots mingling, laughing and toasting. She saw one man, but he was too genial. Another was offering a flower to a maiden.
Just as she was about to despair, a man stepped out of the shadow of an alley and folded his arms, glaring at the crowd.
One of the tallest men there, he was strong and lean, with broad shoulders, a mess of dark curls, and a tan, rugged face covered in a thick beard. The lines of his face were fascinating, for he was handsome in a way that Helena had never seen before—brutal and bold, like an ancient king. Indeed, his eyepatch, scars, and cold air of purpose only seemed to amplify her fancy.
Helena could not fathom what such a terrifying man was doing here of all places. A sailor from the north, perhaps, or a Scottish warrior, for who else would need two large blades? But no matter, he would do.
Indeed, other folk had noticed him and were pulling away, some staring in outright shock. She saw him notice, and a smirk flitted over his face.
Better and better,she mused, even though she knew she shouldnotbe thinking such a thing.
Hurrying forward, Helena adjusted her bag so that it sat on her lower back, pushed up her glasses, and fixed her hood. She heard another shout of her name, and the man in front of her glanced toward the sound, his one bright blue eye roving over the crowd before landing on her. His gaze narrowed, flicked away, and then returned when he realized she was coming toward him.
He straightened as she marched up to him, her heart pounding, and she told herself it was from the nerves.
Not at all from the electric sensation that danced under her skin as she drew closer or the excited jolt that went through her as his eyebrow rose with interest. And if her voice was higher than usual, a bit breathless, that was to be expected—for who else would ask such a man such a question?
“Would you care to dance?”
CHAPTER 2
A hush fell around them,and Helena started, glancing from side to side before she could stop herself. But even the music had faltered, and more than one gaze met hers, wide and alarmed. She found herself bristling, and her eyebrows knitted together.
Why, how rude.
“Ye’re askin’ me, love?” came a low, teasing voice, and her breath caught, her heart skittering with nerves. “Are ye quite sure?”
