Page 21 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“I willnae have a goddamn clear head until every single Viper is dead. They have been stirrin’ of late. The man I found—he had a letter on him mentionin’ a meeting that took place a month ago.” Damien shook his head. “So long as they live, they want revenge and Morighe. Just as I do.”
“Ye are a laird, ye cannae?—”
“Nay,” Damien said and shoved away from his friend, gripping the glass in his hand so tight that he thought he heard it crack. “I cannae wait for them to slink out of their hiding places. I must smoke them out. I must act first, so we arenae besieged again.”
“I ken that,” Grant said, but his voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance. “When they make their move, we shall ken. Ye seem to forget that we have men watchin’ and lookin’ into this—ye dinnae need to do this. How did ye even ken to be in Fallenworth, hm?”
Damien did not answer. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he remembered the taste of salt as he chased the man down, that brief flicker of terror that he might get away.
“I will always stand beside ye, Damien, but ye shouldnae drag a sweet, innocent lady into this mess because ye have become even more bloody impatient?—”
Hazel eyes flashed through Damien’s mind, and his blood thrummed. His arm moved of its own accord, and he threw his glass against the stone wall of the study, before rounding on Grant.
“Innocent, little lady? Dinnae make me laugh.” He jabbed a finger at the rest of the castle, his breath nearly breaking in his throat as he roared, “She asked me to kiss her.”
And I havenae been able to forget it since. The wench has bewitched me. Nearly kept me from me goddamned prey in Fallenworth, to boot.
Grant did not even blink or look at the smashed glass. Instead, he raised a single eyebrow, and Damien felt his temper cooling.
“Perhaps I overreacted a bit just now.”
“A bit?” Grant asked. “Sure. And now I think I’ve earned the full rights of this story.”
Damien growled and shook his head. “I dinnae have time for this, Grant.”
“Aye, ye will tell me how ye met, or ye can clean up that mess,” Grant said.
“I’ll do that anyway,” Damien muttered, even as he threw himself into a chair, and his shoulders slumped. “She did ask me.”
“Braither, I married her best friend. I believe ye.”
As he had yesterday, Damien ducked out of Banrose through the kitchens, jesting with Grant. Only, his heart felt heavier, though his step was lighter. Glancing back, he wondered if Helena had risen yet.
Grant caught him looking and gave him a grin. “Worried she might’ve changed her mind?”
“Nay, she’s too clever by half for that,” Damien retorted. “Wonderin’ how long I’ll be waitin’…” he trailed off as they walked through the stone arch and into the stable yard.
There, standing in a fine, dark, fur-lined cloak, stroking the nose of a horse, was his betrothed. She smiled down as the woman next to her said something.
Damien didn’t realize at first that the woman was Emma. Nor did he realize that he’d stopped until Grant lightly pushed his shoulder.
“Nae long at all.” Grant stepped next to him, calling out a greeting.
Emma turned to him with a bright smile, her hands flying out as she came to meet her husband, pulling him down for a kiss.
Damien’s gaze went back to Helena, who was now looking at him.
The early sun glinted off her glasses as she hastily turned, pretending to be checking over her things. He felt the urge to stroll over to her, to pretend to help and tease her about such poor subterfuge. Instead, he greeted Emma and winked at Grant.
Helena joined them, and the four of them stood talking for a few moments before Damien knew they had to get on the road. He glanced up at the sky, and tension rippled down his back.
Damn it all to hell—a bloody storm is rollin’ in.
“We need to go, now,” he said abruptly.
Emma gave him a stern look, to which Grant grinned, but then his expression changed as he glanced at the sky as well.
“Are ye sure?”
