Page 22 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“Of course,” Damien said easily. “Thanks for puttin’ up with me in-laws, by the by. We’ll send for ‘em as soon as we’re settled.”
Grant scowled and muttered something about deserving to be caught in a bloody storm, before moving forward to give Damien a rough hug. There was a round of embraces, and then Damien went to help Helena onto her horse, but she’d already swung up with practiced ease.
Mounting his horse, this time he did not look back to ensure that she kept pace—he knew she would follow.
And though it could have been yesterday morning when he rode out to cool his boiling blood, everything had changed since then.
He drew his horse to a halt when they’d come to the final rise from which one could see Banrose in its entirety and the curve of the Loch. Helena pulled up beside him, and he looked over at her.
She nodded, her gaze steady, and said, “I have not changed my mind.” A pause. “Have you?”
“Oh, lass, ye couldnae be so lucky,” Damien purred. “Ye are stuck with me.”
He thought that might push her to jest with him. Instead, she frowned and looked him over. “Then what troubles you, My Laird?”
Damien drew back and felt his face twist into a scowl. Damn this woman for thinking that she could read him.
“Ye, continuin’ to call me ‘My Laird.’ Actin’ too English, love, when I ken that ye’re as wild as any of us here in the north.” He winked. “Call me Damien.”
And with that, he spurred his horse on, riding hard. His blood was up, and he wanted to see if his wife-to-be would keep pace or demand that he slow down.
She did neither, instead keeping at a pace that kept him in sight until he was forced to slow down. He wanted to tell her that they needed to hurry, that they should press for the next town before the wind picked up more.
Only, the wind was picking up a lot faster than he’d anticipated, and soon snow began to fall, then rain, and then, finally, a rumble of thunder.
“Thunder snow?” he heard Helena exclaim over the wind. “I’ve read of such things?—”
Damien felt his fury rise as he realized that the daft thing had stopped in the road and was staring upward, holding her hood on her head. “What are ye doin’? We need to find shelter.”
“This is incredible,” Helena said.
Damien growled, riding back and grabbing her horse’s reins. He led them off the road and into the woods, making for an area of dense pines where they would wait out this stramash.
“I would’ve liked to see lightning.”
“Too damn bad,” Damien said as he swung down and set about tethering the horses. “We cannae risk one of them boltin’.”
“They both seem calm,” Helena said and dismounted, albeit less gracefully than she had when mounting. “Are you?”
He barely managed not to flinch. “Enough questions.”
“Well, what else are we supposed to do while we wait out the storm?” she asked and pushed up her glasses.
Damien leaned against a stone and glared at her.
“You know that won’t work. Hm.” She seemed to cast around for something to ask. “Why were you in Fallenworth that day?”
Now Damien did start, and his fists clenched.
Of all bloody things to ask.
He knew she meant nothing by it, and yet that did nothing to cool his temper. “Never ye mind.”
“All right,” Helena said and bit her lip. “How long have ye been a laird?”
Damien clenched his jaw. “Almost seven years.”
“Oh,” Helena said and bit her lip. She came to lean next to him against the rock. “Did you travel much? For school? Or did you have a tutor?”
