Page 26 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Smiling to himself, remembering the softness of her skin, the sweet sound she’d made, and the look in her eyes, Damien found himself looking forward to Helena’s year.
It seemed that it would not be so terrible to seduce his wife, after all.
As though to make up for that first storm, the rest of their travel north to Galeclere went smoothly. The weather proved fine, if abit colder than this time of year warranted, and Helena found herself glad for Damien’s cloak.
More than once, she’d taken it off and tried to offer it back. Every time, he would huff a breath, gaze up at the sky for a moment, and then take it—only to wrap it around her more firmly. The last time, he’d all but pinned her inside his cloak as he mock-glared at her.
How long do we have to stand like this till ye ken that what is mine is also yers, Lady Helena?
Helena, at first, had been tempted to see how long they might battle out their wills. Only, she did not want to linger outside for more than was necessary. So, she’d relented—and stopped offering it back.
Damien had said that the ride from Banrose typically took him a week, but he did not expect her to keep up with his pace. Yet, it seemed they would reach his lands in that time. They stayed in quaint, humble inns along the way, always in separate rooms, although he’d teased her a few times, offering to book only one if she wanted.
She’d calmly refused him, even if her heart had beat wildly under her breastbone and she would recall the way he’d pinned her against his front, his hard body bracketing hers, then his soft lips teasing up her neck?—
“We’ve passed the border of Galeclere,” Damien said, and she jerked back to reality.
They were riding up a road trodden down with hoofprints, sleigh runners, and wagon wheels, with the snow rising to almost a foot on either side. The sun was falling in a pink and gold tumble to the horizon, and Helena wondered if they would make it before they lost the light.
“Moonrise,” Damien said, and she glanced at him. He winked at her. “I can see you holdin’ back all yer questions, Socrates. But go on—out with them. Ye should ken yer land, yer people, and all that.”
Helena admitted that she was interested, and Damien explained that they were on the main road that led up to Morighe—the name of his castle—and how the farms and towns sprawled northward, hugging the curve of the sea.
“We’re on the sea?” Helena blurted out and inhaled.
She’d thought she’d caught tantalizing whiffs of it but told herself she was imagining it.
“Aye, the sea is all around us, lass. The Firth of Lorn is what it’s called, and we hearken to its moods, its seasons, and its bounty.” He sighed. “And sometimes its peril. Can be a stormy, unpredictable place, so I shall have to teach ye a few things about readin’ the sky and water, but I imagine ye shall take to it quickly.” He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s nae an expression I’ve seen on yer face before.”
Helena bit her lip, yet she was unable to school her features. She supposed she must look rather… well,overwhelmed. So gratefulthat she might swoon. Indeed, her hands were trembling, and her heart seemed to be, too.
Damien clucked and slowed his horse, now gazing at her with concern. “Are ye all right?”
“I always wanted to live by the sea,” she whispered. “Dreamed of it. But I never thought it could happen. And now you say that it’s at our doorstep? I…” She looked down and felt heat rise in her face as her horse’s glossy mane became blurry.
What on earth was wrong with her?
A white cloth appeared in her vision, and she snatched it with a watery laugh, dabbing at her eyes.
“You must think me rather foolish,” she murmured.
“Nae at all,” Damien said in that low and warm voice that made her stomach flutter. “I’m glad to see ye so moved—and wishin’ we were arrivin’ in the daylight so ye could see it proper.”
Helena gave him a quick smile and handed back the handkerchief, watching as he absently tucked it into his sleeve. A small thrill ran through her, and she shook it off, instead asking about the trades and interests of his people, who had both land and sea.
He grinned at that, and their conversation proved so enrapturing that Helena barely noticed when they lost the lightand found herself watching him. His strong legs squeezing his horse, His light grip on the reins, the way his blue eye darted around them to check for danger, and the way his smile seemed to pull his left cheek before his right one.
“As I said,” he rumbled, glancing at her with a smile. “Moonrise and Morighe.”
Helena’s breath caught. The stout, strong castle was a shadow pinpricked with lighted windows against a dark, heaving sea. It seemed wide, rather than tall, and something about it made her think of an ancient stone creature lost in deep, deep contemplation.
This also gave it a rather brooding, austere air, and it was not as grand or lovely as other castles or homes she’d visited. But she loved it, with a quick, fierce gladness that surprised her.
Something warmed in her belly as she gazed and gazed, and realized she would not have to stop gazing.
Something in her soul, too, was glad of Morighe. Something that she had not even realized was so knotted up and frantic and restless eased. Again, she felt those absurd tears welling up in her eyes.
“I ken that it’s nae an English manor?—”
