Page 27 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“Thank goodness for that,” Helena interjected. “Oh, it’s so much better. It’s—it’s wonderful. How do you ever leave?”
A chuckle slipped out of him, and she sensed his gaze on her. “Look at ye smile. I may have to stop callin’ ye aSassenachand jibin’ with ye about English foolishness.”
“About time,” Helena retorted and barely resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at him. “Though I do not really mind being called aSassenach. It has a nice ring to it.”
“Och, still. If ye are so taken with me castle, I fear we’ve already made ye into a Scot. ‘Tis nae a pretty pile, lass.” He nodded toward it. “It’s meant for survival.”
“I see that, but it’s also more, no? It’s purposeful and formidable, yes, but I don’t know. Morighe calls to me.” Helena caught Damien’s gaze, and her heart gave a nervousthumpas she said lightly, “Now, there’s a look I’ve never seen on your face before.”
Indeed, Damien’s face was a study, and then he let out a slow breath. “I see.”
“Oh? What do you see, Sir?”
“This is revenge for what happened in the clearing,” Damien drawled and her face warmed. “May I remind ye that ye asked me to try and seduce ye, Helena?”
CHAPTER 11
Helena’s mouth dropped open,and before she could protest, Damien winked at her and nudged his horse into a fast trot. When she followed, he began to gallop, and soon they were racing toward Morighe.
And it slowly occurred to her that Damien had purposefully avoided explaining what had made him look so… hopeful? But also, wariness had lurked in the lines of his face, and Helena found that it made her chest ache.
But she forgot all of that as they rode into the bailey under the grand, massive gate of Morighe, after crossing a huge bridge with a torrent of water racing underneath it to the sea. Or at least it sounded that way, for Helena could only see flashes of white and glints of water where the torches lit up the landscape below.
Glancing around, she thought the bridge seemed newer than the castle, made of stark white stone, while the castle had mellowed into an ombre with age. Up close, even in the dark, she couldtrace the strong lines of it, rambling along the hills. It gave the sense of a great stone lion, long settled in the swoops and dells of this part of the north, guarding it with an ancient and fierce dominance.
Her breath suddenly caught, and the legacy of this place, of Clan MacCabe, overwhelmed her. She’d read enough to understand what this meant on some level, yet to witness it in person, and to anticipate joining it?—
How can I hope to do such a thing?
Helena felt her very soul shrink back, the back of her neck hot and a tightness forming around her eyes. The same sickening sense that had wrapped around her when she’d received the Queen’s Edict now rose around her. That missive had felt like a mockery, after suffocating years of living under her father’s thumb, listening to her stepmother fret and moan about her bluestocking daughter, and enduring her stepbrother’s jibes.
And was this not the same? Why had Laird MacCabe done such a thing? Beyond practicalities, he could have asked for a far better bride from England, especially if Emma’s and Agnes’s marriages had persuaded the Queen to change the Edict.
“Lena—Lady Helena?” a voice asked.
Helena started, realizing that her horse had drawn to a halt in the middle of the bridge, sensing her distress. And this had alerted Damien, who now rode back, his face creased in concern.
“Have ye fallen ill, lass?” He caught her horse’s reins and peered at her. “Ye are too pale. Come in and let’s warm up, eat.”
“Wait—” Helena’s gloved hands caught Damien’s in a clumsy grip. “I…” She swallowed and met his fierce blue gaze. “Have we…?”
Have we made a terrible mistake?
She knew that she had few—if any—options, but she suddenly felt no better than the Queen, trapping lairds into her quest for power.
“Nay,” Damien said.
Something like a smile tugged at his lips, but his eye was grave and kind. It was a different side of him, and Helena felt her grip tighten, as though to prevent her from falling, even though they sat side by side on two strong horses.
“While I take heart that ye are so overwhelmed by MacCabe stonework,” he said in a soft voice, “ye need nae worry. Come in, warm up, and eat. Then, ye shall be returned to yerself.”
His hand rose, and for a wild moment, Helena thought he might press it to her face. Her entire body flamed with want for that comfort.
For all that Damien acted like a rogue at times, he had an uncanny talent for observation and a sense for what was needed—for whatsheneeded.
Suddenly, glad cries and whistles split the winter evening, interrupting their moment, and Damien turned with an easy grin as folk spilled out onto the bridge. In the front, a lanky, flame-haired man strode up, similarly arrayed with two swords. He spoke in Gaelic, merry yet laconic, and then his eyes flickered to Helena.
Surprise flashed there for a second, followed by a shrewd glance to Damien, and then he bowed deep. The others on the bridge followed suit.
