Page 28 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“About time ye brought home a bride,” said the red-haired man as he stood straight and grinned at his Laird.
This close, he reminded Helena of a fox, and she also noted the fine scars that crisscrossed his face and hands. He seemed too young to carry so many scars. Like Damien.
Also, like Damien, he disarmed her with his smiles and yet seemed capable of exploding into movement at any moment.
“I am Orrick, Damien’s cousin by marriage and man-at-arms. Come in, Me Lady.”
Other hails and cries split the air, a horn blowing somewhere, and then Helena jolted as a drum started pounding. Next to her, Damien huffed out a laugh and shook his head.
“Orrick, we shall wake up half the country.”
“Aye, let us—our Laird has returned home, at long last,” said another man.
There was a whirlwind of folk coming to greet them.
Helena was still atop her horse, dazed, until suddenly strong hands were on her waist and she was pulled against a strong chest. Her hand flew out and hit Damien—Damien,who was carrying her—and he gave her an ironic look.
“What are you doing?”
“Carryin’ me bride-to-be across the threshold of Morighe,” he answered blithely, over cheers and fiddle music. “Tis tradition.”
“You are lying,” Helena tried to scold even as she smiled.
“Well, it should be,” he said and then glanced back. “Oye, Orrick, let ‘em celebrate a bit more, and then they should quiet down and go to bed. I’m sure we’re rousin’ old folk and children.”
“I’ll do me best,” Orrick called after him merrily.
Damien set Helena down in a square hall, imposing yet cozy, with tapestries and a low fire. Another hall stretched out in front of them, the shadows darker. Helena frowned before she realized that it opened up into a large room with a dim balcony overlooking it. Three other halls curved out of sight, and the terrible feeling from the bridge began to fade as her curiosity grew.
“Explore tomorrow,” Damien said. “Here, let me get yer cloak.”
“Oh,” Helena said, not sure that anyone besides Emma or a maid had ever helped her out of her cloak.
He took them both with ease, then her gloves, and shucked off his own, thinner cloak.
“Thank you.”
“Ye are welcome. Come on.”
He headed past her down a narrow hallway that she had not spotted before, and it twisted down to a large kitchen. A woman was hard at work there, speaking to another, who lit up at the sight of Damien. She was plump and strong, with silver hair twisted up in a clever braid and kind blue eyes. As she hurried forward, laughing and struggling to speak—and hide her tears—Helena noticed that she was also quite tall, almost the same height as her.
Damien embraced the woman, saying, “I kenned that ye would be here.”
The woman said something in Gaelic, pressing both hands to his face and shaking her head. She embraced him again and then mopped at her face, shaking her head.
“Ach, of course ye come sneakin’ in when we least expect ye, me son,” she said. Then, she started and stared at Helena. “Lord a mercy, who is this? Ye… Oh my.” Her eyes went wide, and she let out a shriek of joy, startling both Damien and Helena. “Oh my! Ye are an English Lady. Is this—?” She turned to Damien and nearly danced on the spot. “Is this yer promised bride?”
“Nay, Maither,” Damien said gravely. “’Tis Grant’s.”
“Damien,” Helena hissed.
His mother gave him a puzzled look. “Grant just married—?” Her hands went to her hips. “Ye absconded with his bride, did ye nae, boyo?”
“Aye, she was such a sweet sight, and when she asked me for a proper kiss—since Grant’s too polite—then begged me to take her to Morighe, how could I say nay?”
Damien’s mother simply stared at him while he stared back, expressionless. Helena felt flushed with heat and was about to speak up, desperate to clarify things?—
I was supposed to marry Laird Ronson, but he married my best friend—which inspired the Queen to change the Edict. I did ask your son for a kiss, but it’s not what you think…
