Page 30 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“I stayed here when I first came to Morighe,” Lady Merie said in a soft voice, and Helena turned to see the woman wandering in, her fingers tracing the blue bedspread. “A lady is meant to have her own chambers, but within a week of bein’ married to Adair, these rooms had little purpose, so we kept them for guests—usually me sisters, and nowadays me nieces.” She smiled at Helena. “I am glad to see them occupied by a Morighe bride once again.”
“Thank you. I love to learn the story of a room.”
Merie nodded and put her hands on her hips, all business once again. “Right, yer hot water and food shall be here soon. Oh, and Lady Helena?—”
“Helena, I insist,” Helena interrupted softly.
A smile, reminiscent of Damien’s warmest grins, spread across Merie’s face. “Aye, Helena, then. When should I expect yer parents? Just so I can ensure that guest chambers are prepared. And should we wait for yer maither before we start thinkin’ about yer dress?”
Helena’s throat tightened, and she glanced away. “Ah, it is just my father and sister who will join us—probably soon. We shall write to them tomorrow, and I expect them within a week or so.” She paused. “My stepmother and stepbrother are in London.” She made a wry grimace, thinking how pleased her stepbrother must be to finally have her out of the way. “And my mother passed many years ago.”
“Och, poor dear, I am sorry.” Merie was suddenly there and gave her a brief, fierce hug. “Well, I am here, and I shall write to me sisters, so ye willnae have any lack of a woman’s opinion, all right?” She squeezed Helena’s hands. “Good night, dear.Welcome to Morighe. I couldnae be happier that ye are here. Believe me.”
Merie took her leave, and Helena wandered around the room, a little dazed. She was glad when two lady’s maids came bustling in, along with other servants, bringing hot water for the bath and covered platters.
Helena snacked as they prepared the bath. Then, she took a long, luxurious bath, attended to by capable Shona and Fiona. After, they insisted on braiding her hair in two long, thick tails while she supped and tried to stay still. But the two maids were best friends, and like everyone else in Morighe, they had a quick and clever wit that made her sides ache.
Of all things, I did not expect to laugh so much if I were to become a bride of the north.
No, all of Helena’s imaginings had involved dreary days, a surly Scot, and haggard people. Not this warmth, light, and laughter. Not this artistry and care—or such good food. She’d never been so satisfied with a simple meal of potatoes, meat, and bread.
“There,” Shona said and eyed Helena. “Ye havesuchlovely hair, Milady. I look forward to pinnin’ this up tomorrow, to be sure.”
“Thank you,” Helena said and stood up, picking up her glasses and peering at herself.
She leaned forward, touching her flushed cheeks, and then her hair, then leaned in closer.
“Is something wrong, Milady?” Fiona asked quickly.
Helena started and turned around, shaking her head. “No, I was just admiring your handiwork. I’ve never had such a lovely braid that was also comfortable.”
Both maids beamed at her.
I cannot tell them that they did such a good job that I hardly recognize myself.
Again, Helena looked at herself. Everything was the same, and yet she felt like she was seeing herself differently.
Or perhaps clearly,said a voice that sounded like Emma’s.
No.
Helena shook her head. If anything, it was her new surroundings, plus all the travel and fresh air. And the year ahead, the promise of time needed to finally finish her work.
Shona and Fiona cleaned up with alacrity, and then Helena was alone again. She sighed as she climbed into the glorious, large bed, sinking into the pillows, and her eyes fluttered shut. Only to wake up moments later.
She lay there, unsure of what woke her up. Then, she heard the familiar, intense patter of rain against the windows and the low whistle of the wind, which grew, and then she jumped as a bolt of lightning slashed across the sky. Snuggling under her blankets, Helena watched the windows, and she could not help it—she thought of Damien.
His rigid posture in the forest, the way his fists clenched and his knuckles turned white with every boom of thunder and the way he had shut down—the way he’d pushed her away.
Only to later pull her close.
“If I were to try and seduce ye… Helena, ye wouldnae stand a chance. Ye would beg for mercy in the end.”
Helena bit her lip as her hand crept up and pressed against her tingling neck. She could still remember the wicked pressure of Damien’s caress there, the tickle of his beard contrasted with soft lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, even as a small voice whispered in her head,He was right. You were about to beg for mercy—only not in the way you thought.
No, she wanted the mercy of relief, of more, of something she could not articulate but had her legs sliding together and heat coiling low in her belly. Even her breasts felt strange, and for a moment, she imagined Damien sliding his hands over them, touching, kissing?—
She gasped and rolled over, then bolted upright.
