Page 31 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Another crash had come, a near-echo of the thunder outside, but this was inside the castle. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she slipped out of bed, slipping her boots on her and then grabbing the heavy dressing gown that had been left for her. It was a bit too big, but it kept her warm as she crept to the door.
Another bang, this one closer, and shouts. Her breath caught. Were they under attack? Or was someone in a drunken rage?
Then, she heard another roar and asmash, and she realized that she knew that voice.
With a huff, Helena wrenched her door open and flew down the hall, passing a knot of flustered servants who all bowed, then scattered as another curse came.
“I will handle this,” she called softly. “Keep everyone away.”
Approaching a door from where cursing and then a crash came, Helena took a deep breath and then entered.
“Are you trying to wake the whole castle, My Laird?” she asked in a wry tone, then panic seized her.
Damien was breathing hard, his hands braced on the desk, his head hanging down. His hair was wild about his face, and tension rippled through his body.
“Damien. Are you well?”
She made to move closer to him, but a low snarl stopped her. “Dinnae.”
“You don’t even know what to do,” she couldn’t help but retort, watching her husband-to-be struggle to breathe, as though it took all the effort of his body and mind.
Meanwhile, her entire body burned with the desire to go to him, to soothe him, and she took a few silent steps closer.
“Ye stubborn minx,” Damien muttered and shoved up from the desk, pushing his hair out of his face.
Helena’s heart flipped as she beheld him in a loose white shirt, gaping open to reveal dark chest hair and the edge of pectoral muscles, and dark breeches, and bare feet. He looked as though he’d just come from ravishing a fair maiden in a bard’s tale.
He’s so—so beautiful.
Her fingers tingled as she imagined herself cradling his face, soothing him with her touch, and pulling his head down to her shoulder. Holding him and running her hands through his hair.
“What is that goddamn look?” he bit out, and she jumped. “Is it because I dinnae have me eyepatch on?”
Helena blinked. “Oh, I did not realize…”
She took in the scarred side of his face, the blue eye gone to silver, and her chest convulsed with agony. That was no normal injury, and it must have caused him so much pain.
Damien stared at her for a moment, and the awful tension in the room lessened a bit, then he snorted and turned away. Stalking to the window, he glared out, and she stared at the hard lines of his muscular back.
In this room, in the soft firelight, with the storm raging outside, she’d never felt so aware of the promises and future between them.
Soon, they would marry, and then one day, they would consummate their union. She would see him unclothed, then touch him?—
“Ye need to go.”
Her breath hitched, and for a wild moment, she thought it was because Damien had sensed the direction her thoughts were taking. Then, she shook herself and moved to a sideboard, where a decanter of whisky and a glass awaited. She might not know much about men, but she knew what helped calm her father when he was in a mood.
Taking a deep breath, she poured Damien a glass, and he stirred at the sound of it. His eye narrowed on her as she carefully lifted it and walked over to him, hoping that her face was serene as her nerves rioted.
What if he took the glass and threw it at her for giving him too much or too little, then threatened to strike her—or simply did? Her father had done it more than once.
But when she got closer, some of the tension left her, even though her chest still ached. No matter the hell Damien had found himself in, he would not do such a thing. Thanks to her father, she had an unerring instinct about truly dangerous men.
She gave him a small smile as she held out the glass, and he gently took it. He took a sip, then stared down at the glass and took a deep breath.
When he looked at her again, the silence between them grew taut, and Helena felt her skin tingling. She’d never imagined that one might find refuge in words, but this shared space of soft breaths, intense rain and wind, and fire felt like a language she might like to learn. One that she suspected Damien knew well and could teach her.
Then, he took another long sip, finishing off his drink, and turned back to the window. “Go back to bed, Lena.”
