Page 32 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
CHAPTER 13
This time,Helena sensed the Laird behind the order, and for a moment, she almost obeyed. But some other instinct whispered to her and kept her in the room.
Distract him.
“How can I, with all this racket?” she inquired lightly.
Again, she wondered at him using her sister’s pet name for her, even as she also suspected that he wanted her to ask or tell him to stop.
“Do you want another drink?”
A flicker of amusement as he glanced at her, then brushed past her and poured it himself.
Damien went and sat in a huge armchair by the fire, sipping his drink and closing his eyes. Again, silence stretched, and Helena fidgeted. It did not seem like she should be here, and as more time passed, she felt exhaustion creeping in, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to be here. Still, she could not very well leave Damien in this state.
Wandering over, Helena let her fingers drift over the spines of books on the wide shelves along the walls. She smiled as she spotted an old, familiar friend—The Acharnians, one of the first Greek comedies she’d read.
“Do you have a favorite comedic work by the Greeks? I’m fond ofLysistrataandThe Knights.”
Only the crackle of the fire answered her, and when she looked back, Damien still had his eyes closed but was resting his head on his hand. It sent a twist of nerves through her, and she wondered if she was pushing too hard, as her father often bitterly complained.
“Heaven knows you have taught me patience, Daughter, but even I am not inexhaustible.”
Biting the inside of her cheek, Helena put the book back and moved on, then spotted a book of poems by Scottish bards.
“Oh, does this have theSeafarerin it? I’ve always wanted to read it. May I…?” she trailed off and cursed herself.
How quickly she was forgetting herself. Simply because Damien had been kind and generous in most matters did not mean that he wanted a bluestocking borrowing his books. Her stepbrother had been horrified at the mere idea of her looking at them.
She put an unsteady hand on her head. Goodness, what was wrong with her? Why did she feel so wrong-footed and uncertain? Was it because she was tired, or was it the intense silence Damien was keeping—the most silent he’d been in all the time they’d known each other?
I’ve never known him to ignore me, but perhaps it is because we’re in his home?—
“Take whatever ye damn well please, Lena. They’re all yers as well now.”
Helena froze, her heartbeat loud in her ears, and then she turned to see Damien surveying her with an air of irony.
“What?”
“Truly?” she asked, hoping he did not see how she trembled.
Another strange thing—Lady Highbrow was never rattled.
He paused for a moment, and she knew he’d seen. Then, he said, “Truly. Now, lass, off with ye.”
“Is there a book you would recommend?” Helena asked before she could stop herself.
Damien closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. Helena plucked the Scottish poetry book and then went to sit in the chair across from him, tucking it into the pocket of her dressing gown before leaning forward. “Or if you have a favorite, I should like to read that.”
Damien sighed and did not open his eyes, though she did not miss the way his knuckles turned white around his glass as thunder rumbled outside. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Helena murmured. “Strange how sometimes a stormy night makes it feel as though it will never end.”
Damien did not answer, and she pulled on one of her braids, thinking rapidly.
Drink did not seem to help him, but back in the clearing, she’d managed to distract him. She’d just prattled on about Homer, so perhaps that was what she needed to do now—distract him with the Greeks.
“Zeus is in a terrible mood, aye?” she asked and sat back, drumming her fingers on the book.
