Page 34 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Delicious ripples ran up her spine, and she tried not to imagine what it might be like to feel that touch somewhere—anywhere else.
“You can try and pretend that it’s a lark, but I know the truth now.”
“Hm, we shall see,” Damien murmured. “I am a selfish bastard in many other ways, Lena. Give it time. Still, I will try to be a decent husband to ye. I can do that much.” His grin curved up his cheek. “Like now, I should tell ye that a Lady of Morighe never kneels—nae even to her Laird. But I like the look of ye gazin’ up at me, and those lips…” His thumb traced her lower lip, and she sucked in a breath. “Ye should stand up now, Milady, before I start gettin’ ideas.”
Eyes wide, realizing what he meant, Helena scrambled up and walked away, pressing her hands to her burning cheeks. She’d heard of such things, even seen a rather suggestive woodcut in her stepbrother’s rooms. And now, of course, it made sense that married people took carnal pleasures in such things, for when folks were man and wife…
“What are ye thinkin’ of, I wonder?”
Damien let out a wicked chuckle, and she took a deep breath before turning. Her husband-to-be had silently risen and now stood at the sideboard, pouring himself another drink.
“Go on, then. I’m verra curious.”
His blue eye twinkled at her over his glass as he drank, and her mouth went dry. She could not tell him! Even if he’d guessed.
“Wh-What a husband and wife—” she blurted out, and he all but ripped the glass away from his mouth, staring at her. “What they should like to read. Together.”
Damien’s grin was a slow, sinful thing, and he leaned against the wall, shrugging one shoulder. “I cannae say, but I can make inquiries.” His blue eye danced, and Helena cursed her foolish answer. “The libraries of Morighe are in need of an update, but perhaps there are some that should be kept in the bedchamber of the Laird and Lady.”
“Wait,” Helena said and pressed a hand to her stomach. “Are there books like that? In addition to…?”
Damien stood straight and put down his glass, even though it was still full. “To what?” he echoed, and Helena moved toward the door. “Nay, Helena, ye may nae flee now. Finish that sentence.”
“I-I meant, in addition to what one should put in a library,” Helena got out, with no idea of what she was saying. She felt almost dizzy, the room felt too warm, and her chest felt tight even though she was not wearing any stays. “Like Banrose.”
“Aye, Banrose,” Damien said and prowled toward her, even as she moved back toward the fireplace, though she did not trust herself to sit. Or stand. She had not felt like she had so many limbs since her debut. “Our library isnae as fine, to be sure, but the bastards had quite a head start on our clan.” He cocked his head as she moved behind her chair, pretending to lean on it and idly warm her hands by the fire. “With yer help, I believe we can rival it. Buy what ye want, ye hear me?”
“I hear you,” Helena said and breathed out as he sat again.
“There is a condition, though,” Damien added and gestured to the chair. Helena came and sat, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me what ye need yer one year for.” He held up a hand. “Listen to me. Nae why. I already agreed. This is curiosity—we have that in common, lass.”
Her instinct was to shrink back, to hide, to cut him with a caustic comment and prevent him from returning. Instead, she took a deep breath and looked at the fire.
Why is this so hard?
“I haven’t told anyone,” she whispered.
“Nae even Emma?”
Lifting her head, Helena gave a slow shake of her head. “No. It’s too—too close to my heart for me to speak of, I think.” She swallowed. “I want to finish a translation that my mother started.”
Damien sat back and gazed at her as though he were drinking in every word. When he did not speak, Helena grasped her elbows and sat forward, glancing toward the door as though her father might burst in and scold her.
“It’s just us, lass,” Damien said, and her eyes flicked back to him. “Go on. Yer maither was a translator, then?”
Helena gave a slow shake of her head. “I’m not sure. She loved languages, though, and I have her gift. I’m a quick study. Give me a year or two, and I shall know Gaelic, I warn you.”
Damien let out a bark of laughter. “I look forward to it.”
She gave him a quick smile and then turned inward, thinking of the shadowed library, the locked door that she had picked, and the small room within. All the papers, the dried-up quills, the dust and disarray. Her mother’s small study, hidden and forgotten, until she stumbled upon it. She’d had to move fast and clean it out, for if the servants or her father had gotten wind of it, they would have burned everything.
She told this to Damien, who frowned. “Burn? Why?”
“My mother’s memory is a burr under the saddle for my father,” she said. “He loved her in his own way, but it was a smothering, dictatorial, and pedantic relationship. It seemed she could do nothing right but be beautiful. However, after Sophia’s birth, she struggled and grew too thin, too lackluster, as he often said. She simply… was not the same.”
“How terrible, to nae help her through it,” Damien murmured. “And that isnae love, lass.”
Helena let out a rough laugh. “Unfortunately, I think it often is.”
