Page 35 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“Nay,” Damien said in an intense voice, though it was soft. “I ken what true affection looks like. I saw it every day between me faither and maither. ‘Twas nae skin deep, butsouldeep. They looked at each other as though they were a sky full of falling stars over a still ocean, stealin’ kisses in corners, always defendin’ each other, though lovin’ a bit of a row and a jest—” He broke off, seemingly catching himself, and Helena swore there was a faint flush on his cheeks. “Yer faither is a right arse. And if he couldget his head out of it, then perhaps he could’ve loved yer maither the way she deserved.”
Helena pressed her hands against her chest, and she suddenly felt the weight of the Scottish poetry book against her leg, in her pocket.
He reads poetry, I think.A Scottish warrior would.
“Perhaps. He did always say he loved her, but I suppose I never saw proof of it, like you say.”
“And that she hid her work from him, lass,” Damien said softly. “I ken that ye ken—I see it in yer eyes.”
Helena’s throat tightened, and she gazed at the fire. The silence stretched between them for several moments, and then he spoke again.
“Was it a play?”
“Iphigenia en Tauris,” she answered and looked at him. His eyebrows were raised. “Yes. Not yet fully translated into English. It’s exciting.”
“I should like to read that,” he said. “Verra much.”
“I have some of her translated poetry, too,” Helena said, all eagerness, even as something akin to frantic wings beat againsther breastbone. “And some of her own writing. The scraps left. She was so different from the woman I remember. As if she was a different person, then she became my father’s wife, and that was…” she trailed off as misery rose, and her breathing grew shallow.
Again, tiredness hit her, and she cursed herself for speaking so to a laird. He would not appreciate the insinuation that becoming his wife would consume her, would be a tragedy, a loss?—
“Ye arenae yer maither, lass,” Damien said, and she stood up. He gazed up at her for a moment. “Ye willnae lose yerself. I am nae the kind of man who needs to cannibalize those around him for power or amusement.”
“You say that now,” Helena blurted out, then gasped and inclined her head. “Apologies, I am too tired for this conversation. I’ll go now, as you asked.” But Damien was there, catching her arms. “Please, let me go. I know I spoke out of turn?—”
“Ye did nay such thing,” Damien said in a fierce tone. “Speak how ye like.” She sensed his gaze on her. “I dinnae like this side of ye, lass. I ken that ye are tired, and I apologize for wakin’ ye, but at the same time, I am glad. Ye got me to listen, so now listen to me.” He gave her a small shake, and she looked up. “Yer faither is a petty tyrant, and I imagine he could be cruel in cunning ways that made ye blame yerself, hide yerself—as yer poor maither did.”
Helena tried to speak but could not, but she slowly lifted her eyes to his.
“That is the last thing I want,” Damien murmured. “Speak yer mind. Always.” To her surprise, his lips met her forehead, then he laughed in her ear and said, “Ye shall never have to hide. In fact, I shall demand the opposite.”
Overcome, Helena gave in to the urge and clutched at his shirt, pressing herself against him and her cheek into his shoulder. For a moment, she let herself have this comfort, and then she made to pull away. Only, Damien wrapped his arms around her and laughed in her ear again.
“Och, I think I’ve earned a proper hug, lass.” He tightened his arms around her as she made to pull away. “Go on, then.”
Her breath seemed to shake as she let go of his shirt. One hand slid up, curious, over the hard ridges of muscle and hooked around his neck. The other, she slid around his back. Her eyes closed as their bodies pressed together, and she inhaled his scent, then let her cheek rest on his shoulder.
“Thank you,” Helena murmured and turned her head, gazing at his strong, corded neck, his ear, and his dark hair.
“Mm, ye are welcome, lass,” he rumbled in her ear.
Helena struggled not to arch into him or tighten her grip. She did not want this to end.
“But I think ye are mistakin’ me gestures for selflessness again.” Then, his lips were at her ear, and he whispered, “Or are ye tryin’ to seduce me this time?”
Now Helena jerked back, and Damien let her go, only to seize her waist. She braced her hands on his shoulders, noting that the agony and distance on his face were completely gone, as though they had never been there. As though the storm was no longer raging outside, even as she saw a flash of lightning out the window.
No. Amusement and sin simmered in Damien’s gaze now, and then a playful, dangerous smirk appeared. Helena pressed her legs together and shook her head. Only, she wasn’t sure who or what she was saying no to.
Damien’s wicked thumbs began to brush back and forth, tracing her hipbones, and even the thick dressing gown couldn’t stop her from almost whimpering. Pleasure made her knees go weak and her fingers curl into his shirt. What if she leaned forward and kissed that bare skin, felt the brush of his chest hair against her cheek?
“What are ye thinkin’ of, I wonder,” Damien intoned, and her gaze flew up. His blue eye smoldered. “Here I am, admirin’ yer dream to translate the Greek Drama, finish what yer maither started, and yet…”
“What?” Helena nearly gasped as his hands squeezed.
“Yet I wonder if perhaps ye dinnae need yer year. If this is yer war on the north,Sassenach. Torturin’ me, seducin’ me into losin’ me mind.” He gave a mock mournful shake of his head. “Ye are English—ye play so dirty and sink so low.” His gaze glinted. “Right down to yer knees.”
CHAPTER 15
