Page 41 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
He did not look back once, and Orrick shot her a commiserating glance.
Turning back to the table, Helena shoved away her plate and grabbed her teacup, then grimaced. It had gone cold. Still, she took a bracing gulp, then stood up and hurried back to her suite.
Grateful Shona happened to be there. Helena told the sweet lass that she was not feeling well and climbed back into bed, where she slept until the next morning.
The next morning dawned bright and lovely, and Helena felt restored. Which also meant she felt mortified by her behavior the day before.
It was very unlike me,she wanted to tell the Laird.
She attributed it to exhaustion and nerves, plus the strange push and pull between herself and the Laird. But he’d agreed to the year, and she’d agreed to wed him. All would be well; they were just getting used to each other, and both had strong personalities, too much wit, and enough stubbornness between them to bring down mountains. It made sense that there would be friction.
However, when she arrived at breakfast and found the hall full of folk, lively conversation, and laughter all around her, she did not see Damien.
And her temper surged under her skin, while her fists clenched.
Holding her head high, she walked to the table and sat down, smiling around, introducing herself and inquiring after folk. Not looking around for Damien.
Not even when a wicked, little voice whispered in her head,Oh, not so pleasant, is it? To expect your spouse and not see them. This is exactly how Damien felt. Can you blame him for being so short with you?
The cloying frustration mingled with expectation was dreadful, and Helena was glad when breakfast came to an end. But Damien still did not appear, and then his mother gave her a puzzled look, catching her glancing at the door again.
“Och, forgive me, lass. With ye bein’ indisposed, perhaps ye dinnae ken, but Damien isnae here. He’s away on business for a few days.”
Helena felt as though all the air left her lungs as she gave Lady Merie a nod and laughed. “Of course,” she said lightly. “I should’ve known. He told me that might happen, though I admit, I did not think it would be so soon.”
“Me neither,” Lady Merie said wryly. “But we shall spend the day together, and I will introduce ye around.”
Yet, Helena could hear in the woman’s tone that she thought her errant son should be the one doing it.
Still, Helena plastered a smile on her face and set about doing the rounds with Lady Merie. She met everyone, from the kitchen cooks to the stable hands to the maids to the seamstresses and guards. Everyone was kind and lovely, and far more welcoming than she had secretly expected.
She thought at least a few would be furious about the fact that an English lady, so clearly a bluestocking, would be their future lady.
They call me Lady Highbrow,she wanted to warn them,and they do not mean it as a compliment.
Only, to say such a thing seemed to insult her people, especially since she got no sense that felt that way. If anything, sometimes she swore she saw relief in their eyes. So, even after an incredibly long day, her heart should have been light.
Except, Damien’s absence had pushed thorns into her heart, and they grew denser by the hour. Even when she tried to resume her translation, she made mistake after mistake and finally had to take a break. Her thoughts constantly turned to him, furious questions she wanted to ask him, along with the fruitless wish for him to think her unaffected.
You worried about me running off and then you do?was the question that came to her in the middle of that second night and dogged her for the next few days.
Days that took on a pleasant routine, despite the thorns, with ample time in the morning and afternoon for her translation and learning about her duties as Lady MacCabe.
Still, there were times—too many to keep track of, at this point—when lessons snagged or came to a halt because she needed the Laird.
It took everything in her not to inquire where he’d gone, or when he’d be back. Everyone seemed to assume that she knew, and she had no interest in telling them otherwise.
Still, four nights in found her standing at the window, twisting the end of her braid around her fingers, staring out as fine swirls of snow caught the waning embers of her fire. Her stomach twisted as she thought of Damien out in the storm, without a warm, thick cloak. Somehow, his cloak had ended up in her rooms, and she was sure he’d gone out with just a thin one.
Touching the cold glass, her heart pattering out a fast beat, Helena told herself that no one could see her or hear her thoughts—least of all Damien.
Still, the next thought seemed shy, peeking out of a deep, buried corner in her heart.
I hope wherever you are, Damien, you are safe and warm.
CHAPTER 17
The snowunderfoot was marked with boot prints, with men still going to and fro as night fell, and Damien standing in the middle, waiting for a report from Orrick.
