Page 50 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
“Let her go, ye bastard,” Damien snarled, but his voice sounded distant and strange, the roar of a storm coming in through the broken windows.
Helena stilled at the sight of the blade and then tossed her head. Now, she looked younger in pale blue, with her hair braided away from her face. “I am not afraid of you.”
“Nay, more’s the pity,” Lachlan said and dragged the back of the blade across her face while Damien shoved and slammed his fists soundlessly on this bloody impossible glass. “But he is.”
“Lies,” Helena hissed.
Damien felt a swell of affection even as he felt a bolt of terror.
“Aye, lass, this blade cut out his heart once, and I think it can again.”
“Christ, nay, please—kill me instead,” Damien all but screamed, his throat raw.
Lachlan tossed him a contemptuous smile, lifted the blade, and plunged it down, aiming for Helena’s heart?—
A thud jolted Damien awake, and he tried to sit upright, his hand grasping the material of his damp shirt over his pounding heart. Uneven breaths gusted out of him, then he stilled, realizing that something—nay, someone else had woken him.
Helena sat on the wide stool across from him, straightening from where she’d retrieved the book that had fallen to the floor. She gave him a wry look.
“I tried several times to wake you, but it seems only a book falling to the floor has the power to do that.”
Damien stared at her, his chest feeling hot and strange. “How…?”
Fragments of his nightmare still clung to him, and the room felt distant, while Helena seemed unreal.
He had to be still dreaming. How else could she be here, wearing a light and pretty dressing gown, with her hair loosely pinned back—a vision that seemed evoked by his desire?
Her smile softened, and his heart raced.
I am dreamin’.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Did you not want me to wake you up?” She tilted her head to the side, and behind her glasses, her eyes were filled with endless compassion. “It seemed you were having such a terrible dream, Damien.”
He closed his eyes and dragged a hand over his face, exhaustion pulling at him. “I was, but now it appears it’s one of the other kinds of nightly torments.”
There was no response.
Damien stirred, bemused, and opened his eyes to find Helena thrusting a glass of ale at him. “Perhaps this will help.”
His dry throat agreed, and he huffed a laugh, before downing it. “Thank ye.”
It did help, but his thoughts were still snared in that bloody nightmare, and that shite would not do. Then, Helena took his glass and refilled it.
“What are ye doin’?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Refilling your glass. Is that not obvious?”
“Ye ken what I meant, Hel,” Damien said and sat up fully, letting his feet hit the floor and eyeing the woman hovering over him. He glanced at the windows and saw the night pressing in. “What time is it?”
“Half past nine, I think,” Helena said. “You slept through dinner.”
His stomach growled at that point, and a small smile appeared on her lips, sending a bolt of heat through him. He could not deal with her, his nightmare, and these close quarters at half past nine on an empty stomach.
When he was about to tell her as much, she added, “That’s why I brought you supper.”
Damien’s chest swelled as he pulled in a slow breath, watching Helena flutter over to the sideboard, where a covered tray sat, and now the nightmare began to lose its grip. He still couldn’t be sure if he was dreaming, but he didn’t give a damn.
“You are not dreaming,” Helena said tartly, tossing him a glance over her shoulder. “I can hear you muttering to yourself, you know.”
