Page 51 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
A laugh escaped from deep within Damien, and he let his head hang down, his exhaustion rolling over him like strong whisky. “Ye mistake me, love.” Again, he laughed and rubbed at his temples, which did nothing to help him wake up. “Feck.”
He wasn’t sure he could stand; he was so tired and disoriented. They should’ve taken another day to travel, as Orrick had strongly recommended. It was rare that Damien was so tired that he felt drunk, but that was how he felt now. No wonder Lachlan had managed to sneak in and torment him.
“Who is Lachlan?” Helena asked.
Damien jerked upright, staring at her. She had the tray in her hands and then set it carefully on the small table next to him. She adjusted her glasses and regarded him.
“Are you alright? How much did you drink?”
“Have mercy, I beg ye, Hel,” he said and caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I can barely keep me eyes open, never mind keep up with ye.”
“I think you need to eat,” Helena said softly and gestured to the tray. Damien opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. “Please. Before your food gets any colder.”
“All right, all right,” Damien playfully grumbled. “But I cannae eat while sittin’ here like a fool English king, even if it’s a treat to have ye waitin’ on me. Come along.”
He stood up and picked up the tray, before walking over to the table where two chairs faced each other. Setting down the tray, he pulled out a chair for Helena, delighted and a little puzzled as to why she hadn’t stormed off.
Instead of questioning it, he shrugged, sat, and tucked into his food. Everything tasted extra delicious after so much travel, and it wasn’t cold at all. Helena must have timed it so. Again, he felt that absurd swelling in his chest, like a warm draught of cider on a bitter winter night.
Damien thought that Helena would excuse herself. Instead, she’d nibbled on a honey cake while pretending not to observe him.
Finally, Damien sat back and sighed. “Have I said thank ye?”
Helena tilted her head to the side. “Can you not remember?” His eye narrowed, and she smiled. “Yes. I should bid you good night, My Laird.”
“Ye should stay.”
Helena leaned back in her seat, drawing her hands away so that Damien could not take them as he’d intended. They stared at each other for several seconds, her face unreadable, save for a flicker of anger in her eyes, and it stirred Damien’s blood too.
“Ye will move in here soon enough, Milady.”
Now Helena clasped her hands together as a frost fell over her brow, and then she slowly straightened and stood upright. A veritable ice queen, with nothing but sharp angles and haughty English airs.
Damien sprawled and grinned at her.
“You are quite mistaken,” she said. “We-We have a year. And even then…”
“Ye must have noticed that yer quarters arenae that far,” he said. “Bluebell Corner, an empty suite, me study, and then me rooms.” He gestured to the other side. “And another suite, if ye so desire, though these are large enough for both of us, aye?”
“No, Damien,” she said. “I fail to see what is wrong with my chambers. I have become quite fond of Bluebell Corner.”
“Aye, I feared as much,” Damien muttered and reached for his glass. After filling it with whisky, he took a sip and then offered it to Helena, who glared at him. “What? Ye looked like ye needed it.”
“I am not leaving my chambers.”
Damien heaved a sigh. “Those are meant to one day become the suite for our eldest daughter, nae ye, Hel.”
That seemed to jolt her, her lips pressing together, and he paused, waiting for her to speak.
When she did not, he continued, “If ye truly want yer own chambers, they are over there. Ye can do whatever ye please with them. I can build ye a study, a library—whatever ye please.”
Her fists opened and closed, her thoughts furious, but her lips were still pressed together. “Why did your mother put me there, then?”
“Ah, she’s a canny thing. Wants to delay the weddin’.”
Helena paled and gripped the back of her chair. “Sh-She doesn’t want us to marry?”
Damien stared at her for a moment, then barked out a laugh and shook his head. “She wants us to marry in a grand, outlandish fashion. Were ye nae listenin’ earlier? First, she wanted a spring wedding. Then she’d want a fall wedding,” he snorted. “We’d be married in ten years if she had her way.”
