Page 59 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Going to Banrose Castle had been a risk, one she’d been more than willing to take for her best friend. Yet, deep down, she wondered if she’d been hoping, somehow, to see Damien again. One last time.
And now she was here, in his castle, on the cusp of wedding him. Her old plans to escape to France or Italy were hazy, receding whispers. They held no sway, no promise for her.
Instead, she found herself eagerly moving forward, with the sense of chasing something bright and just out of reach. Even though she had plenty of time to meet Damien, her steps quickened, and her anticipation grew.
What if I said I missed ye?
Her teeth sank into her lip. She’d been so certain that he was jesting, but now… this offer of courtship. She’d told herself sternly before bed that Damien was up to something, that he must be teasing her, that she should not take him seriously. No one wanted to court Lady Highbrow.
But Damien had always been ruthlessly honest with her.
And while she scoffed at such a foolhardy notion as courtship, she could not lie to herself. She was brimming with curiosity to see what Damien had in mind.
So much so that she was breathless by the time she reached the front doors and stepped outside, the chill of the morning snatching her breath. But from the brightness of the sun cutting through the clouds and the drip of water from the melting snow, she knew they were in for a warmer day than the ones they had so far.
She’d thought Damien would be waiting on the steps, but he was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, her heart sank, and she shrank back, her heart plummeting.
Had it all been some poor jest? Had he never intended to come? No, he wouldn’t. But perhaps he’d forgotten or been called away…
“There ye are.”
Helena’s breath caught, and she turned toward that voice, unable to stop from smiling when she saw Damien standing to the far left with two large gray horses. He grinned back and gestured with his head. Helena hurried over, her boots clicking on the stone, and ran her eyes over the beasts.
They were so much bigger than any horse she’d ever seen before. Questions rose to her lips, but then Damien caught her hand and pressed it to his lips. “I bid ye good morning, Lady Helena. I am glad to see ye.”
Helena’s stomach fluttered at the husky, warm timbre of his voice, which reminded her of the scent of whisky. She almost wanted to laugh, but her voice seemed to fail her.
He bowed and then gestured to the horse. “Let me give ye a hand up.”
“Where are we going?”
“Why, Milady, ye cannae ask me that,” Damien said, and his big hands spanned her waist as he lifted her onto the horse. “Ye will ruin yer surprise.”
Now Helena did laugh, and Damien gazed up at her, the blue of his eye softer than she’d ever seen it. Even softer, somehow, was his smile, which caused her laughter to falter. She wanted to tear her gloves off and hold his dear face, lean down and?—
“Aye, I think I owe Orrick more than I realize,” Damien said out of nowhere, and Helena’s thoughts stuttered in confusion. Mischief flashed in Damien’s good eye, and he stepped back, grinning to himself. “Should’ve done this much, much sooner.”
“I do not follow, My Laird,” Helena said as he swung himself up onto his horse.
“Truly?” he asked and turned his horse around. “I think it is obvious. Now, let’s go.” He nodded. “Gorgon is a gentle, wise creature for her size. But if ye feel nervous, fight the urge to yank on her reins and give her head. She kens what to do.”
“Gorgon?” Helena asked, delighted.
“Aye, she’s me mightiest and wisest horse. She was a terror when she was younger and earned that name.”
“Turned many a rider into stone, didn’t she?” Helena asked.
“Och aye, and because it took us years to realize that she always kens best.” He reached over and pressed a hand to the horse’s neck. “I trust her to keep ye safe.”
With that, Damien winked, then took off at a steady trot.
Helena lightly squeezed Gorgon’s flanks, and she took off—a smooth and powerful ride. A thrill went through Helena even as nervous hilarity rolled over her.
Still, because Gorgon was so sure and strong, Helena found herself relaxing, able to gaze at the nature around them as they rode out of the gates. They took the hardpacked road that curved down to town, and then another, narrower road off it, more choked with snow, until they came to the foot of a hill. The castle rose over them. To the right, the gray sea stretched, catching stray sunlight as the sun rose higher.
This road took them down to another bridge, smaller and lower, over a far gentler and wider river than the one under Morighe’s moat. Here, the snow lessened. They were riding over hardpacked, frozen ground next to the beach. The scent of salt and pine filled Helena’s nostrils. She breathed in deeply, her heart soaring even more, and grinned as their horses began to canter, then gallop.
Gorgon drew even with Damien’s horse, and Helena whooped, unable to stop herself. Then, biting her lip, she glanced over and met Damien’s gaze. Such frank admiration there, his eye raking over her, as though memorizing this moment. There was no concern, no reproach. Instead, Damien whooped as well and urged his horse to go faster.
