Page 61 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Especially when Damien said things like, “I wanted to bring ye here to help ye bring yerIphigeniato life.”
CHAPTER 25
Helena could not help it—shethrew herself at Damien. He laughed and stumbled, then let out a wheeze as her bag smacked into his side and her arms squeezed his neck.
“Thank you,” she said and kissed his cheek.
Then, she was darting off, her heart faster than her feet, even as she practically ran over the grass. Giddy from this place, from Damien, and worried she might let him ravish her if he caught her.
Pushing that out of her mind, she clambered about, gazing and making notes to herself. How the water rolled over the smooth stones in ripples of light and dark hues, how the snow seemed to sink into the sleepy green earth, and how the cave beckoned.
As she drew closer, she slowed and tilted her head back to take it in. It had not been her imagination—the wind sang a mournful, lilting tune through the rocks. Her eyes ran across it, noting thefissures that spread out from the opening. Some were large and jagged, others were narrow and smooth. Water dripped from somewhere within, adding to the haunting, earthly melody, and then Helena realized that she could feel a faint breeze coming out of the cave.
“Is there another opening?”
“Aye,” Damien answered.
She wondered why she did not start, though she had not heard him following her. But something in her must have sensed him, for he drew even and gazed at it.
“More than one, though most are treacherous to get to.”
“I won’t go too far in,” Helena promised.
Damien chuckled. “I ken. Ye willnae be able to—goes pitch black. Poke around. I’m just goin’ to fetch somethin’ from the horses.”
Helena nodded and stepped inside, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness, the sudden hush of stone pressing in. The sound of the waterfall was muted here. Instead, she heard the uneven patter of water droplets, the murmur of the wind, and the deeper silence—the slumber of the stone inside the cliffs.
Grinning, Helena ventured as far in as she dared, noting how the entrance was wide and rounded, with a sandy patch, but soon became filled with formations of rock jutting up from the groundand down from the ceiling. There was a path that went deeper into the cliff, but she stopped there, as she could barely see.
This is more than enough.
She hurried back to the entrance, blinking in the bright sunlight, and immediately found a flat rock to sit on, dry in the sunlight, if cold. Rifling through her bag, she pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, her trusty quill, and an inkpot. Pinning the parchment down with a rock, she found the tied notes in her mother’s work. She ran a finger down to remember where she’d left off, what she needed to translate next…
Usually, Helena lost herself in the swirl of ink and scent of parchment. This time, she felt as though she hovered on the tip of a quill betweenIphigeniain Tauris, and the land around her. Her hand flew across the page, her heart beating to the rhythm of her fingertips, her mind brimming over with possibilities. For translation was not a mere mathematical formula, where one matched each word by rote. It was an art, a dance, and a continuous building arc of decisions. Often, she had to go back and change a word, or a whole paragraph, when she thought she’d finally figured it out.
In many ways, it was a fantastic puzzle to put together—or as her mother had written in her notes,a tapestry where I am constantly pulling the threads to weave them into colors I might comprehend.
Helena drew back after she’d filled nearly three sheets, front and back, and stretched her stiff neck. The sun was brighter, and shewasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it had been at least an hour or so. She glanced around, thinking Damien must be off exploring or over with the horses.
She started when she realized that he sat not far from her, with a pack at his feet, a closed book next to him, and his gaze on her. She felt her face flush.
Drat, he must be so bored.
“I should have brought ye here sooner,” he said, sounding thoughtful. “Are ye done for now?”
“Oh, of course,” Helena said, and stood up, packing away her things. “I’m sure we need to go?—”
“Nay, we can stay all day. I thought ye might be hungry—I brought us supplies for a picnic.” He stood up and stretched. “And then ye can get back to work. I’ve never seen someone lose themselves in words like that. I suppose it’s the same as witnessin’ a great artist at work.”
Helena’s hands twisted the strap of her bag, and she watched Damien lay out a blanket and then the food. He then sat and looked up at her expectantly. When she didn’t move, he raised an eyebrow.
“Were you…?” Helena began to ask, her voice sounding strange to her own ears, and then she laughed. “No, that’s absurd.”
“What is, lass?”
“I… For a moment, you made it sound like you were watching me work this entire time, Damien.” She laughed, her face burning hotter. “But you couldn’t?—”
“I could,” he said and held out a hand. Helena took it immediately, without a thought, and he pulled her down. “And I did.”
