Page 67 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Helena, meanwhile, was on the other side, resting against the curve of a wall.
Damien grimaced as he walked over to her. “Ye shouldnae?—”
Helena threw herself at him and buried her face in his neck.
“Dammit, lass, let me lecture ye about nae listenin’ to me.”
“I heard the horses spooking and the fight,” Helena murmured, then stepped back, staring at his wounded shoulder. “You’re hurt. Come sit—I know a bit about cleaning cuts and bandaging them.”
“From books?” Damien tried to tease her, but his body felt too heavy, his steps leaden, and he glared out at the storm as he sat down with her.
I should’ve gone after the bastard.
“Where else?” she asked.
Damien turned back when he heard theripof fabric. Helena had his dirk in one hand and was slicing into her white petticoats.
“Can you take off your shirt?” She looked up and frowned at him. “Well?”
He continued to stare at her for a moment, then shook himself and slowly took off his sporran, his hauberk, and then peeled off his shirt. A hiss escaped him as the cold air hit his skin, and Helena shook her head as she moved closer, eyeing his arm.
“Whisky?” she asked, and he made a face. “Damien.”
“With the horses. In Fife’s saddlebag.” He watched her hurry to retrieve it and gave her a look as she sat back down. “Nae too much,oy.”
He let out a yelp, more out of indignation than pain, as Helena all but dumped the flask on his arm. She ignored him as she cleaned his wound, then took clean strips of cloth and tied them in a neat band around his arm, before sitting back and wiping her forearm across her forehead.
“Ye make a fine healer,” he admitted, then tensed up as the rain came down harder and a crack of lightning lit up the sky. The horses whickered, and he did not blame them. “Ruddy storm.”
“Here.” Helena held out the flask. “I saved you some.”
Damien took a few mouthfuls, the strong whisky warming him, but it was not enough to ease the tension in his spine.
The storm wailed and raged outside, and even the thought of that pirate getting caught in it did nothing to calm him. He could feel his chest growing tight and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Damien.”
“Aye,” he bit out, harsher than he meant.
“Here.” A cloak went around his shoulders, and he jerked his head up as Helena pressed in close, sharing it. “Better? Or should I help you put your shirt back on?”
He let out a soft laugh. “Nay, it’s cut to pieces and bloody.” He gazed at her, and his stomach churned as the storm grew more vicious. “Would ye…?”
Hazel eyes wide, Helena leaned forward and asked, “What?”
“Distract me,” he murmured. “Please.”
“Oh,” Helena said, and her expression grew thoughtful. That, combined with her scent, began to ease the pressure in his chest. “Should I read to you, or maybe…?”
Damien’s eyebrows rose, and he leaned in. “Maybe what, lass?”
Helena pressed her lips against his for a fleeting, heated second, and then she drew back, impish.
“How about that?”
“Och aye,” Damien growled and caught her face, before sliding his hands into the cool, damp mass of her loose hair.
He knew he should take his time, savor her and tease her into this moment. Instead, he devoured her hot, sweet mouth.
