Page 8 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
The carriage rockedto a gentle halt, and Helena still nearly pitched forward—she’d been so far hunched over her book. Hastily tucking it away, then attempting to straighten from the shrimp-like posture she’d been in, she bit back a groan as her stiff back protested. There was the usual creaking of wood around her as the driver dismounted, then shouts and the tramping of boots.
But instead of hearing the posh English accent, she heard a thick Scottish brogue, and she felt a tingle as she began to gather up her things. Chiding herself for shaking hands, dropping items hither and thither, and gasping when the door was thrown open. As though the blue-eyed Highlander would be here, grinning as he extended a hand to help her down.
Instead, a grumpy older fellow, who looked more like a distant relative of a goat with pale amber eyes to boot, extended a gloved hand with a grunt.
“Out with ye, Milady,” he said, and Helena clambered down.
“Where—?”
“The staff will see to yer things. I’m off for a nip of coffee and toast—I suggest ye do the same.” And with that, the man trotted off.
Helena rolled her eyes and looked around, her breath catching as she gazed at the early morning sky. Just past dawn, it held hues of soft rose and blue, the air crisp, fresh, and so, so cold. Snow had fallen overnight, softening the edges of the world, giving the entire scene a more fairytale feel than perhaps necessary, seeing as how lovely, wild, and strange it all was.
Behind her was a well-trod road leading through woods and fields, while ahead of her was a huge arched gate into a bailey, with stables and folk trotting back and forth. Ahead of her, Banrose Castle rose, a massive and ancient stone beast, gleaming against the distant mountains. Over her right shoulder, she could see the snowy shore of the dark blue loch, the waters turning indigo, and her stomach flipped.
Just nerves. After all, like the Wicked Queen in a Fairytale, I stand before a castle where I might have reigned as its lady.
The very thought seemed laughable, and her hands twisted around her bag’s strap. No, Queen Marianna had erred in choosing her, and it was good that Providence interfered—to make Emma the lady of this beautiful place.
Still, Helena took it all in again and felt rather staggered. Never before had she been so far from home—or in a different country. It felt so far and unfamiliar from everything she’d ever known.
Goodness, what had it been like for Emma when she’d first arrived? Was she more comfortable now?
She must be, from the way she writes about Grant—I mean, Laird Ronson.
Feeling as though she were in a dream, Helena moved forward slowly, taking it all in and breathing in the fresh air.
How lovely to be alone and free on a morn like this. Not a single Scot gave her a second look as she walked in—they merely nodded and continued on their way. Her heart soared for a moment, and she wondered if she could find some nook in the northern tower to tuck herself in.
Where I may finally finish my work.
Up ahead, she heard men’s voices, laughing and jibing in the morning air. It sent a flutter of warmth around her heart.
She was glad to hear such merriment on Emma’s wedding day. She should’ve been here sooner. Alas, her father had forbidden it.
Not until she pointed out that it might appease the Queen had he relented. And only due to a mix-up that Helena may or may not have orchestrated did she manage to get there by herself.
That would not last long, though. Too soon, her father would send hunters after her again.
In the meantime, though, she could see Banrose’s library, about which Emma had written to her in great detail—and before Emma even woke up. Her friend would be abed for at least an hour or two, and it was a blessing to arrive so early, even though her driver had not agreed.
There was more masculine laughter, and Helena started forward, entering a small yard. She saw two tall and broad men there, both wearing rough clothes. Ah, perfect. Servants who could point her where she needed to go.
The one closest to her spoke with a rasping, low voice, threaded with a smoky sort of laugh. That nudged at something in Helena’s brain, and she wondered if he’d suffered some injury to his vocal cords to speak so. Perhaps, since he looked like a warrior, even as he grinned and laughed like a boy with his friend.
“Bastard,” the man said. “Are ye comin’?”
Then, he fell silent, glanced back… and started.
Helena’s eyes widened. Gracious, but what a handsome man. Dark hair pulled back from deep green eyes that inspected her with confusion.
Helena pushed up her glasses, straightening with a smile. “Greetings, do you work here?”
His friend made a sound like a laugh, while he seemed to bite back a grin. “I?—”
Helena wondered if she’d put her foot in it and hastened to say, to get this business over with and get inside, “Oh, good, I am a guest. But before I’m announced, is it true that Laird Ronson has a big library?” She tried not to sound too eager, too informed by her best friend, but she couldn’t help adding, “I’ve heard so many wonderful things about the Banrose book collection. Would it be possible for me to see it? Emma won’t mind a whit.”
The man’s expression changed somewhat, more intrigued now, and almost softer.
