Page 9 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Helena felt a surge of amusement, and she was unable to stop herself from saying, “And once upon a time, I was meant to wed Laird Ronson.”
Now, the man straightened, and Helena almost took a step back. No longer did his posture hold ease and boyish grace, but the honed strength and angles of a warrior. Her stomach dipped as her brain called her a right ninny, and she felt her cheeks flush.
Too late.Oh, you are the farthest thing from someone who works here.
“Ach, we meet at last, Lady Helena,” Laird Ronson said, confirming her worst fears, and her stomach contracted. “Ye are late.”
Her mind reeled even as she was unable to move, save for her hands twisting the strap of her poor, beleaguered bag.
“You—you…” she stammered out, her lips numb. “Oh. Oh no.”
Are we meant to marry? What about Emma? You love her!
“I’m—”
“Enough, Grant,” someone snapped, and the numb feeling inside Helena vanished so fast that it was as though she’d been doused with hot water.
Her breath caught at that familiar tone, then the familiar lines as the Laird’s friend stepped around him and into view.
My stolen kiss.
Her heart seemed to lurch into her throat as he elbowed his friend and stepped closer, saying, “Enough, Grant. Ye had yer fun. And I shall show ye the damn books…”
You will?was Helena’s dazed thought along with the realization that he was even bigger and stronger than she remembered, his curls wilder and darker in the winter morning, the blue of his eye piercing. His beard was trimmed down, revealing more of those full, wicked lips.
For a moment, Helena, the most sensible and oft-derided Lady Highbrow, thought she might swoon.
Oh, you are everything I remembered and more.
“What was it?” He was still speaking to her, and she snapped out of it. “Lady Helena?”
Her entire body shivered at the sound of her name on his lips, and then her eyes went wide as he bowed. Yet, something about it felt mocking. Why was he pretending not to know her?
Their last words rushed into her mind—the way he’d challenged her, even mocked her, the clear way he’d thought her a fool for being so taken with him and his kiss. Those barbs still hurt, all these months later, and anger flashed through her as he straightened. She held onto it, wishing that she’d said something cutting. At the time, she’d felt indebted to him—like the fool she was.
How could she have ever told him that his kiss was grand? She should’ve lied.
“Well met, lass,” he said, and the jibe in his voice made her want to bite him, for she also knew he never would’ve believed such a lie. And then, he added, almost like another challenge, “LairdMacCabe. Damien.”
Her eyes went wide at the faint emphasis on his title.Laird.She almost stepped back.
No.
Och aye,his gaze seemed to say.
Now, she really thought she might faint. Was he unwed? He must be. Oh, she’d stolen a kiss from an unwed laird!
“No,” she muttered under her breath.
I would have known.
Laird MacCabe took another step toward her, much like a wolf might when he’d cornered a doe, and Helena felt a surge of fury and frustration.
Was this why her father had relented? Had the Queen told him that an unwed laird would be at Emma’s wedding? The sinking sensation in her stomach was answer enough.
I will not marry you,Helena wanted to shout at him.
Then why do ye look like ye want to beg for another kiss, sweetheart?he seemed to say with just the curl of his lip.
