by Bree Wolf
As she walked away, Connor felt a sense of loss, and his feet moved forward as though an invisible bond drew him to her side.
“Give her some time,” his mother counselled as she came to stand beside him, a soft smile on her sharp features. As the rest of his family returned to their own activities, she placed her hand on his arm, her watchful eyes searching his face. “I did not ask before because it seemed ye wished not to be bothered with this,” she said, and her eyes narrowed, “but why did ye choose the lass? She didna agree to this union, did she?”
Connor cleared his throat, holding his mother’s gaze. “She didna,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “I can only hope that she will forgive me.”
His mother nodded, and for a moment her gaze shifted to the large staircase that had carried his future bride to her chamber. She sighed, and her eyes became distant as though she was looking at something no one else could see before she opened her mouth and said, “She is a strong woman, and a proud one, but there is pain in her past, pain that echoes in her heart even today, pain that has her living in fear.” Her eyes met his again. “Do not forget that.”
Connor nodded, somewhat relieved that his mother’s assessment of the woman he would marry the next day matched his own impression of her for he knew that his mother, like no other, possessed the ability to look into a person’s soul. Never had he been able to keep anything from her if she wished to know.
However, he knew that it was a burden to his mother to know what others felt and still be unable to help them. More than once, she had told him that simply knowing something did not also set it right.
Chapter Seven − In the Rose Garden
“Rest, my dear,” her aunt encouraged her after they had retreated to their chambers. “We will see you tonight at the banquet.” A strained smile on her face, her aunt closed the door behind her, her small footsteps softly echoing along the corridor as she returned to her own chamber.
Standing on the soft carpet in the middle of the room, Henrietta stared at the large four-poster bed before her eyes shifted to the vanity with the large mirror, the armoire in the corner and the small table under one of the windows with a bouquet of wildflowers on top.
Small windows opened the room to the outside. However, only dim light streamed in as the sky hung heavy with dark clouds, faint raindrops drumming on the windowpanes.
Henrietta sighed, her mind numb with the new impressions that had assaulted her that day. As much as she tried not to, she could still feel the stares that had washed over her upon her introduction. While some had held merely curious interest, others had burned with disapproval, hostility even, and Henrietta knew that she was not welcome in Greyston.
As much as her uncle wanted to rid himself of her, the people of Greyston felt just as strongly about returning her home. Only they didn’t have a choice for their chief had chosen her for his bride.
Shaking her head, Henrietta closed her eyes, sinking onto the soft mattress as her limbs grew heavy. Why had he chosen her? The question echoed through her mind. What did he want? Surely, he could have found a wife more suitable to his position.
Remembering the day in the clearing, Henrietta shivered. Although he had not been unkind or hostile, the way his sharp eyes had looked into hers and swept over her body had made her skin crawl. She had felt naked under his scrutinising gaze as though he could see through her defences and to her core.
Moreover, his physical presence had been intimidating. Although he was merely a head taller than her, he seemed to tower over her, his strong built able to crush her in the blink of an eye. Despite the foil in her hand, its sharp tip gleaming in the sun, she had felt defenceless against him.
Henrietta shivered at the thought. It reminded her too much of the night her parents had died.
What had she not done to keep that feeling at bay? To banish it from her heart and feel strong and in control? And now, here was this…this man who merely looked at her, and she felt like cowering in a hole in the ground. Was that how her mother had felt every time her father had looked at her?
Although exhaustion rested heavily on her, Henrietta could not lie down. Too much did her heart ache with the need to move, to voice her resentment about being forced into this situation, to rebel against the fate decided for her. Her courage, however, was currently lying dead at her feet.
Stepping up to the window, Henrietta glanced down into the courtyard where a loud bustle of people went about their business. Garlands were hung on the walls and in doorways. Torches were lit to replace the sun’s dim light as it slowly sank below the horizon, and before long, music drifted to her ears, music like she had never heard it before. Eerie and mournful, and yet, strangely affecting.
With her eyes glued to the sight below, Henrietta wondered what her life would be like at Greyston. These people down there would be her people come the morrow. Would they come to accept her? Would she ever feel as though she belonged?
Henrietta shook her head and closed her eyes as resignation claimed her once more. Her limbs felt heavy, and she stepped toward the bed when a jolt of defiance went through her. Lifting her head and narrowing her eyes, pride swelled in her chest, and she drew in a deep breath.
No! She would not lie down and surrender. She would go out there and meet her fate with open eyes and a fierce heart. For only the strong survived.
Slipping on a cloak, Henrietta cracked open the door and eyed the corridor. When all remained still, she slipped out, carefully placing her feet on the rough floor. Passing by her aunt’s and uncle’s chamber, she swallowed, knowing that they would disapprove of her leaving her room and wandering the castle unchaperoned. However, what could her uncle do to her that he hadn’t already done?
I will send you from this house.
As the thought echoed in her mind, Henrietta smiled. His threat held no sway over her anymore. So long as she did not offend her betrothed, her uncle’s anger could not hurt her.
As she tiptoed down the staircase, Henrietta wondered if there was a way to break her betrothal. Of course, she could not do so herself. On the contrary, she would have to find a way to force her betrothed to do it for her. Would he disapprove of her wandering the castle on her own on the eve of their wedding? Would it be enough? Henrietta doubted it. What if she were to allow herself to be compromised somehow? Although she had no idea how to go about it, the idea had merit.
Reaching the grand hall, Henrietta looked around, her eyes sweeping over the tall columns supporting the next floor, the large doorways opening into parlours, a library, a music room as well as the large dining hall. Peeking inside, she found servants rushing to and fro, carrying place settings, chairs, linen, flowers and candles. A large table was set, three chandeliers dangling from the vaulted ceiling, casting their lights over the room.
When the music outside grew louder, Henrietta turned her head. Later, she would spend enough time in the dining hall as it was. Now, she wanted to see the more casual festivities that had already begun outside. Tiptoeing across the hall, she reached a side door that opened into a large garden. Tall hedges framed a long stretch of lawn, a small fountain in the middle. Rose bushes grew near the walls, their arms climbing into the dark sky.
Following the small cobblestone path, Henrietta stepped up to the fountain, gazing at the water as it spilled out the top and fell in soft waves into the small basin. With the moon shining overhead, it glowed silver, and Henrietta reached out to touch it, its cool wetness running over her fingers.
A smile came to her face, and she wished she could simply remain in this garden forever as its peaceful tranquillity soothed her aching heart. The gurgling water and the soft tunes of the festivities mingled around her, and her trembling hands began to calm as her breathing evened. The night air smelled of conifers and wet earth, their strong aroma almost masking a faint touch of salt.
Henrietta closed her eyes, her fingertips resting on the rim of the small granite basin, its waters spilling over her fingers and chill
ing her skin.
Breathing in deeply, she savoured the fresh air that engulfed her as she stood silently in the night, and for the first time in a long while she felt strangely at peace. How unexpected!
A soft breeze touched her cheek, and goose bumps rose on her arms as a shiver went over her. Her eyes snapped open, and her senses reached out, exploring her surroundings. Holding her breath, Henrietta froze, her eyes darting left and right.
She was not alone.
Swallowing, Henrietta took a deep breath before she turned on her heel and came face to face with her betrothed.
A soft gasp escaped her, and she instinctively shrank back from his overpowering presence, almost losing her footing.
Quick as lightning, his hands reached for her, slipping under her cloak and settling on her slim waist, steadying her.
Henrietta’s breath caught in her throat at the feel of his hands, and her eyes snapped up to meet his.
Without saying a word, he gazed at her, his eyes dark in the night as they ran over her face with such intensity that Henrietta could almost feel their touch on her skin.
As his hands slid from her sides onto her back, pulling her closer, her heart began to hammer in her chest, and fear washed over her as she found herself craving more. She wanted to know what it would feel like to be in his arms, to feel his body pressed against hers, to taste his lips on her own.
Shocked at these thoughts, Henrietta swallowed. She could not surrender. Losing a fight was one thing, but she would never willingly surrender. She could not.
A small part of her hoped that he wouldn’t ask, that he would simply take what she couldn’t give.
A soft smile curled up the corners of his mouth before his eyes dipped lower, tracing the curve of her lips. “Would ye grant me a kiss?”
Cursing him silently, Henrietta steeled herself. She lifted her chin and shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Watching her, his eyes became serious as he observed the delicate changes in her posture. “Because ye do not want my kiss? Or because ye canna admit that ye want it?”
A frown came to her face at his correct interpretation of her dilemma while anger surged through her at his taunting words. How dare he presume to know her?
Meeting his scrutinising gaze, she spat, “Because I do not care for it.”
He chuckled, “Liar.”
Henrietta’s eyes widened before she glanced down at the arms that still held her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d unhand me immediately.”
A soft smile came to his face as his hands remained where they were. Leaning down, he whispered, “Ye consider it a misfortune that ye were born a woman, do ye not, Henry?” A twinkle came to his eyes as he reminded her of their first encounter. “Ye dress like a man, ye fight like a man, and yet, everyone treats ye as a woman.”
Henrietta swallowed, wondering how he knew. “I do, yes. While men are perfectly free to do as they wish, women are always at a disadvantage, always limited in their behaviour, in their choices.” Averting her eyes, she tried to free herself from his embrace.
At her efforts, though, his arms tightened possessively around her. “What choice was not yers to make?” he whispered softly.
Meeting his gaze once again, Henrietta forced herself to remain calm. Somehow he already knew her too well. She would be at a disadvantage should he ever choose to…
“Ye were not free to refuse my proposal, were ye, Lass?” he asked straight-forward, and yet, a hint of disappointment clung to his voice.
“I was not,” Henrietta admitted, and a delicate strength settled in her heart at having spoken the words out loud. She may not have had the choice to refuse him, but at least she had voiced her objections.
“And on what grounds would ye have refused me?”
Henrietta’s eyes narrowed as she looked up at him.
“Because ye do not consider being mistress of Greyston a desirable position?” he asked, his eyes holding hers captive as he waited for her reaction. “Because ye did not wish to live so far from yer family?” He inhaled slowly before he lowered his head toward hers. “Or because ye do not want me?” he whispered, and his breath brushed over her cheek like a caress.
A tantalising shiver went down her back, and Henrietta found herself unable to withstand his penetrating gaze. Averting her eyes, she willed her hammering heart to calm down. He was so close. Too close. All she had to do was lift her head and…
Instead, she shook her head and shoved against him, trying to free herself from the powerful hold he had on her. Her strength was no match for his, though.
At her resistance, his hands slid further onto her back, pulling her closer until she stood firmly pressed against him. “Would ye have refused any man?” he demanded, his lips whispering in her ear. “Or is there someone ye would have accepted?”
At his words, the hands resting on her back tensed, and Henrietta could not keep herself from lifting her head. Looking into his face, she saw a hint of fear under the calm confidence that radiated off him with every word, every look, every motion. Did he truly fear her heart belonged to another? Did he care?
Holding his gaze, Henrietta said, “No, there is not.”
Relief washed over his face, and a soft smile touched his lips before he nodded his head and his hands slowly released their hold on her.
Regret filled Henrietta when his hands dropped to his sides, and he stepped back. Pulling her cloak around her, she kept her eyes on the ground, the rose bushes or the glowing moon on the horizon, anywhere but on his face.
“I shall see ye at supper,” he said in a soft voice that spoke of honest emotions.
Glancing up, Henrietta nodded her head, trying to hide how much his touch had affected her. However, when their eyes met, she could see on his face that he knew. Cursing herself, Henrietta fixed him with an icy stare, willing herself to fight the pull he had on her.
A soft smile touched his face before he inclined his head to her and then turned and walked away, the night swallowing him as though he had never been there.
As Henrietta finally released the hold on her strained muscles, she felt weak, her knees shaking as though they were pudding. Staring into the dark, she shook her head, unable to understand how he could have weakened her resolve so easily. She would have to be more careful around him.
Chapter Eight − Alone Among Strangers
His hands still tingled with the feel of her when he made his way down into the dining hall.
When Connor had seen her step out into the rose garden, he had felt compelled to follow her, and he was glad that he had. She was the only woman who got his blood pumping with a single, defiant look.
He chuckled under his breath.
Despite her feigned disgust with the situation she found herself in, Connor had sensed her desire. It had taken all his willpower not to kiss her as she had shuddered in his arms. However, the steely resistance that she forced on her desire had stopped him. For some reason, she could not allow herself to care for him, to admit that she felt something at his touch.
But she would.
As the great hall began to fill with people in evening attire, Connor stood in a circle of cousins, their curious questions echoing in his ears. It seemed that there was not a single person in Greyston Castle who was not taken aback with his choice for a wife. Some openly spoke their minds while others merely hinted at their confusion or even disapproval of the situation, and Connor realised that a part of him had been naive to hope that they would not care that his bride was English.
The moment Henrietta followed her aunt and uncle down the large staircase, her eyes expressionless and unseeing as they swept over the assembly at her feet, a strained silence momentarily settled over the hall. Her hair pinned up with only a few tendrils dancing at her temples, she reminded Connor of the day they’d met, and he smiled as his eyes swept over her graceful neck. The emerald dress, however, was less to his liking. Not that it wasn’t strikingly beautiful, accentuating her femi
nine attributes. Nevertheless, for a reason he could not name, it seemed like a costume on her, a far cry from the person underneath.
Greeting his guests at the bottom of the stairs, Connor held out his hand to his future bride, and after a moment of hesitation, she took it, her eyes barely meeting his. A soft tremble radiated from her hand into his own, and he noticed the tension in her shoulders.
Trying to meet her eyes, Connor gently squeezed her gloved hand, his thumb stroking her fingers.
After taking a deep breath, she looked up and met his gaze, her own betraying her discomfort with the situation.
Connor nodded his understanding and guided her toward the dining hall, inviting the rest of the assembly to follow. He led her to her chair and reluctantly released her hand before seating himself at the head of the large table.
After a multitude of toasts, most of which sounded not necessarily insincere but neither completely heart-felt, servants brought in the opulent food the kitchen staff had slaved over all day. Connor, however, barely tasted the various dishes, be they aromatic venison or fried fish, spiced vegetables or sweet fruits. His attention was irrevocably tied to the stoic woman at his side.
Silently, she ate her food like a bird, her eyes focused on her plate. No one addressed her, and neither did she speak to her aunt and uncle. Connor thought that it rather suited her and refrained from addressing her at the table as everyone within earshot would probably drop their own conversation and eavesdrop on theirs.
However, when supper came to an end, he led her away into the ballroom, and as the music began to play, the general atmosphere seemed to relax. People began to enjoy themselves as they stood up to dance, and Connor immediately guided his bride onto the dance floor, wishing for a moment of something resembling privacy.
As they began to move to the rhythm of the music, Connor watched her closely, again trying to catch her eye. When she refused to acknowledge his presence, he said, “Ye’re an accomplished dancer. I’m not surprised.”