by Bree Wolf
Alastair shook his head. “I’ve nothing to say. Ye’ve made yer choices, and I’ve made mine.”
Her husband drew in a slow breath. “Would ye excuse us?” he said into the room, then gestured for Alastair to follow him.
After the door closed behind the two men, Henrietta exhaled the breath she’d been holding. “What will happen now?”
Moira shrugged. “I can only hope Alastair will be able to accept the way things are now. If not…”
Chapter Thirteen − Rumours
“Why would ye speak to my wife in such a disrespectful way?” Connor demanded after slamming shut the door to his study. “Explain yerself.”
“I have nothing to say,” Alastair growled. With hands linked behind his back, he stood immobile like a stone column; only the muscles in his face seemed to twitch with the effort to control his emotions.
Connor took a deep breath. After all, Alastair was his friend and confidante. They had known each other all their lives, and he not only needed his support but he also wanted his respect. “D’ye see me as yer enemy?”
Alastair met his eyes, but remained silent.
Dread flooded Connor’s heart. Although he had been aware that choosing an English woman for his bride would stir up emotions, he had not expected his friend to react the way he did. “Are ye angry because I chose an English lass or because I didna choose yer sister?”
Alastair’s eyes narrowed. “Ye should know me better than to ask that question.”
“I thought I did.”
“Do not blame me for the problems ye’ve caused,” Alastair snarled. “Ye acted without consulting me. But ye never intended to, did ye? Now, that ye’re the chief, ye can do as ye wish.”
Shaking his head, Connor stared at his friend. “Ye know better than anyone that I had no desire to be chief. I, too, believed that it would be ye. Why do ye attack me? I’ve always stood by yer side.”
Alastair scoffed. “Have ye?” His lips pressed into a thin line, he regarded him. “Not that anyone would tell me, but I’ve been keeping my eyes open, I’ve been listening, and I’ve heard rumours.”
“Rumours?” Connor frowned. “What rumours?”
“D’ye truly deny it?” Alastair asked, disappointment clear in his voice. “I never believed ye to be a coward.”
Gritting his teeth, Connor tried to remain calm. “If ye would kindly tell me what exactly ye’re accusing me of!”
“Do not pretend ye don’t know!” Alastair growled, his hands balled into fists. For a moment, he glared at Connor before he spun on his heel and strode out of the room, his angry footsteps echoing down the corridor.
Connor sighed. What was going on? If Alastair wouldn’t tell him, then who?
Desperate to learn the truth, Connor spent all day roaming the castle, speaking to council members as well as close family and childhood friends. Since he did not know what kind of rumours Alastair had referred to, he tried his best not to give his enquiries a serious tone. However, most people seemed either unaware of what he was speaking or unwilling to share what they knew.
Standing outside in the courtyard close to the front doors, Connor was just speaking to one of his cousins, who like many others seemed unwilling to acknowledge that he had heard anything, when his wife slipped out through the side door and turned toward the rose garden. Connor immediately excused himself and hurried after her, calling her name.
At the sound of his voice, she turned her head, and her eyes swept the courtyard before they spotted him. However, once they had, an angry frown settled on her face, and she turned away, quickening her step.
Halting his own, Connor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This truly was a day to ignore. Secrecy, whispered rumours and hidden anger annoyed him more than loud shouting and open accusations. Oh, how he wished everyone would simply speak their minds!
Over supper, Connor managed to ignore the continued whispers and badly concealed stares. However, his blood boiled in his veins, and when they returned to their bedchamber that night, his patience was once more put to the test.
As she had all day, his wife continued to ignore him, her only acknowledgement of his presence coming in the form of hostile stares. When she did not answer him as he asked about her day, it was the final straw in a day that he wished he could erase.
Grabbing her arm, he pulled her back, forcing her to face him. “Why won’t ye look at me?” he demanded as her eyes finally met his. “What happened today?”
Gritting her teeth, she glared at him. “Are you truly asking me?” Yanking away her arm, she stepped back.
“Ha!” Connor scoffed, raking his hands through his hair as frustration dug its claws into him. “I’ve spent all day asking what is going on. D’ye think anyone’s giving me an answer?” Taking a deep breath, he tried his best to still his rapidly beating pulse. “Tell me how I’ve offended ye, Lass?”
Sad eyes met his. “You have no regard for others, do you? You simply take what you want, and if you have no rightful claim, then you achieve your goal through disreputable means.”
Staring at his wife, Connor swallowed. Then his eyes narrowed, a suspicion forming in his mind. “Ye do not speak of yerself, Lass, do ye?”
Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes. “I have nothing else to say.”
Growling under his breath, Connor shot forward and grabbed her arms. He lowered his face to hers, his eyes openly displaying the frustration and anger that pulsed in his veins. “What have ye heard? Tell me now.”
Frowning, she glared at him. “Why do you pretend to be ignorant−?”
“Because I am!” he snapped. “Now, tell me!”
“Moira told me,” she began, her eyes, however, still held disbelief, “that Alastair was not named tanist because of his temper.”
“His temper?”
His wife nodded. “Rumours began to circulate that he had uncontrolled fits of anger and was prone to making irrational decisions. Some even witnessed how he lashed out at Moira for no reason.”
Shaking his head, Connor released her. “That is not possible. Alastair is a good man. He may get angry at times, but everyone does. That is no reason…” Contemplating the rumours, he met his wife’s calculating gaze. “But why does he blame me for…?” His eyes opened wide as realisation dawned. “He believes I circulated these rumours so that he would be considered unfit to become chief and I could take his place.”
“Is he wrong to think so?” she asked, a clear challenge in her voice.
“Why do ye believe him over me?” he asked, disappointed that she would think him capable of such treachery. Had he only imagined the delicate bond that had formed between them over the last few days?
“Why would I believe you?” she asked, and her eyes flashed with anger. “I know from personal experience that you do not care for the opinion of others. Why should you treat your cousin differently?”
“I would never betray him,” Connor snarled, “or you.”
His wife scoffed. “I’d be a fool to believe anything you say! You speak of trust, and yet, you conspire even against family. Your cousin put his trust in you, and you betrayed him.”
Stepping closer, Connor felt the blood rush into his head. “And what about ye? How did I betray ye?”
As she fixed him with an angry stare, her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “You spoke to my uncle behind my back. You knew that I would never have agreed to marry you, but you didn’t care. And of course, he didn’t, either.”
Hurt that she would compare him to her devious uncle, Connor closed his eyes. “Would ye truly have preferred to remain in yer uncle’s house? He would have married ye off eventually.”
Laughing, she shook her head. “He would have tried, yes. However, I knew how to make certain that would never happen.”
“Don’t fool yerself, Lass. At some point, yer uncle would have found a man willing to endure yer hostile manner because of the offered incentive.”
“You are mistaken if you believ
e my uncle would have offered much of his precious money in order to see me married.”
Stepping closer, Connor met her eyes. “But he did, Lass. He did.” Swallowing, she stared at him, shock evident in her eyes. “I am certain had I not made it clear that I wanted ye, he would have offered even more.” Reaching out a hand, he gently placed it on her shoulder, and she blinked. “I refused to take it, Lass.”
A frown came to her face. “Why?”
“Because I knew ye’d fight me, and I hoped it’d help convince ye that my intentions were honourable.”
“Honourable,” she spat, her eyes blazing with renewed anger. “You’ve made a mistake, Connor Brunwood. You should have chosen a Scottish wife for I will never be what you want.” Nostrils flaring, she darted toward the bed, her hand sliding in-between pillow and mattress.
A moment later, she straightened, pulling out her hand and with it a dagger, its sharp tip gleaming in the candle light.
Connor drew in a sharp breath as fear flooded his heart. “Do not hurt yerself, Lass. I implore ye.”
Shaking her head, she glanced at the dagger. “I wouldn’t,” she stated, then met his eyes. “However, you need to understand that…we will never be.” Then she swept her long tresses over her shoulder, gathered them in one hand and settled the dagger just above her curled fist. “I am not the woman you want. Believe me.” And with a single, forceful movement, the dagger cut through her golden hair.
For a long moment, they stared at each other, waiting, observing.
Then Connor’s gaze moved from the challenge in her eyes down to her shoulders where the tips of her soft hair rested, and a memory struck a spark.
Not too long ago, he had come upon her in a meadow. Hair tugged away, hidden under a large hat, her face flushed with the excitement of her fencing practises, she had met his eyes. Despite the fear that had lurked under her portrayed courage and pride, she had stood her ground, and it had been that unwillingness to bend her will to anyone that had captured his heart.
Meeting her eyes once more, Connor smiled, and a soft frown creased her forehead as she regarded him with curiosity. “Do not for a second believe that this is the way to drive me away, Lass?” he said, coming toward her. Then, before she could reply, his hand shot out and twisted the dagger from hers.
Henrietta gasped, her eyes snapping up to his.
Again, Connor moved fast, and a moment later, more of her hair tumbled to the ground. “There,” he whispered, skimming a finger along her jawline and down her exposed neck.
A shiver went through her at his touch, and she took a deep breath, the hint of a blush colouring her cheeks.
Holding her gaze, Connor lowered his head to hers. “Long hair or short,” he whispered, “only a fool would ever mistake ye for a man, Lass, and I may be many things, but I am no fool. I know what I want.” He took a deep breath and held her gaze for a moment longer, hoping that his words would find their way into her heart. “And what I want is ye. Don’t ever doubt that.” Then he stepped back and nodded. “I’ll give ye some space, Lass, for I can see that ye’re quite rattled, but know that I will return.”
Turning the dagger in his hand, he glanced from the bed to her wardrobe in the corner. “D’ye have other weapons here?”
His wife swallowed, then took a deep breath. “No,” she whispered, and her gaze shifted to the small dagger. “You cannot take that from me.”
“Only for tonight. I promise,” he said. “I’ll return it to ye on the morrow when ye’ve calmed down.” Then he turned and strode from the room.
Chapter Fourteen − In a Dream
As the door closed behind her husband, all strength left Henrietta’s body, and she sank to the floor. Large tears formed in her eyes, blurring her sight, before they spilled over and ran down her cheeks, tearing heart-wrenching sobs from her throat.
Disgusted with her own weakness, Henrietta wrapped her arms around her knees, her fingers digging into her flesh as her body shook with the hopelessness that engulfed her.
After a while the storm in her heart calmed, and her muscles began to ache. Releasing her hold, Henrietta slumped to the side, saved from colliding with the floor by the large bed. As the side of the soft mattress touched her cheek, her eyes closed and she stilled.
Silence hung about the room, and Henrietta’s eyelids grew heavy. However, a moment later, a soft knock sounded on the door, and they flew open.
Lifting her head, Henrietta waited. Had her husband returned? Embarrassed, she brushed the tears from her face, her eyes swollen and red, and scrambled to her feet.
Before she could say anything though, the door opened, and instead of her husband, her mother-in-law walked in.
Gaping at the older woman, her hair pinned up meticulously, her dress smooth, a calm expression in her sharp eyes, Henrietta felt the air knocked from her lungs. She could only imagine what her husband’s mother thought of her in that moment. Never had they shared a kind word. On the contrary, her mother-in-law’s eyes had always seemed to follow her, watching, judging. Her mere presence made Henrietta’s skin crawl.
Stepping into the room, Lady Brunwood closed the door, then met Henrietta’s eyes before her gaze swept over her face and down to the ends of her tresses before glancing at the long cut-off strands on the floor.
Self-consciously, Henrietta reached up, her fingers playing with the short ends of her hair.
A soft curl came to Lady Brunwood’s lips before she shook her head, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I see my son has made his point.”
Henrietta didn’t know what to say; however, the need to be truthful suddenly seized her. “It was I who cut it first.”
Stepping forward, Lady Brunwood reached out a hand, running a strand of Henrietta’s hair through her fingers. Then she met her daughter-in-law’s eyes. “Why?”
Fresh tears came to Henrietta’s eyes, and she turned her head away.
“Do not be embarrassed, my dear,” Lady Brunwood said as her hands gently settled on Henrietta’s shoulders then ran down her arms before grasping her hands. “If ye knew only half the things I’ve done in my life, ye’d know I’d never judge ye for what happened here tonight.”
Lifting her eyes to her mother-in-law’s, Henrietta wondered at the soft glow she saw there. Had it been there before? How could she have missed it?
“Wives and husbands do not always agree,” Lady Brunwood continued as she eased Henrietta down onto the bed and sat down beside her. “Quarrels are a part of life.”
Henrietta sighed. “I’m not certain I’d call it a quarrel, my lady.”
An amused smile curled up Lady Brunwood’s lips. “Then what would ye call it, Dear?”
Henrietta shrugged. “I don’t know. I…” For a moment, she closed her eyes, then lifted her head and met her mother-in-law’s curious gaze. “Your son should never have married me for I cannot be the wife that he wants. I’m sorry to be so blunt. I know you must hate me for saying so, but I cannot be who I am not.”
“I do not hate ye, Dear; however, I do think ye’re wrong.” A soft smile came to her lips as she reached out and patted Henrietta’s hand. “Ye are his match, and he is yers. If I didna believe so, I wouldna have sent him to find ye.”
Staring at her mother-in-law, Henrietta swallowed. “What? What do you speak of?”
For a long moment, Lady Brunwood regarded her with a hint of suspicion in her eyes before she nodded. “Sometimes I see things in my dreams. Things that were, things that are, and things that will be. ‘Tis a gift I’ve had since I was a child. I didna always appreciate it for too much knowledge can easily change the course of someone’s destiny. ‘Tis a heavy burden, but it also comes with beautiful rewards.” A warm smile curled up her lips. “When my son returned home from England, I knew that he had found ye.”
As her heart thudded in her chest, Henrietta remembered her own thoughts. How had he found her? How had he come upon her in such a remote place? A place that she had chosen because no one ever ventur
ed there? “He never said−”
Lady Brunwood shook her head. “He doesna know.” A laugh escaped her. “He’s quite thick-headed and likes to believe that he makes his own destiny. He wouldna have believed me, and everything would’ve been different. I couldna risk telling him what I’d seen. I could only set his feet on the path and hope that fate would guide him to ye.”
Henrietta felt a strange kinship echo in her heart as she thought about her husband’s desire to make his own way. Was anything ever truly destined? Were two people ever meant to meet? To be together? To share their life? Was everything meant to be and nothing up to free will?
Taking a deep breath, Henrietta closed her eyes, knowing that deep down she could never believe that. Had her mother been destined to die by her father’s hands? Had she herself been destined to lead a life of struggle?
“Ye do not believe me,” her mother-in-law stated, a hint of regret in her voice. “I can see it in yer eyes.”
“I’m sorry I−”
A gentle hand curled around hers. “Do not worry for I know that fate has dealt ye harshly, Dear. I am only glad that ye were able to open yer heart to my son.”
Henrietta’s eyes went wide. “No, I−”
An indulgent smile on her face, Lady Brunwood nodded. “Ye did, Dear, and I can see that it scares ye, but I implore ye, do not run from it. Fear is a loyal but selfish master, and it will not serve ye to obey its commands whenever someone touches yer heart.”
“I am not afraid,” Henrietta whispered, feeling the lie on her tongue as she spoke.
Lady Brunwood squeezed her hand. “We all are, but we must not allow Fear to dictate our lives.”
“I’m not afraid,” Henrietta repeated stubbornly. “I do what I do because people cannot be trusted. If there is anything I’ve learnt in my life, it’s that those who trust others blindly will suffer for it.”
“The way yer mother trusted yer father?” Lady Brunwood asked, her knowing eyes meeting Henrietta’s as hers widened in shock. “The way you trusted yer mother?”