by Bree Wolf
“I spoke to Liam and Fiona,” Connor said before Reid could reply to the renewed insult against his son, “and I have to say that they both appear to be verra much in love. I didna get the impression that Fiona had been taken against her will.”
“Of course, she couldna speak freely with the lad right beside her,” Brogan countered. “Who knows what he threatened to do should she reveal the truth?”
“When I saw them,” Henrietta said, remembering the promise she had given the two young people, “she seemed neither frightened nor intimidated.”
For a moment, shocked silence fell over the room as all eyes turned to her. While her husband’s face held an encouraging smile, the other two men stared at her as though she was the devil incarnate. Rarely had Henrietta seen such hostility in her life!
Lips pressed into a thin line, Brogan Brunwood glared at her. “With all due respect, my lady,” he forced out through gritted teeth, “ye don’t know my daughter and can, therefore, not rightly say whether she was frightened or not. As a stranger to these lands, ye’d be wise to keep yer counsel to yerself.”
“Brogan!” Connor growled, his eyes narrowing into slits as he fixed the older man with an icy stare. “I believe an apology is due!”
Holding her breath, Henrietta glanced back and forth between the three men. Intrigued, she saw the bulging muscles in her husband’s forearms as he forced his anger back under control, and she could not help but be impressed by the control he had over his temper.
Brogan looked torn between obeying his chief’s request and the anger that coursed through his veins spurring him on. Clenching his teeth, he mumbled yet another unintelligible remark that could have been an apology. Henrietta, however, doubted it very much.
Meanwhile, Reid Brunwood observed the whole exchange with an interested as well as a shocked eye, his arms resting relatively calmly on the armrests of his chair.
“Yer father would never have stood for this,” Brogan snapped, shifting his angry stare from Henrietta back to Connor. “He wouldna have allowed a foreigner to dictate−”
“She is my wife and, therefore, not a foreigner, but a Scot by marriage,” Connor declared to Henrietta’s surprise, “and she doesna dictate anything. She’s merely observed as I have myself that yer daughter seems happily settled in her choice, a choice that seems to have been made freely.”
Once again, steam seemed to puff out of Brogan’s ears. “Ye should never have married her,” he snapped, his ears deaf to the counsel offered. “Yer father wouldna have approved of an English lass as mistress of Greyston. ‘Tis a disgrace, ‘tis what it is.”
“Brogan!”
Ignoring his chief’s angry scowl, Brogan leaned forward, hands gripping the armrests of his chair. “’Tis yer fault, I say. Marrying an English lass gave that boy ideas,” his eyes darted to Reid before returning to Connor, “that messed with his head. Ye should’ve kept with tradition and married yer cousin. Ye’ve betrayed yer people.”
The moment Connor shot to his feet, the pulse in his neck hammering rapidly, Henrietta knew that there was only one way to avoid a physical confrontation.
Rising from the settee, she stepped forward and placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “I shall take my leave,” she said, meeting his eyes. For a moment, he frowned at her but then nodded, the hint of a smile on his lips.
Turning to the other two men, Henrietta inclined her head. “I apologise for the trouble I caused,” she said. “Please do not allow this issue to influence yer decision with regard to Liam and Fiona.” Then she strode for the door and left.
Chapter Twenty-Nine − Keeping with Tradition
Walking down the corridor, Henrietta took a deep breath, glad to have escaped the heated argument, and yet, feeling oddly guilty for leaving her husband to deal with them alone. Her presence, however, would only have made things more difficult and not served any purpose. If she truly wanted to help, which Henrietta had to admit she did, then she needed to find out what had caused the rift between Brogan and Reid Brunwood. Maybe their children knew more than they thought, Henrietta hoped, and so she went in search of them.
After a few enquiries, she was not surprised to be pointed toward the rose garden where she found them sitting on the bench by the water fountain, hands entwined, their heads bent in trepidation.
When they heard her approach, they looked up, and a hopeful glow came to their eyes. Knowing that she had not done them any service, Henrietta felt herself cringe under their open admiration. If anything, her presence had made things worse, preventing Brogan from ever accepting that his daughter had chosen freely.
“Any news?” Liam asked as he rose to his feet, offering Henrietta his spot on the bench.
Taking the offered seat, Henrietta sighed, “I’m afraid not. Your father in particular,” she looked at Fiona, “seems to be against the match. His idea is that you were kidnapped from your room and forced into this marriage.”
“What?!” Fiona and Liam gasped as one, their faces almost ash-white with shock.
“Liam would never do such a thing,” Fiona insisted. “He’s the kindest, sweetest−”
“Your father seems to be blind to everything related to Reid Brunwood,” Henrietta interjected before Fiona could go on, “which includes his son. Do you have any idea what happened between them?”
Looking defeated, Liam shrugged. “I couldna say. Ever since we were little, they never spoke to each other. Whenever my father would come upon hers, they would pretend the other wasna there. As children we thought it was wildly funny, and we often played the same game,” his eyes travelled to Fiona, and a smile came to his face, “but never for verra long for it was more fun playing with her than without her. However, our fathers seemed to appreciate it when we shunned the other as well, and so we did whenever they were near. But only then.”
“My husband told me,” Henrietta began, remembering the day he had informed her of the two runaways, “that your fathers used to be friends. Long ago. Do you know anything about that?”
Fiona nodded. “Before she died, my grandmother told me that they grew up together like brothers, and it broke her heart to see them suffer. I could never understand what she meant. To me, they didn’t seem sad, but angry, especially my father.” Sighing, she shook her head. “But she never told me what happened between them.”
My father believed that a woman came between them. Her husband’s words echoed in Henrietta’s ear, and she turned to the couple once more. “What about your mothers? Can they shed no light on the issue?”
With sadness in her eyes, Fiona shook her head. “Mine died giving birth to me. I never knew her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Henrietta said, understanding only too well the loss of a mother. “And yours?” she asked Liam.
Liam shrugged. “My mother never said anything that would have explained their hatred for one another. However, she wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because my mother is…,” he shrugged his shoulders as though searching for the right words, “determinedly cheerful. ‘Tis as though she wills herself to see only the things that bring her joy, and whenever I asked her about the tension between our fathers, she only shrugged and said, ‘What’s meant to be will be.’” A frown on his face, Liam shook his head. “I never understood what she meant by that especially since my asking seemed to sadden her, and my mother is not sad on principle.”
“I see,” Henrietta mumbled, trying to picture the woman refusing to speak of something that obviously bothered her. “And how did your parents get married? Was it an arranged marriage or a love match?”
“It started as an arranged marriage,” Liam said, “but they came to care deeply for one another. My mother once told me that she hoped I would one day find a woman who’d love me as much as she loves my father.” A soft smile played on Liam’s lips as he thought about his parents.
“What about your parents, Fiona?”
“It was a love match,” the young woma
n beamed. “From what my grandmother told me, my mother was quite a beauty, and she had many suitors fighting over her hand.”
“And she chose your father?”
Fiona nodded. “She did.” Taking a deep breath, she looked at the softly gurgling water in the fountain. “He loved her dearly, and it still pains him to talk about her.” She blinked, and her eyes returned to meet Henrietta’s. “That’s why I cannot understand how he can deny me my own love for he knows the weight of such pain.”
“I am certain that your father is not wilfully denying you your happiness,” Henrietta counselled, gently squeezing the young woman’s hand. “Despite his anger, he does what he does to protect you. There must be a reason for his behaviour, something that allows him to believe that what he does is in your best interest.”
Tears brimming in the corners of her eyes, Fiona nodded her head. “I know he loves me. He’s always been there for me, counselled me, guided me with a gentle hand and pride shining in his eyes. And yet, sometimes I catch him looking at me in a way that…that almost breaks my heart as though the mere sight of me pains him.”
“Do you know if you resemble your mother?” Henrietta asked.
Fiona nodded. “I’m afraid I do.” Burying her face in her hands, the young woman sobbed.
Rising from the bench, Henrietta stepped away and made room for Liam. The young man pulled his wife into his arms and rocked her gently, whispering words of comfort in her ear.
For the second time that day, Henrietta decided that her presence was not needed and retreated into the castle.
From what Fiona and Liam had told her, Henrietta suspected that the woman who had come between Reid and Brogan had been Fiona’s mother. After she had chosen Brogan, Reid had married a woman chosen by his parents, a woman who knew about her husband’s love for another but chose to ignore it in order to find the happiness she sought.
However, why was Brogan the one determinedly set against the match? After all, it had been Reid who had lost the woman he loved to another. Shouldn’t he be the one holding a grudge?
Henrietta frowned, certain that there was something else. Something that hadn’t been revealed yet. Something only Brogan Brunwood was aware of.
Whether he wanted to or not, she would have to speak to him. For Fiona and Liam’s sake.
Quietly, she proceeded down the corridor toward her husband’s study, listening intently for loud yelling and angry voices. When all remained quiet, she pressed her ear against the door, wondering if the meeting had already come to an end or if they were conversing in more appropriate tones.
Only silence met her ear, and Henrietta was about to step back and knock when footsteps approached from the other side of the door. Before Henrietta could react, the door was flung open and she came face to face with her husband.
Finding her listening at his door, a grin spread over his face and a mischievous twinkle came to his eyes. “Curious, Lass?”
Feeling a slight blush heat her cheeks, Henrietta raised her chin and met his eyes with a smile on her lips. “Not in the least. What on earth gave you that idea?”
Her husband laughed. Then he beckoned her inside, and his face sobered. “I apologise for the way Brogan spoke to ye, Lass. He shouldna have.”
Henrietta shook her head. “Do not worry yourself. I’ve been spoken to with even less regard.”
Connor frowned as he searched her face. “Yer uncle?”
Henrietta nodded, feeling a familiar sting of regret at her uncle’s disregard for her. However, now it was of little consequence, and Henrietta realised that she had come to cherish the new life that had been forced on her, and a smile came to her face that instantly wiped the frown from her husband’s. “He cannot hurt me anymore,” she said with a sigh, “and it feels good. Liberating.”
“I am glad to hear it, Lass.” Holding out his hands, her husband pulled her into his arms and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Ye deserve to be happy, and I will do everything in my power to make certain ye are.”
Stepping back, Henrietta searched his face, the expression in his eyes, the line of his lips to see whether or not he was truthful. It was an old habit, one that she could not quite shake yet.
But she would.
“Thank you,” she whispered, a hint of embarrassment stinging her joy at having doubted his intentions. “I promise I shall do the same.”
“Then we’re both in good hands.”
Henrietta nodded, surprised at how certain she felt all of a sudden. “Indeed.” Remembering the reason why she had come to her husband’s study, Henrietta cleared her throat. “May I ask what happened with Reid and Brogan? Were you able to make them see reason?”
Connor’s face darkened. “Unfortunately, not.” Taking an exasperated breath, he shook his head. “I have to say Reid doesna seem to be the problem here. ‘Tis Brogan who canna forget his hatred for the sake of his daughter’s happiness. He demands that the marriage be declared void on the grounds of forced consent. He argues that Liam coerced her into the marriage against her will. Naturally, Reid is outraged that his son is being accused of such a deed.” Raking his hands through his hair, Connor sighed. “At present, I doubt that Brogan is willing to see reason. Every argument laid at his feet, he stubbornly disregards.”
In a strange way, her husband’s words echoed in Henrietta’s chest as though they were her own. How often had she stubbornly insisted on her opinion despite every reasonable objection? Closing her eyes, Henrietta took a deep breath as emotions flooded her heart that she was still fighting to control. “He’s afraid,” she whispered and lifted her eyes to meet her husband’s gaze.
“Afraid?” he frowned. “What makes ye say so?”
Henrietta shrugged, unable to explain what she knew in her heart. “It’s the look in his eyes. He is driven, driven by something he has no control over. I think a part of me recognises that.”
Watching her closely, Connor nodded. “What do ye suggest?”
“I need to speak with him. I need to find out what he fears so. Otherwise, he will never listen. It’s what fear does. It makes you unreceptive to reason,” Henrietta said, hoping that her own experience with fear would at least once serve her, “and besides, the arguments you’ve brought forth are not connected to what he fears. It must be something else. Something he is hiding from all of us. Something he might not even have admitted to himself.”
“All right,” Connor said, his eyes still watching her intently. “If ye believe it to be the right thing, I will send for him in the morning. For tonight, I think we all could use some rest.” He held out his hand to her and waited patiently.
Henrietta nodded, then slipped her hand into his and allowed him to escort her from the room. However, as they walked down the corridor toward the dining hall, Henrietta’s mind conjured something to the surface of her consciousness that she had only heard in passing. Something she hadn’t paid any attention to.
Ye should have kept with tradition and married yer cousin.
Stopping in her tracks, Henrietta looked up at her husband and for a moment hesitated.
A frown on his face, Connor searched hers. “Is something wrong?”
“You should have kept with tradition and married your cousin,” Henrietta repeated the words she had heard a few hours ago. “That’s what Brogan said.”
Her husband swallowed, then nodded. “It was,” he confirmed before his eyes narrowed, and then swept over her face. “What are ye asking, Lass?”
Averting her gaze, Henrietta took a deep breath, feeling somewhat foolish. What right did she have to be hurt by the thought that another woman had been meant for her husband? After all, she had not wanted him.
A gentle hand settled under her chin and made her look up. “Ask what ye wish, and I promise I’ll tell ye the truth.” His eyes held hers, and she could see that he meant what he said. But did she want to know? On the other hand, didn’t she already know? Or rather suspect?
Squaring her shoulders, Henriet
ta swallowed. “Which cousin?”
At her question, a hint of delight came to his eyes as though he cherished the thought that she might feel jealous at the idea of him married to another. Holding her gaze, he lowered his head slightly and said, “Moira.”
Inhaling deeply, Henrietta nodded. “I suspected as much.”
“How so?”
Henrietta shrugged. “I cannot say. There’s always something slightly odd in the way she…” Again, she shrugged. “I really cannot say. It’s just a feeling I had as though she didn’t like me because I took you from her.”
Connor frowned. “Has she been unkind to ye?”
“No,” Henrietta hastened to clarify. “Not at all. It was more subtle than that. Maybe she herself is not even aware that she resents me for it. I think she’s been trying to be my friend.”
“I’m glad,” Connor said, and his hands gently closed around hers, pulling her closer, his eyes even more intent than before. “Lass, I need ye to know that it was an arrangement. Even less than that. It was never even agreed upon.” He swallowed and nodded for emphasis. “Although I care for her, I never wanted her, not the way I want ye, Lass.” Pulling her closer, he wrapped his arms around her, and Henrietta felt the slight tremble in his voice as his words resonated from his chest into hers. “I never regretted the choice I made. Not for a second. I need ye to believe that.”
As an excited quiver ran through her, Henrietta smiled. “I do believe you, and I have to admit I am glad to hear it.”
Relief washed over his face, and he lowered his head down to hers, the tip of his nose gently touching hers. “As am I.”
Chapter Thirty − A Voice in the Dark
Sleeping peacefully, Connor frowned when a swift kick to his shin startled him. Instantly, the cocoon of slumber began to recede, and his consciousness resurfaced. His ears detected agonising moans; whereas, the rest of his body continued to register slight attacks, a hand slapping his shoulder, an arm landing across his midsection or a foot connecting with his already bruised shin.