by Bree Wolf
“I’m yer husband, Lass,” Connor objected. “Yer troubles are mine whether ye share them with me or not.”
Touched, Henrietta smiled up at him.
With his broad shoulders and tall stature, Connor Brunwood was a bear of a man, built to carry the heavy broadsword of his ancestors and slay enemies in battle. However, his kind words often betrayed a soft core underneath his sturdy exterior. Few things escaped his watchful eyes, and he constantly surprised her by knowing exactly how she felt and what she needed to hear to heal her wounds. Out of respect and consideration and maybe even out of love−if she dared to believe it−he often put her needs before his own, giving her the time and space she needed to discover whether or not she truly cared for him.
By now, Henrietta knew that she did. But did she love him? Did she truly want to spend the rest of her life by his side? Of course, she was his wife, so by societal rules, the choice had already been made. However, even without him saying the words, Henrietta knew that her husband needed to know if she stayed by his side out of obligation or love.
As much as she wanted to put his mind at ease, Henrietta was not sure. At least, not yet, and so she refrained from saying anything on the matter lest she give him false hope.
“Moira seems sad tonight,” Henrietta finally said. Although it was not the essence of her thoughts, neither was it a complete lie. After all, Moira did seem sad.
Glancing at his cousin, her husband sighed, then nodded. “Aye, she has been as of late,” he confirmed. “A few days ago, she came to speak to me.”
“She did?” Not having expected that, Henrietta’s eyes narrowed.
“She said she was concerned about ye,” her husband elaborated, “and wondered if there was anything she could do to help. Of course, I didna give her any details about our marriage, but from the way she looked at me, I could tell that she was deeply concerned.”
Frowning, Henrietta glanced at the tall woman, standing by the refreshment table. A scowl on her face, she sipped her wine as Angus Brunwood approached her from the side. Pouring himself a drink, the old man met her eyes, and quick words were exchanged before he hobbled away, casting a hateful glance at the dance floor.
When Moira looked up and saw Henrietta watching her, she quickly dropped her gaze to the ground before meeting her eyes once more, a practised smile now on her face.
A strange sense of foreboding came over Henrietta, and a shiver went down her back. Turning back to her husband, Henrietta couldn’t shake the feeling that Moira was watching them. “I understand that she would be concerned about us,” Henrietta lied. “However, you said she was sad. Not because of us, would she?”
Connor shrugged. “She didna say. I’ve known her for a long time though. We practically grew up as brother and sister, and I know when something bothers her. The way she looked at me made me think that something was weighing heavily on her mind. She wouldna say though.” Searching her face, her husband’s eyes narrowed. “That is not what’s bothering ye, Lass, is it?” he enquired. “Will ye not tell me what’s on yer mind?”
Henrietta sighed. “Honestly, I’m not quite certain what is on my mind,” she admitted, “and I do not wish to alarm you in case my suspicions prove wrong.”
“Alarm me?” Instantly, the arms that held her tensed. “What suspicions?”
Henrietta shook her head. “I need a little more time. Please! Trust me.”
Taking a deep breath, her husband eyed her wearily. “Whatever it is that troubles ye, is it something dangerous? Something that can harm ye?”
Taken aback, Henrietta frowned. The thought that Moira might try to harm her physically had never crossed her mind. “No, it’s not,” she said, trying to set his mind at ease, and yet, once spoken, his words stirred on her fears, and she could not help but wonder.
***
After a rather restless night, Connor spent the morning in his study, dealing with everyday clan business. His mind, however, constantly dragged him back to the previous night.
When Brogan and Reid had reconciled so unexpectedly, giving their consent to their children’s marriage, Connor had inadvertently taken this as a good omen, his own hopes soaring into the sky. The night had started out so promising. His wife had been truly affected by the men’s reconciliation, and Connor had seen without difficulty the sense of pride and confidence that had come to her. She had shed tears of joy, clinging to his arm as though he were the only one with whom she would want to share such an emotional moment.
Later, he had seen her laugh and smile from across the courtyard, and he had been drawn to her side like a moth to a flame. Connor remembered the glow in her eyes vividly, and his heart had skipped more than one beat at the thought of the wonderful night that awaited them.
Only then everything had fallen apart as old fears had once more reared their ugly heads. Connor knew that he could not expect her to overcome fears born out of a lifetime of abandonment and abuse in a matter of days, and yet, his heart had hoped that she had come to love him, that he was enough to make her feel safe, and that her days of sadness and fear were finally numbered.
He had been wrong though, and for a moment, Connor doubted that things would ever change.
As a knock sounded on the door, he cleared his throat, determinedly pushing aside all thoughts of hopelessness, and called to enter.
“May I speak with ye,” Moira asked, closing the door behind her. “’Tis rather urgent.”
“Certainly.” Setting aside the papers before him, Connor turned to her, trying to determine what awaited him. “Is something wrong?”
A suppressed smile on her face, Moira could barely keep the skip out of her step as she came to stand in front of his desk. “On the contrary, dear Cousin. I’ve come to elicit yer assistance in a matter of rather dubious nature.”
Connor’s eyes widened in surprise before they narrowed into slits, eyeing his cousin carefully. “I have to say that yer words do not match yer tone, dear Cousin. Pray tell for what is it ye seek my assistance?”
Moira chuckled, “Ye know me too well.” Taking a step closer, she looked at him with soft eyes, the expression on her face serious once more. “I saw ye dance with yer wife last night,” she began, sympathy in her voice, “and from the looks of it, I thought ye could use a little assistance.”
“Assistance? I thought ye were here to seek my assistance?”
“Aye, and aye,” Moira said, an amused curl to her lips. “I know that yer marriage has not been easy for the both of ye, and I remembered that Henrietta told me how much she enjoyed fencing with ye.”
“She told ye that?” As Connor began to understand for what Moira wanted his assistance, he felt a new hope swell in his chest.
“She did, and I believe it would do ye both good to get away and be with each other.” She grinned. “And I thought we’d make it a surprise.”
“A surprise?”
“Aye, ye grab everything ye need,” she explained, “and head to the meadow by the cliffs while I lure yer wife away under a pretext and then lead her there.” Clapping her hands together like a little girl, his cousin smiled at him. “What do ye think? Would she enjoy that?”
As a deep smile spread over his face, Connor felt his shoulders relax as last night’s tension slowly evaporated. “Aye, I think she’d enjoy that.” Rising from his chair, he walked around his desk and took his cousin’s hands into his own. “Thank ye, Moira. I owe ye a debt of gratitude for all yer efforts.”
“Ye’re welcome,” she whispered, her eyes shining like diamonds, and for a moment, Connor wondered if his instincts had deceived him for today she did not strike him as sad at all. “As irritating as ye can be, ye know I love ye dearly, dear Cousin, and there is nothing I wouldna do for ye.”
Hugging her tight, Connor glanced over Moira’s shoulder and out the window at the brilliantly shining sun. As dark as the day had begun, now it promised to be the very day he had hoped for all along.
Chapter Thirty-Four − Revelations
As the sun shone warm on her head and the wind brushed gently over her cheeks, Henrietta followed Moira down the small trail, leading them deeper into the forest. Kerr stepped carefully over raised roots and around tree stumps, and Henrietta gently patted the mare’s neck. “I wish I was as sure-footed as you are, sweet girl.”
Glancing at the woman riding ahead of her, Henrietta wondered about Moira’s motives for asking her to ride out together. All smiles, Moira had seemed unusually eager for Henrietta to join her, and despite a sinking feeling in her stomach, Henrietta had not been able to decline. After all, what reason could she have given? Moira was being perfectly nice, and Henrietta did her best to convince herself that her husband’s cousin was merely trying her best to befriend her−as awkward as this whole situation felt.
“’Tis not much farther,” Moira called over her shoulder as she guided her gelding through the thicket.
Trusting Kerr, Henrietta glanced around. “Where are we going? I don’t believe I’ve ever been here.”
“’Tis a lovely place near a stream,” Moira said, an affectionate smile on her face.
Maybe a little too affectionate, Henrietta thought before she called herself to reason and tried to rein in her fears before they could run off with her sanity. “That sounds lovely.”
Glancing around her nervously, Henrietta sighed in relief when the forest began to thin out and they came upon a small clearing at the bottom of a steep rock wall. A thin waterfall cascaded down its face and pooled into a small stream that ran through the green meadow, its fresh waters sparkling in the sun.
“Oh, how beautiful!” Henrietta exclaimed as her eyes feasted on the landscape before her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so marvellous.”
“’Tis breath-taking, is it not?” Moira asked and slid out of the saddle. “I’ve come here since I was a little girl. ‘Tis my favourite place in the world.”
Letting Kerr graze freely, Henrietta walked up to Moira, who stood on the banks of the small stream, eyes travelling upward to the top of the waterfall.
“When we were young, we’d spent our summers here, daring each other to jump off the edge,” she mused in memory, but Henrietta gasped. “Of course, no one ever did. It would’ve been suicide, but it was fun to dare each other.”
Wondering about her husband’s bond to his cousins, Henrietta said, “From what Connor said, you have quite a few cousins, is that right?”
Moira nodded, then met Henrietta’s eyes. “Aye, sometimes I feel as though there are too many to count, but I’ve always felt closest to Connor and Deidre.” A smile came to her lips that had a challenging curl to it. “We’ve known each other all our lives and know the other almost as well as ourselves.”
Drawing in a deep breath, Henrietta felt her fears confirmed as she held Moira’s daring glance. “That sounds wonderful,” she said, forcing a lightness to her voice that she did not feel. “I suppose growing up together as you did almost makes you siblings. No wonder Connor speaks of you as though you were his sister.”
At her words, Moira’s eyes narrowed and the smile slowly slid off her face. “He thinks of me as family, aye,” Moira hissed, “but I only have one brother, Alastair. Connor is merely my cousin, and the bond we share is of our own making, shaped by years of shared experiences.”
“I’m sorry,” Henrietta said, now sensing open hostility emanating from every pore in Moira’s body. “I did not mean to offend you. Connor will always be your cousin,” she took a step closer, her eyes fixed on Moira’s, “but he is my husband.”
Instantly, all pretence of civility fell from Moira, and open hatred filled her eyes as she glared at Henrietta.
Standing on the small slope leading down into the valley, the two women stood facing each other. While Moira seethed with anger, her hands balled into fists, every sinew in her body tense to the point of breaking, Henrietta stood with her head held high, shoulders squared, aware of the struggle coursing through her opponent’s body. Should Moira choose to attack her, Henrietta would not hesitate to defend herself. However, she would not allow Moira to bait her into acting first.
Laughing, Moira shook her head. “Ye’re merely an outlandish distraction,” she snarled. “He will come to his senses soon enough and see that I was born to be his wife.”
Although Henrietta was far from losing control, she was surprised to detect an unfamiliar emotion swell in her chest, the desire to defend what was hers. Never in her life had she felt territorial about anyone, never experienced the need to keep others at bay, at a safe distance from those she loved.
Accepting the challenge issued, Henrietta took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing, focused on the threat standing an arm’s length in front of her. “He chose me,” she said, her voice almost a whisper but laced with a determination she had never felt before, “when he could have chosen you.”
Moira’s jaw tensed as her teeth ground together.
“Whether you were born to be his wife or not does not matter,” Henrietta continued as pride burst from her soul and swept through her body, “he merely sees you as his cousin. He told me so himself only yesterday. He never wanted you as his wife, not the way he wants me.”
“Do not pretend to know him,” Moira snarled. “The few glimpses ye’ve caught of him are nothing compared to the lifetime we’ve shared together.”
“You’re right,” Henrietta admitted. “You probably know Connor better than me. However, you are his past while I am his future.” At her own words, a fierce longing grew in her heart, and Henrietta knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she wanted him. She wanted to be his wife. She wanted to stay by his side. No matter what the consequences.
“Not if I can prevent it!” Moira barked, her eyes frantically looking around as though searching for something to come to her aid. “He is mine! I will do whatever necessary to protect him from ye!”
Goose bumps rose on Henrietta’s arms as the sun disappeared behind dark clouds, and once again a sense of foreboding gripped her heart. Her eyes shifted from the snarl on Moira’s face to her surroundings, trying to glimpse the threat that lay out there. “What did you do?” she demanded when none emerged from the tree line in her back. Eyes narrowing, her gaze snapped back to Moira. “What did you do?”
With her hair whipped about by the growing wind, Moira looked like a fury as she stared at Henrietta in triumph, an ugly snarl on her face. “I did what I had to,” she bit out. “Ye don’t belong here. Not with him. Not with us. I tried to tell ye before that he wasna right for ye, but ye wouldna listen. Now, ‘tis too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“To return to the place ye came from,” Moira snapped, “in peace. But ye wouldna. Ye made me do this.”
“Do what?” Henrietta demanded, her eyes still scanning the tree line as well as the valley stretching out toward the other side of the rock formation to her right. To her relief, she could not detect anyone approaching. “Are you planning to kill me?” Henrietta asked straight-forward, her mind reaching out to search for the dagger she carried on her person at all times. Yes, there it was in the right inside pocket of her jacket. If Moira had completely lost her sense and would try to take her life, Henrietta would not lay down without a fight!
Moira laughed. “Not me,” she hissed, and her gaze narrowed as she leaned forward and stared into Henrietta’s eyes. “That’s a man’s job.”
Shocked, Henrietta stepped back, and her hand flew up to her jacket, whipping out the dagger with practised ease. Glancing around herself, she demanded, “Who? Who is helping you?”
For a moment, Moira seemed to be taken aback as she stared at the sharp blade in Henrietta’s hand. Then a slow smile came to her face, and she shrugged. “Do ye truly not know? After all, there is no one in Greyston Castle who hates ye more. Maybe even more than me.” Glancing down the slope, Moira turned her head, eyes searching the meadow as it stretched to the far horizon, and a frown came to her face. “Where is he?” she mumbled as her
eyes narrowed in concentration, her head jerking from side to side. “’Tis the right place. He promised he’d be here.”
“He?” Henrietta demanded once more, the muscles in her body growing heavy with the tension she forced on them. “Alastair? Is it Alastair? Is your brother helping you?” Could she have been wrong about Alastair? Yes, he disliked her, but would he truly betray Connor and take the life of his chief’s wife? Old fears soared to the surface, and Henrietta feared she’d misjudged him.
“Puh!” Moira spat. “My brother is loyal to a fault. He would never do anything he’d deem a betrayal of Connor.”
“But you would,” Henrietta said, shaking her head. “How can you betray him? I thought you cared for him.”
A disgusted snarl on her face, Moira hissed, “I love him, and ye’re wrong if ye think I would ever betray him.”
“But you are!”
“I am not betraying him,” Moira spat. “I am liberating him, setting him free of yer harmful influence so that he can reclaim his rightful place.” Taking a slow breath, Moira lifted her head and stared into the distance. “I’ve always known that he was meant to be chief of Clan Brunwood. Even as a child. And so when the time came, I made certain, he would be named tanist.”
Staring at the wild look on Moira’s face, Henrietta gasped, “You? It was you who spread those rumours. You’re the reason Alastair was passed over. How could you do that to your own brother?”
“I did nothing,” Moira hissed. “This was meant to happen. I saw it in my dreams. Connor is the rightful leader with me by his side as his wife.”
Dreams! The word echoed in Henrietta’s mind as she remembered what Rhona had told her. I rarely act upon my dreams now. A part of me feels that what is meant to happen will, and my dreams merely intend to prepare me for what is to come, not change the outcome. Too much knowledge about the future causes more harm than good. Did Moira have the gift as well? Had she seen a glimpse of the future? A future in which Moira was Connor’s wife?