by Bree Wolf
Entering the forest, Connor spotted hoof-prints in the soft ground and hurried onward. Judging from their depths, he guessed that she had not slowed down, but instead raced through the forest the same way she had left the castle. He could only hope that she had not been thrown at such a break-neck speed.
Allowing his gelding free reins, Connor scanned his surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. However, it wasn’t until he had left the forest behind and proceeded toward the old castle ruins that he detected movement on the horizon.
Kerr. He thought and urged his gelding on.
Squinting his eyes, he could only make out the mare; however, there was no sign of his wife, and fear clawed at his heart. What had she done? He cursed as his eyes travelled to the cliff face.
Pulling up beside his wife’s patiently grazing mare, Connor jumped off his horse, his eyes searching frantically as he rushed around the ruins. His heart hammered in his chest, and his muscles ached all over as the strained tension he felt held them in a tight grip.
As he came around the last boulder, his heart stopped.
Standing at the edge of the cliff was his wife, her arms spread like a bird, head thrown back, eyes closed.
A gust of wind caught in her skirts, and she began to sway on her feet.
Instinctively, Connor rushed forward, hands reaching for her, praying that he would not grasp at nothing.
The moment his arm closed around her waist and he flung her backward, relief flooded his heart in a way he had never experienced before. He did not feel the dull thud as he hit the ground or the soft ache in his shoulder. All he felt was her soft body in his arms, alive and safe.
Shrieking, she elbowed him in the ribs, and he rolled over, pinning her to the ground. “What on earth are ye doing, Lass?” he snapped, panting under his breath. “Are ye so desperate to rid yerself of this life?”
For a moment, she stared up at him as though he were an apparition. Then she blinked, and the expression in her eyes cleared before they narrowed into slits. “What are you doing here?” she spat, trying to free herself. “Get off me!”
After hours in fear for her life, anger rose to the surface at the sight of the rebellious expression in her eyes, and Connor’s hands tightened on her wrists. “Ye promised ye wouldna hurt yerself!” he snarled into her face. “Ye promised!”
Shocked, her eyes widened before they searched his face. “I didn’t…I…” She swallowed, meeting his eyes openly. “I wouldn’t have.”
“Then what were ye doing standing up on the cliff? Arms spread as though ye were about to dive into the sea?”
She took a deep breath, and her eyes strayed from his. “That is not of your concern.”
“Ye’re my wife!”
Instantly, her eyes narrowed, hatred burning in their core. “Get off me!” she snarled, and every muscle in her body tensed, resisting.
Taking a deep breath, Connor gritted his teeth before he relinquished his hold on her wrists and rose to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up.
“I do not need your assistance,” she snapped, jumping to her feet. “Why did you follow me? I thought I was free to go where I pleased.”
“Ye are,” he said, his hands balling into fists to keep his own anger from boiling over. “I followed ye because I was worried.”
“Worried?” Meeting his gaze, her eyes narrowed, and an angry snarl came to her lips. “For I am just a feeble woman in desperate need of a man’s protection, am I not?”
Exhausted, Connor growled, “Ye mule-headed woman! Would ye come off that high horse of yers for a moment to see that I am not yer enemy!” Gritting his teeth, he fought down his anger. “I was worried because I know that something haunts ye, Lass, and the manner in which ye left made me fear ye’d reached the end of yer rope.” He glanced at the edge behind her. “I couldna bear the thought of losing ye.”
Staring at him, his wife swallowed, and for a moment, he thought to see a spark in her sad eyes. A spark of hope, of pleasure as though his words had touched something deep inside her. “I came here to…think,” she whispered, her eyes barely meeting his. “I wouldn’t have jumped. I promise.”
Connor nodded. “Good.” Then he stepped toward her, and her eyes rose up to meet his. “Ye’re a proud woman,” he began, “and I do not wish to insult ye, but I feel compelled to make ye understand.” When she didn’t lash out at him or run away, he took a deep breath, feeling encouraged. “I never said I doubted yer heart, yer courage or yer wit. Only the strength of yer arm.” Instantly, her eyes narrowed. “Are ye truly so conceited that ye canna admit yer own limitations? Why would ye lie to yerself for I can see that ye know the truth?”
For a moment, her eyes closed, and she remained silent. Looking up though, she shook her head.
“Then fight me,” Connor challenged, “hand to hand, and may the best fighter win.”
***
“What?” Henrietta asked, uncertain whether or not to believe her ears. Had her husband just challenged her to a fist fight?
“Why do ye hesitate?” he asked, holding her gaze. “If we are truly equally matched, then there is no reason for ye to refuse my request.” He stepped closer, and his eyes drilled into hers, an open challenge in them.
Henrietta swallowed as her demons readied themselves for battle. She could not allow him to intimidate her. She could not allow herself to be weak for only the strong survived. She had learnt that long ago.
Stepping back, Henrietta dug her heels into the ground, her muscles tense, ready for whatever lay ahead. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, and her hands rose before her body.
“D’ye accept my challenge?”
“I do.”
The words had barley left her lips when he lunged forward, his large hands reaching for her.
Henrietta spun to the side, rotating on one heel, and slipped from his grasp.
He came at her again and again; his attacks, however, were half-hearted and playful. He held back, and Henrietta’s anger rose to new heights. He did not believe her a worthy opponent.
“Ye’re so fixated on appearing strong, on not admitting a weakness,” he said approaching her once more; “have ye never considered what it would mean for ye to lose a challenge, Lass? Have ye ever even been challenged to a real fight? Or have ye only ever fought yer brother in playful matches?”
The second she opened her mouth for a derisive retort, his right arm shot forward and his fist connected with her chin.
Henrietta’s eyes flew open. However, there was no pain.
He had not struck her, but cushioned his attack and only touched his fist to her skin. Then he stepped forward and caught both her wrists in his large hands. “I have no intention of hurting ye, Lass, for I couldna bear to see ye in pain. However, I want ye to feel yer own limitations. ‘Tis not enough to know them for it would be too easy for ye to convince yerself of the opposite.”
Henrietta tried to free herself from his grasp but failed. Cursing under her breath, she glared up at him.
While she struggled against him, her arms trapped, her heart pounding with the indignity and shame of the position she had allowed herself to be manoeuvred into, her husband stood there like a stone pillar, calm, his eyes watching her, waiting for her to surrender.
“Release me!” Henrietta growled.
Holding her burning gaze, he shook his head and waited.
Once more, Henrietta yanked on her arms, and once more, he didn’t budge, her wrists trapped in iron shackles.
However, when he gave her arms a soft tug, she flew against him, unable to maintain the distance between them. “There is no shame,” he whispered, “in admitting one’s weaknesses to a friend.”
Meeting his eyes, Henrietta took a deep breath. A friend? Was he a friend? Could she trust him?
Again, her demons roared into life, and their deafening cries hammered in her head. However, somewhere underneath, a soft voice whispered of the longing she felt in her heart, a longing for someone to
lean on, to confide in, to respect and trust. “If what you say is true,” she said, holding his gaze as a soft tremble shook her, “then admit to a weakness of your own.”
His lips thinned, and he breathed in deeply through his nose.
“It is easy to advise others,” Henrietta whispered.
He nodded. “It is indeed.” For a moment, he seemed to look inward as though contemplating the challenge she had issued before his eyes returned to hers. “Ye’re right, Lass. I have no right to ask for yer trust if I am unwilling to give ye mine.” He drew in a deep breath, and Henrietta felt a slight tremble roll from his hands into her arms. “I have never spoken to anyone about it,” he began, “but I am trusting ye with this.”
Henrietta nodded, a sense of pride swelling in her chest that he would share his darkest secret with her.
He swallowed. “I have trouble reading and writing.”
Surprised, Henrietta watched him and saw the tension in his face as he waited for her reaction.
“I did learn,” he explained when she did not react appalled by his admission. “However, I canna read as fast as others and understand what I’ve read. I need to read slowly, and still details often escape me.” He shrugged. “It doesna matter how often I practise. I never seem to manage to read with the same ease as others. Spelling words is difficult as well.”
For a long moment, they looked at each other as his words hung between them. It was as though they stood on opposite ends of a large ravine, and his revelation had begun to build a bridge from his side, its end dangling in the air, needing her to finish it.
Henrietta swallowed, then cleared her throat. “I…I don’t know…if I can trust…myself.”
“Trust yerself?” he whispered, and his hands released her wrists as he looked down at her, his forehead in a puzzled frown.
Rubbing her left wrist, Henrietta stepped back, her eyes sweeping over the ruins of the old castle. “To see others for whom they are.” She hesitated, then turned back and met his gaze. “Your mother helped me see it.”
A soft curl came to his lips. “Aye, she has her ways. I don’t really understand how she knows the things she does. I never asked, and she never said.” His eyes held hers before he nodded. “But she told ye, did she not?”
Henrietta nodded.
He stepped closer then, and his left hand came to rest on her shoulder before it ran down her arm and gently squeezed her hand. “Ye always expect people to betray ye. Why? What happened? Can ye not tell me? I swear I willna use it against ye.”
Holding his gaze, Henrietta swallowed. Could she confide in him? Should she? His mother had simply known. There had been no need for Henrietta to explain. His mother had known, and it had made things easier.
“Who betrayed ye?” he asked, and his hand left hers to settled under her chin, making her look at him. “Was it yer parents? Or yer brother?”
Her jaw quivered as a single tear spilled over and ran down her cheek.
“What happened?”
Henrietta swallowed. “I was five,” she began, remembering the night that had shaped her like no other, “when he killed her.”
Her husband drew in a sharp breath, and a frown settled on his brows. “Yer father?”
“Yes.” For a moment, Henrietta closed her eyes. “He had fits of anger especially when he was drunk. No matter what he had promised before, he would turn against her,” opening her eyes, she met his gaze, “and she would take the beating. She would cry and weep, but she would not fight to protect herself…or us.”
By then, tears were running freely down her cheeks, but she only noticed them when he took her face into his large hands, gently brushing them away. As she tried to avert her eyes, he held her gaze. “She surrendered,” he whispered, “when she should have fought. She betrayed ye as did yer father.” He swallowed. “Did ye see what happened?”
Henrietta shook her head. “No, I was upstairs when their screaming woke me. I slipped out of bed, got my little brother and hid in the pantry. I don’t know for how long I sat there, trying not to listen. I heard footsteps, and then a shot rang out.” Taking a deep breath, she shrugged. “I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t. My little brother, he…”
“Ye did right, Lass,” he said as he held her gaze, willing her to understand. “Ye did right. Ye saw him safe.”
Closing her eyes, Henrietta sagged against him as all strength left her body, and her limbs simply wouldn’t support her any longer.
He caught her though, his strong arms coming around her, and sitting down on a knee-high boulder, he pulled her onto his lap, holding her tight and murmuring words of comfort while Henrietta wept like never before. Years of unshed tears ran down her cheeks as she cried her heart out, all the pain and disappointment, all the fear and anger that had tortured her for so long.
“Ye did right,” he said over and over as he stroked her back and brushed the hair out of her face.
Clinging to him, Henrietta allowed herself a moment of weakness and rested her head against his shoulder. Even if it would only last a moment, she clung to the sense of warmth and safety that engulfed her.
When her tears finally died down, Henrietta stilled, and embarrassment began to burn in her cheeks. She should never have allowed her husband to see her so vulnerable. Yes, he had promised not to use it against her, but so had her father. Over and over, he had pleaded with her mother to believe him, only to break his word the next time anger seized him.
Straightening, Henrietta slipped off her husband’s lap and turned her back to him as she brushed away the last tears. She took a deep breath, and a shiver ran over her a moment before his hands settled on her shoulders and he pulled her toward him until her back rested against his chest.
“Ye do not fear the people around ye because ye do not trust them,” he whispered in her ear as his breath tickled her neck, “but because ye canna tell whether or not ye should, and so ye look at everyone as a threat.” Gently, his hands urged her to turn and face him. “It keeps ye safe, but it is lonely, is it not, Lass?”
Meeting his gaze, Henrietta felt her resolve weaken. She knew she shouldn’t, and yet, she couldn’t help it. She was so tired, tired of the constant struggle, tired of being on her guard all the time, tired of fighting alone.
“Will ye let me hold ye, Lass?”
Unable to deny herself the comfort he offered, Henrietta nodded, welcoming the strong arms that came around her. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of his hands as they slid over her back and up and down her arms. His warm breath caressed her skin, and she shivered as his lips brushed over her neck.
Pulling back, she stared at him, seeing an echo of the desire that had seized her so quickly reflected in his eyes. Her arms came up, pulling her closer against him, and her eyes lowered to trace the line of his lips.
A soft smile came to his mouth as he bent his head to hers. “Take what ye wish, Lass, for I am yers if ye’ll have me.”
Biting her lip, Henrietta held his gaze for a moment longer. Then in one fluid motion, her hands reached up and pulled him down to her, and the instant her mouth claimed his, it was as though the sun exploded overhead. Never in a million years would she have expected the emotions that ran through her body as his lips moved over hers. Gentle and teasing at first, then passionate and demanding.
Losing herself in the moment, Henrietta forgot the world around her until a soft nicker reached her ear, and the sound of thundering hoof-beats echoed across the plain.
An annoyed growl rose from her husband’s throat as he lifted his head and his lips parted with hers. As he turned to the approaching rider, his arms remained firmly around her, holding her close. “Alastair,” he mumbled as his tanist reined in his horse and then slid to the ground, his jaw tense as he gritted his teeth and regarded them through narrowed eyes.
“What troubles ye?” her husband asked, and the arm still holding her tensed.
Coming to stand before them, Alastair’s eyes slid from Henrietta to her husband, op
en disapproval evident in them. “A messenger arrived sent by Brogan Brunwood,” he said. “He says his daughter is missing. Probably taken.”
Henrietta drew in a sharp breath while her husband’s eyes narrowed. “By whom?”
Alastair shrugged. “That is unclear. He asks for yer assistance.”
Her husband nodded. “Certainly. Ride ahead. We’ll be along shortly.” Then he turned to Henrietta and led her a few steps away as Alastair returned to his horse. “I’m sorry, Lass,” he whispered, and a soft curl came to his lips as he glanced down at hers. “Very sorry, but this is an urgent matter. We need to return to Greyston.”
Overwhelmed by everything that had happened within the last few minutes, Henrietta merely nodded, uncertain how to feel about all these new developments.
Chapter Seventeen − Heavy Burdens
Upon returning to Greyston, her husband immediately excused himself and headed in the direction of his study followed by Alastair and a few other men Henrietta could not name. A council was called, and the messenger would be heard.
To Henrietta’s surprise, Rhona and Deidre waited for her in the grand hall with smiling faces, welcoming her back as though she were a daughter of the clan.
“Do not ever scare me like that again,” Deidre chided while shaking her head. “When I saw ye come racing out of the stables like a mad woman, I was certain I’d never see ye again.”
“I’m sorry,” Henrietta whispered, touched beyond words at the honest emotions she saw on the young woman’s face.
Rhona smiled as she wrapped a strong arm around Henrietta’s shoulders, knowing eyes looking down at her. “It served its purpose though, didn’t it?”
Henrietta frowned. “Its purpose?”
Rhona chuckled, and her eyebrows rose into arches before she glanced in the direction of her son’s study. “Only this morning, defeat and hopelessness marked both of yer eyes. Now, I see something else in yers as well as in his.”
Feeling heat burn in her cheeks, Henrietta averted her gaze but could not prevent the hint of a pleased smile from curling up the corners of her mouth.