by Bree Wolf
Once more, silence fell over them as they stood side by side, their eyes directed at the old fortress. Garrett thought of his wife as she settled into her new home and wondered if Cormag’s thoughts had strayed to Moira.
After a while, his friend took a step back and turned to look at him. “I have business to attend to,” was all Cormag said before he took his leave and walked away.
***
Smiling at her husband down in the courtyard, Claudia then turned away from the window, knowing that she would never get settled in if she remained standing by the window like a love-struck girl. Still, the moment she flung open the second trunk, a knock sounded on the door, halting her progress once more.
Surprised, Claudia wondered if Garrett had already returned. However, then she reminded herself that he would not knock on his own door.
Striding forward, she reached for the handle and opened the door, curious to see who would call on her.
Out in the hall stood a young woman with auburn curls framing a smiling face. “G’day to ye,” she said. “Ye’re Garrett’s new wife, are ye not? From England?”
Delighted with the young woman’s forward manner, Claudia nodded. “Yes, I am. Would you like to come in?”
A large smile drew up the woman’s lips, and she flitted across the threshold like a fairy, her movements fluid and her steps barely touching the ground. “Oh, I’m so happy ye’re here. I came the moment I heard ye’d arrived.” Her smile froze. “I hope I’m not interrupting ye.” She glanced around and seeing Claudia had not yet unpacked trunk clasped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldna have come. I−”
“No, it’s all right,” Claudia interrupted, feeling an instant connection to the young woman. “Please stay. It’s wonderful to have a little company,…eh?”
“Maggie,” the young woman beamed when Claudia hesitated. “I’m Margaret MacDrummond, but everybody calls me Maggie. I grew up in England myself, and so, I thought I’d come here and welcome ye.”
Claudia’s eyes widened. “You grew up in England?” she asked, incredulity clear in her voice.
Maggie chuckled, “Aye, it doesna sound like it, does it? I came here when I came of age. My mother wanted me to marry into her old clan. Ye see, she was born a MacDrummond, but married an Englishman and left the Highlands with him.” A deep sigh left Maggie's’ lips, and her eyes took on a wistful look. “But her heart never quite felt at home in England.”
Claudia smiled. “And neither did you?”
Maggie shrugged. “Not quite. I may have been born English, but I think of myself as Scottish now. Ye’ll see. The Highlands will steal yer heart soon enough.”
Laughing, Claudia gestured for Maggie to sit, “It’s already been quite an adventure, exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
Reaching for Claudia’s hands, Maggie leaned toward her eagerly. “Ye must tell me everything. Is it true that Garrett saved ye from a French privateer?”
Claudia laughed, amazed with the speed of gossip in the Highlands. “I promise I will, but first tell me how you know my husband. You seem to know him well.”
Maggie nodded. “Aye, I know him well. He and my husband are good friends.”
“And who is your husband?” Claudia asked, momentarily thinking that Maggie with her smiles and exuberant nature would be a perfect match for Finn…before she remembered that his wife’s name was Emma.
“My husband is Ian MacDrummond,” Maggie said. “I believe ye’ve already met him.”
Momentarily stunned, Claudia stared at Maggie, thinking that she had seldom seen two people more ill-fittingly matched. “Yes, I did meet him. He and Finn came to Glasgow to help Garrett.”
Maggie sighed, “Oh, aye, Garrett was so miserable when he returned from Gretna Green last year. Ian was quite upset to see him thus. They tried to cheer him up, but nothing worked.” Squeezing Claudia’s hands, Maggie smiled at her. “I’m so glad he found ye. I only caught a glimpse of him when he rode in this morning, but he looked fairly taken with ye.” A chuckle escaped Maggie’s lips. “As ye do with him.”
Claudia sighed, finding herself warming to the young woman with each moment that passed. “Yes, he’s a wonderful man, and I’m so lucky to have found him…that he found me,” she added with a chuckle.
“Will ye tell me about it?” Maggie asked with eager eyes.
“Of course,” Claudia replied before she leaned closer conspiratorially, “if you tell me about a woman named Moira.” During her journey north, Claudia had often asked questions about Moira, and yet, the answers had always fallen short of what she had hoped for. Moira was still an enigma…not only to her, but as it seemed to everyone else. Still, Claudia could not help but wish to know more about the woman who had sent Garrett to Gretna Green to find her.
Maggie’s eyes widened, and an appreciative smile came to her lips. “Ye know to ask the right questions; I give ye that.”
And thus, began a very informative afternoon as well as a friendship that would last a lifetime for as ill-fitted as Maggie was with her husband, she would prove to be the best friend Claudia had ever had.
THE END
In the next instalment of this series, Banished & Welcomed – The Laird’s Reckless Wife, we will learn more about Moira as she tries to find her place among the MacDrummonds and finds herself inexplicably drawn to their taciturn laird, Cormag MacDrummond. We first meet Moira in Abandoned & Protected – The Marquis’ Tenacious Wife. So, if you have not read it yet, grab your copy now and learn why Moira was banished from her clan. Read on to find an excerpt on the following pages!
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#4 Abandoned & Protected - The Marquis' Tenacious Wife
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#5 Ruined & Redeemed - The Earl's Fallen Wife
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Read a Sneak-Peek of
Abandoned & Protected
The Marquis’ Tenacious Wife
(#4)
A bear of a man. A twig of a girl. And a love that was destined to be.
After what her father did to her mother, HENRIETTA TURNER's worst fears are to be realised when her uncle decides to marry her off to a Scot. Gentleman or not, Henrietta knows that at his core he is still a barbarian. What will she suffer at the hands of this savage?
CONNOR BRUNWOOD, MARQUIS OF RODRIDGE, cannot believe he fell head over heels in love with this thin, pale twig of a girl. However, the moment he saw her, he knew he had to make her his wife. If only she didn't hate the very sight of him!
However, when his life is suddenly in danger, an assassin lying in wait, everything they thought they knew is put to the test.
Will Henrietta betray her husband or stand by his side? Will she take the opportunity to rid herself of him forever? Or will she risk everything to save his life...as well as her heart?
Prologue
England 1781 (or a variation thereof)
The rain pelted on the roof as her mother’s screams woke five-year-old Henrietta Turner from a rather fitful sleep. With wide eyes, she stared up at the dark ceiling, her hands curled into the blanket. Dark shadows danced around her as she lay listening.
The sounds of the storm raging outside her window almost drowned out her father’s lamentations as he berated her mother once again, his drunken slur raising goose bumps on Henrietta’s arms.
Closing her eyes, Henrietta rolled onto her side. If only she could go back to sleep, then everything would be all right!
Most nights, the small hunting cottage lay in silence as her father slept off his drunken stupor. However, that night was not one of them.
Something had roused him. Worse, something had angered him.
A chill crept up her small limbs, and Henrietta’s jaw began to tremble as she gritted her teeth against the onslaught of sounds. Her mother’s voice reached her ears, pleading, begging as she did her best to evade his anger. Her father, however, seemed oblivious to the fact that it was not an enemy he was advancing on, but his own wife.
Their voices mingled into an all too familiar dance of pain and hatred that sent Henrietta from her bed.
Despite the raging storm outside, she did not feel safe in this house, never had. For the only reason, her father, Rupert Turner, Viscount Elton, dragged his family out into the woods to the small hunting cottage on the outer border of their estate was that it gave him free rein over his family.
Out here, he did not have to hold back. Out here, he could do as he pleased. Out here, there was nothing and no one to stop him.
Least of all himself.
In her short life, Henrietta had seen it many times. In society, even with only servants around, her father did his utmost to portray the image that was expected of him. Despite his shortcomings in character and intelligence, few had ever seen him at his worst.
That privilege was reserved for his family.
Staring out into the storm, Henrietta squinted her eyes. Was that the shadow of a man? She wondered as a soft whinny mingled with the howling wind.
Then she closed her eyes. How often had her mind conjured a saviour who would come and stop her father and protect them? But he had never come, and he never would.
No one would protect her, not even her mother.
“Tristan,” Henrietta whispered, and her eyes went wide as her heart hammered in her small chest.
Tiptoeing across the wooden floorboards, she cracked open the door, relieved that the pelting rain drowned out the soft creak of old hinges.
Instantly, her father’s voice slammed into her as it echoed up the stairs from the small parlour in the front of the cottage.
Henrietta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she stepped out into the dark hallway and silently walked toward the far door at its opposite end. Sliding it open, she stepped inside, her cold feet carrying her toward the wooden crib by the window.
Standing on her tiptoes, Henrietta peered down at her sleeping baby brother, safely swaddled in a soft blanket, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. He was the image of peace and trust, and in her little heart, Henrietta knew that she needed to protect him.
Though tall for her age, Henrietta had to drag over a chair in order to take him out of the crib. Resting his tiny head against her shoulder, she cradled him in her arms, holding him tight as he slept peacefully.
Then Henrietta opened the door once more, straining her ears. Her mother’s frightened sobs reached her heart, and for a moment, Henrietta closed her eyes. As much as she wanted to help her, she knew there was nothing she could do. She glanced down at her brother.
Him, she would keep safe.
Approaching the stairs, Henrietta glanced over the banister into the small front room. When all remained clear and her parents’ voices did not drift closer, she hugged her brother to her chest and silently slipped down the stairs. Glancing out the window, Henrietta knew she could not take him outside into the downpour, and so she tiptoed past the front door and toward the back where the kitchen was located.
The smells of fresh bread and savoury stew reached her nose, and Henrietta breathed in deeply as she entered the room. She rounded the working table in the middle and walked toward the small pantry. Stepping inside, she closed the door, then pulled aside a heavy crate of potatoes and slipped behind it, pulling it back into place.
Her back resting against the wall, Henrietta sat down cross-legged, her frozen feet like ice against her warm legs. Looking down at her brother, she wrapped him tighter in his little blanket, hugging him to her chest to keep him warm. When he slept on peacefully, Henrietta rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes, her parents’ voices echoing in her ears.
A tear ran down her cold cheek at her father’s angry shouts met by her mother’s whimpering sobs.
Then her brother stirred, and Henrietta’s head snapped up.
Gently rocking him in her arms, she began to hum a lullaby. After a while he quieted down. Relieved, Henrietta continued to hum under her breath, afraid he would wake and alert their father to their whereabouts. What would he do if he found them?
Henrietta didn’t want to know.
After a while, her eyelids began to close and her head sank back. Henrietta immediately tightened her hold on Tristan, pulling up her knees to steady him, afraid her arms would slacken and she would drop him.
For a long while, only her mother’s occasional sobs reached her ears, but other than that, the house fell silent. Only the storm still raged outside, the rain drumming on the roof as the wind howled through every crack, reaching inside with cold fingers.
Out of nowhere, a scream pierced the rhythmic drumming of the rain, and once more Henrietta’s head snapped up.
Her mother.
Straining her ears, Henrietta listened, but she could not make out her mother’s voice. Or her father’s, for that matter.
Again, the house lay in silence.
An eerie sense of foreboding crawled up Henrietta’s skin, and she swallowed, her only relief the peacefully sleeping baby in her small arms.
A shot rang through the dark, and Henrietta flinched.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she stared at the closed door to the pantry, afraid of what was happening on the other side. Had her father fired a shot? She wondered. He only used his rifles for hunting. Why would he…?
Henrietta swallowed before she stepped out from behind the box of potatoes and approached the door. Her arms trembled with the effort it took to hold her brother clutched to her chest, and her legs felt like pudding, wobbly and weak
.
Cracking open the door a little, Henrietta peered out into the dark kitchen, but for the moment, all remained quiet.
Then footsteps echoed from the front parlour before they hastened up the stairs, the boards creaking under their weight.
With her eyes raised to the ceiling, Henrietta followed their sound as they stepped into one room after the other before finally returning downstairs. As they reached the front room, an angry growl echoed through the silence as the door was yanked open, inviting in the raging storm for but a moment before it closed once more.
The footsteps were gone.
For a long time, Henrietta stood by the door, peering through the crack. Straining her ears, she held her breath, trying to determine where her parents were. Had they left?
Henrietta felt utterly alone.
Swallowing, she pushed open the door before her courage could fail her and walked back the way she had come. As she approached the doorway to the parlour, Henrietta swallowed before peeking around the corner, hoping her father wouldn’t see her.
The moment her gaze fell on her parents, her eyes went wide and she almost dropped her little brother.
Staring at their lifeless bodies, Henrietta couldn’t help but wish that her father would yell at her, that he would glare at her with blood-shot eyes or even slap her across the face. Anything would be better than…this.
However, he never would again. He was no longer a threat to her or her brother.
Only, he had taken their mother with him when he had decided to leave this world, and Henrietta would never forgive him for that. A sweet-tempered woman, her mother had always submitted to his wishes, and yet, it had done her no good.
