by Bree Wolf
“Good day, Sir,” the rider greeted her in a foreign slur as he pulled up his beast in front of her. “May I enquire what ye’re doing so far out here? From afar, it looked a wee bit as though ye were dancing?” A slight chuckle shook his raspy voice as dark green eyes darted to the foil in her hand.
A spark of relief went through her at his address, and her hand on the foil’s hilt relaxed a little. However, his derogatory remark irked her to no end, and she could barely keep herself from lifting her head and meeting his eyes. Instead, she glanced at him from under the rim of her hat. “A good day to you as well, Sir,” she said, a touch of anger in her voice. “I was merely practising my footwork. However, I suppose from a distance it could have appeared…differently.”
Henrietta gritted her teeth; conceding when she wanted to attack nearly drove her mad.
The stranger nodded as his eyes slid over her, a hint of curiosity in them. “I apologise. Allow me to assure ye that I meant no offence.” While his gelding pawed the ground restlessly, its rider sat calmly atop its back, the expression on his face one of honest interest. “Even from afar, I could see ye’re a fine swordsman.” He nodded his head in compliment.
Pride surged through Henrietta at his words. No one, except for her brother, had ever given her such a compliment, and before she knew what she was doing, her head rose and a deep smile came to her face.
The second she met his penetrating eyes, Henrietta knew she had made a mistake.
But it was too late.
***
Connor frowned. There was something strange about this young man.
When he had come upon him, Connor had been surprised to see him train out in the woods all by himself. Would it not be easier to train on his estate? Judging from the young man’s clothes−although they hung rather loosely on his body−they were of good quality, suggesting that he came of money and could well afford other means. The foil, too, looked to be of excellent craftsmanship.
A hint of regret filled Connor at the thought that despite the man’s ability, he would never become a formidable fighter. Tall and slightly-built, he lacked the muscles and with it the strength to overpower an opponent. If he had not, Connor would have offered himself as a training partner. However, he did not wish to humiliate the young man.
And so Connor extended his honest compliments and was rather surprised to see such delight on the man’s face as he lifted his head.
Instantly, Connor’s eyes narrowed, and his gaze swept the young man’s soft features and pale blue eyes, which widened in answer, staring back at him in shock.
When Connor leaned forward in the saddle, the young man dropped his gaze to the ground as though embarrassed, his hand tightening on the hilt of his foil.
He was hiding something! Connor knew he was, and so he dismounted determined to find out what. “’Tis a fine day,” he observed, walking closer, his gelding trailing behind him. “D’ye come here often to practice?”
“Yes, I do,” the young man answered in a strangely low voice as he took a step backwards.
Since the young man had lowered his chin almost to his chest, Connor could not see his face any longer. However, the way he moved was just as telling. There was a touch of gracefulness and pride, which Connor had never before seen in a man, and he remembered his earlier thought that the young man had seemed as though he had been dancing. “D’ye always practice alone?”
The young man stopped and straightened his shoulders as though he had decided not to run anymore. “I do what I must in order to maintain my skill.”
Connor nodded, taking another step closer. “’Tis commendable,” he remarked, stopping only a step away from the man’s shoulder. And while the young man kept his head down, determined not to look at him, Connor’s eyes swept over his thin shoulders, scrawny arms and long legs, and a suspicion began to form in his mind.
Connor leaned closer then, breathing in the soft scent of honeysuckle only slightly masked by sweat and a hint of panic. He also noticed the man’s rapid breathing, not from exertion but rather fear, as his hand curled around the hilt of the foil, a slight tremble in his arm. “I forgot my manners,” Connor called in feigned surprise. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He inclined his head, his eyes still trained on the young man’s posture. “Connor Brunwood, future Marquis of Rodridge.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the young man forced out through gritted teeth, his voice not as low as it had been moments ago.
“And ye are?” Connor asked with a chuckle.
The young man cleared his throat. “My name is…eh…Henry…Henry Smith.”
“Pleased to meet ye,” Connor said, then shook his head laughing. “What are ye doing out here without an escort, Henry?”
The young man froze. “I beg your pardon.”
Reaching out, Connor swiftly pulled off the hat, and although most of her blond tresses were pinned up in the back, a few loose strands tumbled down, framing her shocked face. Round eyes stared back into his, and Connor had to draw in a deep breath as his gaze swept over her, now knowing she was a woman. “A bonny lass,” he whispered, smiling at her.
***
All noise was drowned out by the blood rushing in her ears as Henrietta stood in the clearing, staring at the bear of a man who had just now unmasked her, a delighted smirk on his face. His eyes slid over her in frank perusal, touching not only her lips and the curve of her neck but also venturing lower.
Refusing to be intimidated, Henrietta took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, her right hand coming forward, bringing the foil with it.
Instantly, his eyes snapped up to meet hers. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but is it not unusual for an English lass to ride out on her own?” he asked, amusement curling his lip., “And with a weapon no less?”
Henrietta’s mouth pressed into a thin line as her eyes narrowed. “Maybe you are less acquainted with English customs than you think, my lord.”
Smiling, he took a step closer, his eyes drilling into hers. “I doubt that,” he whispered, and his breath brushed over her skin, making her shiver. “Ye’ve done yer best to conceal that ye’re a woman,” he continued, his eyes sweeping over her form as though trying to glimpse beneath her clothes, “which means that someone would be verra displeased with ye if he were to find ye this way.” He met her eyes. “And yet, ye are here.” He nodded. “This is important to ye.”
Henrietta swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of the powerful man towering over her. Although she was tall for a woman, he seemed like a giant, and Henrietta had to admit that she was no match for him. That thought coincided with the realisation that they were, indeed, alone.
What she had considered an asset had now turned into a threat. What did he want?
“There’s no need to be scared,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “I mean ye no harm.”
“I am not,” Henrietta hissed, forcing herself not to take a step backwards. “However, I would appreciate it if you got back on your horse and left.”
Again, a smile curled up the corners of his mouth. “Ye’re willing to let me leave? Are ye not afraid I might betray yer secret?”
Henrietta tensed. Would he? Or rather could he? After all, she hadn’t even given him her name. So, how on earth was he to find her? “You are not from these parts,” she mumbled, considering her options.
He laughed. “What gave me away, Lass?”
Gritting her teeth, Henrietta fought the urge to run him through. And yet, despite his mockery, his words felt like a caress, and she shivered at the term of endearment.
In all her years, no man had ever unsettled her the way this brute did. From what she could tell, no man had ever wanted to. Curt words and harsh replies had always been her best defence against the opposite sex.
Maybe in his country, people did not consider civility a requirement for proper communication.
“Have ye made up yer mind?” he asked, clearly amused with the situation.
Rais
ing her gaze to meet his once more, Henrietta took a slow step forward, her eyes cold as steel as she spoke. “Leave. Now.” She lifted her foil, just barely, but his eyes caught the movement, and instantly, his hand shot out, twisting the foil out of her hand.
Henrietta gasped as he dropped the weapon to the ground and grabbed her. Forcing her chin up, he looked deep into her eyes. “Ye still have a lot to learn,” he whispered, his gaze dropping to her lips, “but I’d love to teach ye.”
As a shiver went through her, Henrietta swallowed and forced herself to remember what she had taught herself. “I demand that you release me immediately,” she snarled, ignoring the amused gleam that came to his eyes.
To her relief, he did as she had asked and took a step back. “Ye should head home,” he said, picking up the foil and handing it back to her hilt-first. “A storm is brewing.”
Glancing at the sky, Henrietta noticed that the clear blue sky had turned dark, heavy with grey clouds. Then she took a hold of her foil and stepped back, eyes on the man who had just taught her a valuable lesson.
Complacency would be her end. She needed more practice, real practice. What she needed was a real opponent.
“Farewell,” he said, back on his black horse as though rider and steed formed a strange symbiosis. “Until we meet again.”
Mounting her mare, Henrietta stopped as his words reached her. “We will not meet again,” she snapped. “I can assure you that I will do everything within my power to avoid a future meeting.”
A smile on his face, he nodded, then softly kicked his horse and came toward her.
Henrietta drew in a deep breath and swallowed as he stopped beside her, his knee touching hers.
“We will meet again,” he said, his eyes holding hers, a promise in them that shook Henrietta to her very core. “I will find ye, Lass.” He nodded. “Be assured of that.” He held her gaze for a moment longer, then spurred on his horse and shot past her, galloping across the clearing like a warrior ready for battle.
And for the first time in her life, Henrietta was at a loss.
***
As London came in sight, Connor slowed down his gelding, watching the sun set on the horizon as it cast a warm glow over the city. Drenched from head to toe, he smiled. The downpour had been exactly what he had needed, and for the first time since his father had died, Connor looked into the future with a happy heart.
He had asked for excitement. He had gotten more than that. A lot more.
Yes, he would ride into London. He would do as Mr. Granten had instructed, and he would claim his father’s titles.
However, before he returned to Scotland, he would claim something much more valuable to him than anything he had ever laid eyes upon.
Remembering the fierce look in her eyes, Connor chuckled. She was a wildcat, not a proper lady, and he wouldn’t have her any other way.
Despite his slightly advanced age, Connor had never been married, and although his parents’ match had been arranged, they had developed a deep love for one another, and, therefore, they had never pressured him to choose a bride let alone chosen one for him.
As was customary in his family, marriages were often arranged between cousins, and before today, while he had not been looking forward to wedding his cousin, Connor had had no objections.
Today, however, had changed everything.
Chapter Three − Grievances
A knock on the door roused Henrietta from her gloomy thoughts.
“Enter,” she called, sliding the only letter Tristan had sent her since leaving the house back into the small mahogany box where she kept her most treasured possessions.
“Do you have a moment, Dear?” her aunt asked, closing the door behind her.
Forcing a smile on her face, Henrietta nodded, knowing that her efforts were not enough to convince her aunt as the woman’s eyes slid over her, a concerned frown drawing down her greying brows.
A sympathetic smile touched her aunt’s face as she came forward and reached out her hands, drawing Henrietta’s into her own. “I know you miss him,” she whispered, giving Henrietta’s hands a gentle squeeze.
Drawing a deep breath, Henrietta blinked, willing the tears back down. “I do, yes.” Then she withdrew her hands from her aunt’s and walked over to the window, looking down into the gardens. “Is there something I can help you with, Aunt Clara?”
Her aunt cleared her throat. “Actually, I came here because I have news.”
Henrietta’s head spun around, and her heart constricted painfully as an old fear swept through her. “Of Tristan? Did something happen to him?”
As long as he had been under his uncle’s strict supervision, Tristan had always been one to follow the rules and never acted out. However, ever since he had come of age and left his uncle’s house, he had more than once taken a stroll on the dangerous side of life.
For a second, her aunt’s eyes widened before she shook her head. “No. No, it has nothing to do with Tristan.” She sighed. “I am sorry for frightening you.”
“It’s all right.” Henrietta swallowed. “What is it then?”
A careful smile on her face, Aunt Clara stepped towards her, once more reaching for Henrietta’s hands. “I have news of the Duchess of Cromwell.”
Henrietta drew in a deep breath as the muscles in her body tensed. “Anna? Is she all right?”
Her aunt smiled, and Henrietta felt herself relax. “She just had a little baby girl.”
For a moment, Henrietta closed her eyes as contradicting feelings surged through her.
Anna had a little daughter. She was a mother, and she would be a good mother; Henrietta was sure of it. After all, Anna was strong, not weak like Henrietta’s own mother had been, and yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if Anna would be strong enough to protect her child should her husband ever turn against them.
Henrietta sighed. Despite her misgivings, she hoped with every fibre of her body that Anna would never have to find out, that she was justified in thinking her husband a good man. With all her heart, Henrietta wished that she had been wrong to caution Anna the way she had, never the less, she knew she could not have acted any other way. What kind of a friend would she have been if she had allowed Anna to continue down a treacherous path without doing her best to warn her, to protect her?
Henrietta knew she had done all that she could. However, her sense of duty to her friend had cost her that very friendship.
“You miss her, do you not?” her aunt asked, squeezing her hands. “Do not deny it for I can see it in your eyes.”
Henrietta sighed, once more fighting tears.
“You used to be so close,” Aunt Clara continued, her gentle eyes searching Henrietta’s face. “Whatever it was that you two quarrelled about, was it really worth losing each other over?”
Shaking her head, Henrietta sighed. “I had to,” she whispered. “I couldn’t just stand by and…” She met her aunt’s gaze. “It’s who I am. I had to protect her. I had to at least try.”
Once more, Aunt Clara squeezed her hands, her soft brown eyes searching Henrietta’s. “Not every man is like your father,” she whispered, and Henrietta felt like she had been slapped in the face. “Most men are truly honourable. They make mistakes, yes, but don’t we all?” Gently, she cupped a hand to Henrietta’s face. “I know you’ve seen things no child should see. But you’re not a child anymore. You are a grown woman, and you’ve robbed yourself of a future by allowing your past to rule your life.”
Stepping back, Henrietta brushed off her aunt’s hands. “What future? On the contrary, I have done everything I could to assure that my future does not turn out like my mother’s.”
Sighing, her aunt nodded. “Yes, you do not have a husband who beats you when he's drunk. But neither do you have a husband who watches over you when you are sick, who comforts you when you are sad, who smiles with you.”
Henrietta snorted, “Are you trying to say that Uncle Randolph does these things for you?”
“No
,” her aunt sighed, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “He does not. We cannot all be fortunate enough to marry a man who truly loves us. But your uncle keeps me safe. He provides for me and my son. He never beats me.” Her eyes looked into Henrietta’s imploringly. “He is kind and caring, and for me, that is enough.”
“I am happy for you, Aunt Clara, but I am not you.”
“Do you never dream of a husband?” her aunt asked, curiosity marking her face. “Of love even? I did when I was young.” A soft smile came to her face. “Do not all young women imagine the man they would one day marry?”
Henrietta shook her head, her lips pressed in a tight line. “I never did. Not once. All I ever thought about was how to protect myself from the man who would one day turn against me should I agree to marry him!”
Her aunt sighed, “As long as you only see the bad, you will never be happy.”
“But I will be safe,” Henrietta insisted, despite knowing her aunt meant well. However, the life Aunt Clara lived, always subservient to her husband, was none that Henrietta longed for.
Her aunt nodded, and a hint of resignation rested in her sad eyes. “That is good,” she whispered before turning to the door, “but maybe you should go and see her.” For a moment, she met Henrietta’s eyes. “Do not waste your time clinging to grievances. What good is a life spent alone?”
After the door closed behind her aunt, Henrietta sank into the armchair under the bay windows, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.
***
A fortnight passed, and Henrietta’s heart still ached with the losses she had suffered and been reminded of so unexpectedly. Although she had to admit to herself that she wanted to see Anna, Henrietta could not bring herself to visit her. Deep down, she knew it to be a sign of surrender, proving her wrong in her fears. And although Henrietta hoped for it to be true, she did not believe it, and she could not act against her own convictions.
Swallowing, Henrietta put Anna out of her mind and instead focused her energy on Tristan. Months had passed since she had last seen him, and even then, they had parted in disagreement.
