by Bree Wolf
Henrietta shivered, her heart hammering in her chest as the core of her fear rose from the depth of her being. “How can I be certain I will not betray myself? How…?” Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, once more seeing her mother’s bruised body, the rug underneath stained with her blood.
“There is nothing wrong in compromising,” Morag continued, and her hands reached across the table, freeing the cup from Henrietta’s iron grip. “There is nothing wrong in sacrificing something for another, in giving in every once in a while, especially when it is not demanded by the other, but a gift given freely.” Pulling Henrietta’s cold hands into her own, Morag smiled at her encouragingly. “Ye’ll know the difference between giving something and having something taken from ye if ye only listen to yer own sense of right and wrong. Trust yerself that ye’ll know.”
Henrietta took a deep breath as her fingers slowly warmed in the old woman’s grasp. “Trust myself,” she echoed. “It’s not easy.”
Morag shook her head. “’Tis not, but neither is it impossible.”
“How did you know what plagues me?” Henrietta asked, wondering if Morag, too, possessed a similar skill as Rhona.
The old woman chuckled. “Nay, the winds whispered it in my ear.” Then she cleared her throat and poured Henrietta another cup of tea. “Ye better drink up, Dearie, for ye’ll be going home soon.”
“Home? Will you show me the way back?” Henrietta asked, uncertain whether or not it would be wise to venture out into the forest in the dark of night.
“There’s no need,” Morag said as a soft smile curled up the corners of her mouth. “Yer husband will come for ye.”
Henrietta’s eyes went wide. “He…?” Staring at the old woman, Henrietta was about to object when she saw the certainty in her deep blue eyes. “But how would he know where I am?”
“His mother will point him down the right path.”
Chapter Twenty-Three − A Ray of Hope
The wind howled through the trees as Connor followed the barely visible path, his gelding prancing nervously, its ears twitching as eerie sounds drifted through the chilled night air. The slim moon overhead provided insufficient light, and Connor cursed under his breath for the forest not only proved treacherous at night but also hindered his progress. A distance that would have taken him a mere hour during the day now took him half the night.
When Morag’s hill dwelling finally came in sight, Connor breathed a sigh of relief and slid off his horse. Tying the gelding to a tree, he approached the small door, his muscles tense from the ride as well as the emotional turmoil that had befallen him upon discovering that his wife had run off once again.
Connor bent forward to knock. The door, however, slid open before he could do so, revealing in its frame the woman who had helped deliver him into this world. A smirk curled her lips as her piercing eyes met his, and she nodded for him to enter.
Ducking his head, Connor stepped over the threshold into the dimly lit room, his eyes instantly drawn to his wife seated at the small table in the corner, her hands curled around a cup of steaming tea. Taking a deep breath, she raised her eyes to his, and for a moment, Connor thought to see a shiver run down her back. “Are ye all right, Lass?”
Returning her gaze to the cup in her hands, his wife nodded.
“I would’ve expected ye sooner, dear lad,” Morag chided as she shook her head at him. Her eyes, however, held amusement as they wandered from him to his wife and back. “The lass has been waiting up for ye all night.”
“I would’ve been here sooner,” Connor snapped, feeling the need to defend himself, “had I known where she was.” Turning to look at his wife, he found her still staring into her cup, and he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. After all, his wife was not one to shy away from expressing her opinions nor one to hide from his anger.
And curse them all, he had a right to be angry!
As his hands balled into fists, Connor forced a slow breath down his lungs.
“Now, don’t fret,” Morag chided, clicking her tongue as though he were a disobedient child. “Ye’re not a wee lad any more. If she could’ve told ye, she would’ve.”
“Is that true?” Connor asked as his eyes shifted back to his wife.
Swallowing, she raised her eyes to his once more. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was but a whisper. “I did not mean to walk this far. I was….” Shaking her head, she searched for the words to explain. “I was lost in thought, I guess. I myself was shocked to see how far I had walked.”
“How did ye find yer way to Morag?” Connor asked. “I didn’t know ye were acquainted.”
“I didn’t,” his wife replied. “She found me.” Her gaze ventured across the room to the healer, and a smile touched her lips. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had she not found me.”
Frown lines settled on his forehead as Connor observed the silent exchange between the two women. Something had happened there that night. He was certain of it, and he desperately wished he knew what it was. “Shall we return to the castle?” he asked instead of the many questions that coursed through his mind just then.
Hesitating, his wife glanced at Morag who stepped forward and held out her cloak. “Here, take this. The night air is quite nippy.” His wife rose from her chair and allowed the healer to wrap her in the old, woollen cloak. “Yer place is with him, Dearie,” Morag whispered. Then she glanced at him over her shoulder and said in a louder tone, “He might growl like a bear, but he has a gentle heart.” Smiling, she nodded to his wife. “His anger rose from deep concern over yer safety, Lass.”
Clearing his throat, Connor stepped toward the door. He had forgotten how much Morag’s ability to read him like an open book unsettled him.
“Thank you,” his wife whispered, then embraced the old healer before she turned to him.
Meeting her eyes, Connor smiled and then held out his hand to her, holding his breath as he waited for her to refuse or accept him. Would she lash out at him and tell him that she didn’t need his assistance?
Instead, a slight flush came to her face. She didn’t seem angry though, but rather bashful as she toyed with her lower lip and barely met his eyes.
An excited tingle went through Connor’s middle, and for a moment, he felt reminded of his first infatuation with a village girl.
When his wife slipped her hand into his, her chilled skin touching his own, it was as though a shock wave went through him. Marvelling at the sudden onslaught of emotions, Connor stared down at her, and his heartbeat quickened when she averted her eyes, a tentative smile curling up the corners of her mouth.
Behind them, Morag chuckled.
What had happened? Connor wondered as he escorted his wife outside. After all, he was a grown man, and all of a sudden, he was mooning over his wife like a love-struck boy. However, what truly shook him to his core was that his wife, too, looked at him in much the same fashion. Had she come to care for him? Was that possible?
Glancing back at Morag, Connor wished he knew what the two women had talked about, for at this point he was ready to believe that Morag Brunwood was a witch after all.
“Will you help me up?” his wife asked as they stood by his gelding, and for a moment, Connor stared at her as though thunder-struck.
Then a smile came to his face when he saw the hint of shyness in her eyes as she looked up at him. “Of course,” he whispered as though those two words held a deeper meaning meant for her ears alone. Delighted with the change that had so unexpectedly occurred between them, he bent down to form a step with his hands. Quickly, she slipped her foot in and pushed herself up, swinging a leg over the gelding’s back.
Sliding into the saddle behind her, Connor reached out a hesitant arm and pulled her against him, holding her tight. To his surprise and utter delight, she relaxed against him, one hand coming to rest on his forearm across her middle.
“Be good to each other,” Morag said, a knowing smile on her face, before she stepped back into her dwelling and close
d the door.
Enjoying the warmth of his wife’s body pressed against his, Connor leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “Are ye ready to go home?”
A shiver went through her at his words, and he could see her closing her eyes, her neck bending further back, pressing her head against his shoulder as though she wished to be closer to him. Connor took an unsteady breath when she turned her head, her eyes open as he had never seen them. Without pretence, without a mask to hide her true feelings, she gazed up at him, and a shy smile came to her lips before she whispered, “Would you kiss me?”
Lifting his other hand, Connor traced a finger along her jawline as his eyes searched hers, desperately wishing to understand, but also afraid to lose the fragile connection that had so unexpectedly formed between them. As her eyes remained on his, her lips beckoning him forward, Connor bent his head to hers and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth.
With uncertainty in his heart, he pulled back and was delighted to find her smiling up at him, her teeth once more toying with her lower lip as though shyness had suddenly overcome her. Her eyes, however, held his, and she whispered, “Let’s go home.”
As she snuggled back against him, Connor’s arm tightened around her before he urged his gelding back down the path they had come. Although they rode in silence, it was not the kind of silence that weighed heavily on his heart, but rather a silence that allowed his other senses to take over, and he became acutely aware of the wordless exchange between them.
In the thicket of the forest, they were forced to travel slowly, and so her back rested gently against his chest. Even through the thick fabric of her woollen cloak, he felt the soft beating of her heart, the way it quickened every time he turned his head from the road to gaze at her and his breath brushed over her skin. He felt her chest rise and fall against him with each breath as her hand continued to rest on his arm. Occasionally, a shiver would come over her and she would snuggle closer against him.
Smiling, Connor wondered if it had been the cold night air that had caused the shiver or rather her own awareness of him.
Once they reached the open plains, Connor urged his gelding on, sensing the exhaustion that rested in Henrietta's limbs. However, when they finally crossed through the main gate, Connor could not help but feel regret at the loss of closeness that was now inevitable.
To his delight, his wife was far from offended when he helped her out of the saddle, and she willingly slipped her arm through his as he escorted her up the stairs and to their bedchamber.
After he closed the door, he found her standing in the middle of the room, her eyes sweeping over the large bed. A slight blush came to her cheeks brought on by the memories of the previous night. Afraid that she would distance herself from him again, he strode toward her, reaching for her hands. “Don’t be afraid, Lass. We don’t have to−”
A shy smile came to her face then, and she placed a finger on his lips to stop him. “Would you just hold me tonight?”
Hoping that he had not imagined her words, Connor searched her eyes. “If ye wish to sleep alone, …”
“No.” She shook her head determinately, and Connor felt the strain of a long day fall from his shoulders.
Nodding his head, he stepped back. “I promise I’ll keep my back turned,” he grinned at her, “if ye promise to do the same.”
A radiant smile on her face, she nodded, then stepped back toward her wardrobe, her eyes still holding his as though unable to tear herself away.
Forcing himself to turn around, Connor quickly changed. All the while, his senses were acutely aware of his wife only a few steps away from him. He heard every rustle of fabric, every quickened breath. He even thought to feel the soft warmth radiating from her body reaching across the room and touching his chilled skin. Keeping his back turned was like torture, and yet, the temptation to look coursing through his body excited him like never before.
When he finally heard her tiptoe toward the bed and slide under the covers, he glanced over his shoulder.
Buried under a thick blanket on the right side of the bed, she glanced over and met his eyes. Then her arm reached out and swung back the blanket from the other half of the bed, inviting him to join her.
As his heart beat in his chest with an excitement he had not known before, Connor slid between the covers. All the while, he searched her face, afraid to shatter the fragile bond between them. However, when she tentatively inched closer and then rested her head on his shoulder, his arm came around her shoulders with an ease as though they had spent twenty-odd years sleeping in each other’s embrace.
At first, her breathing followed a slightly elevated rhythm, too intense for a good night’s sleep while her heart beat against his chest, too fast as though they were still racing across the plains on horseback. However, after a while her breathing evened out, and her heart beat relaxed. Her muscles felt lax against his own, and the strain of that day fell away.
Holding her tightly against him, Connor closed his eyes, and a soft smile spread over his face. For a long time, he had imagined this very moment, and for a long time, he had feared it would never be. And now, here he was, holding his sleeping wife in his arms, her soft breath tickling his skin as she snuggled closer against him when a chilled draft touched her.
Never before had Connor felt at peace as he did in that moment, and he hoped with all his might that it would last, that somehow that night had changed things and set them on a path that led to a happy future.
He would give anything for that dream to come true.
Chapter Twenty-Four − Time & Patience
When the early morning sun tickled her nose and the bright daylight touched her eyes, Henrietta felt her dreams slipping away. Slowly, she returned from the land of slumber, and her senses began to register her surroundings. Before she even cracked open an eye, her tactile sense detected the warm body holding her. Her head rested on smooth skin, pulsing with the soft beating of her husband’s heart. As she drew in a deep breath, his arm tightened around her, and to Henrietta’s surprise, she did not feel trapped, but protected instead.
Lying still, she waited for her demons to awaken, her heart fearful of the sudden onslaught of distrust and suspicion. However, at least for the moment, all remained quiet, and Henrietta decided to enjoy her moment of peace for as long as it would last.
“Are ye awake, Lass?” Heavy with slumber, her husband’s voice drifted to her ear. Shifting a little, he glanced down at her as she raised her head to meet his eyes. “’Tis been a long time since I’ve slept this well,” he smiled, a captivated twinkle in his eyes as they slid over her.
Feeling herself blush, Henrietta bit her lip. “Neither have I. It is strange, is it not?”
“Very much so,” he confirmed, and a rumble of laughter shook his chest as he sighed with contentment.
Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Henrietta glanced down at him and to her delight noticed the hint of disappointment on his face that she had extracted herself from his embrace. Her heart rejoiced at the open display of his emotions, and Henrietta wondered if Rhona and Morag were right. Could she leave her past behind and begin again?
“There is something I need to tell you,” she said, feeling the need to put into words what lived in her heart. “I don’t know if I can though. It is all still very confusing for me.”
Propping himself up on his elbow, her husband nodded to her. “Say what is on yer mind, Lass, and I promise I’ll try my best to understand.”
“All right.” Taking a deep breath, Henrietta searched her mind. “I’ve told you about my parents.” He nodded, and a hint of sadness came to his face. “What happened all those years ago has…made me fearful,” she admitted, “but not the way I always thought it had.”
“What do ye mean?”
“I thought I distrusted people because I always feared they would turn against me. If not today, then someday. It was only a matter of time. After all, my father was the one who not only hurt my mother but ultimately
killed her. Her own husband. If she could not trust him, trust in him to protect her, then no one else could be trusted either.” Henrietta took a deep breath as her past surfaced, and yet, only a mild echo of her demons sounded in her mind and heart.
Listening, her husband’s eyes had narrowed. “D’ye believe I would harm ye, Lass? I mean I canna blame ye for believing so. After all, we hardly know each other.” His jaw clenched as he inhaled deeply. “However, I need to know. Please tell me honestly.”
Shaking her head, Henrietta smiled at him. “No, I do not fear you. I never have. You’re nothing like the man my father was.”
An answering smile tugged up the corners of his mouth, and Henrietta could see that her answer pleased him greatly. “But d’ye fear that I will one day? D’ye fear that it is only a matter of time?”
“No.” Reaching out, she took his hand in hers. “Of course, I do not know what the future will bring. However, this is not about you as it was not only about my father.”
A soft frown settled on his brows once more, and Henrietta could see that he did not understand.
“I hated my father for what he did,” she began, hoping that she would find the words she needed, “and I still do. However, it was my mother who taught me how to be truly afraid.”
“Because she did not fight him?”
Henrietta nodded. Maybe her husband understood her better than she thought. “I simply cannot understand why one would not defend oneself if attacked, and yet, there had to have been a reason.” Closing her eyes, Henrietta once more saw her mother’s lifeless body on the bloodstained rug. “To fight an attacker and lose is…acceptable. As ridiculous as that sounds, it is all right because you’ve tried. You’ve tried your best, but you simply weren’t strong enough.” Remembering her frail mother, Henrietta shook her head. “I never expected her to triumph when he attacked her, but…why would she not defend herself? I’m not necessarily talking about a physical fight, but couldn’t she have left him? Told someone?”
