by Bree Wolf
As Angus raged and ranted, issuing commands left and right, his face turning red as he found himself ignored by his own followers, Henrietta exhaled slowly and, for a moment, closed her eyes.
Only now did she realise how frightened she had been.
“Are ye all right, Lass?” her husband whispered in her ear, his good arm pulling her closer once more.
Henrietta nodded, turning her head to look at him. “I am,” she said, smiling at the renewed promise of a future she wanted. “I’ve never felt better.”
“Surrender or die!” Hard like stone, Alastair’s voice echoed across the clearing, instantly followed by the clatter of swords hitting the ground. His warriors spread out, surrounding the now unarmed riders while their commander sped onward, only pulling up his horse once he’d reached his chief’s side. “Are ye all right?” he asked, his narrowed eyes gliding from Connor’s injured shoulder to the blood stains on Henrietta’s dress.
“We’re alive,” Connor said, a beaming smile on his face. “Thank ye, Cousin, for coming to our aid.”
Alastair rolled his eyes as though he considered such an expression of gratitude an insult.
“How did ye know?” Connor asked, his eyes shifting from his second-in-command to Henrietta. “Ye knew he would come, didn’t ye, Lass?”
“Well,” Henrietta began, knowing that everything that had happened that day was not easily explained.
“Yer mother sent us,” Alastair interrupted.
Henrietta’s head snapped around. “Rhona?”
Alastair nodded. “I canna say how she knew,” he admitted, “but I know not to doubt her word.” Meeting Connor’s eyes, he inclined his head in respect. “She told us there’d be an ambush here. She told us to come to yer aid, yers and yer wife’s.”
As Alastair’s gaze shifted to hers, Henrietta met his eyes, and once again, he inclined his head in respect, his usual distrust and disregard for her vanished as though they had never been.
Smiling, Henrietta nodded, glad that they would have the chance to begin anew with a blank slate. They might never become friends, but they had both stood by Connor’s side and always would, and that alone made them allies.
“Ye’re a fool!” Kicking his horse’s flank with his good leg, Angus drifted toward them, his face an angry snarl. “He’s a traitor! Not only did he steal yer rightful claim to the chiefship, but he also handed over the rule of Clan Brunwood to the English. ‘Tis because of men like him that the clans fell.”
Surprised, Henrietta watched as Alastair simply ordered to have Angus taken back to Greyston and locked up. He did not, however, respond to the old man’s insults in equal measure. His face remained calm as he instructed his men to collect the surrendered swords and return Angus’ followers to the castle as well. “Ye’re in need of medical attention,” he said, eyeing Connor’s shoulder with concern. Then his gaze travelled to Henrietta. “Are ye injured as well?”
Henrietta shook her head, but it was Connor who spoke. “’Tis not her blood.”
Glancing at the fallen riders here and there dropped in the grass, Alastair nodded, acknowledgement in his gaze.
“She saved my life, Cousin,” Connor said, “more than once. If it hadn’t been for her, ye would now be the chief of Clan Brunwood.”
For a long moment, Alastair held her husband’s gaze before he grinned, shaking his head. “Then I suppose I owe her two debts of gratitude for I certainly am glad not to be the one who’ll have to deal with Angus in the future.”
Connor chuckled, and Alastair joined in.
Watching the two cousins, Henrietta thought the future had never seemed so bright. Whatever lay ahead, they would manage for they had not only each other but loyal friends and family, who would stand by them no matter what.
Chapter Thirty-Eight − A Painful Truth
Back at Greyston, her husband rested comfortably on their large bed while a myriad of concerned people were grouped around him. The second they had entered the castle grounds not only Rhona and Deidre had rushed to their side but also Moira.
Henrietta had exchanged a quiet word with the woman who had almost destroyed her new-found happiness, and Moira had assured her that as soon as Alastair was ready to leave his chief’s side, she would speak to her brother and confess her role in Connor’s ambush.
Although she could not say why, Henrietta believed her.
“Ye need bedrest, Lad,” Morag instructed with a stern face, her capable hands setting his left arm in a sling to give his injured shoulder the rest it needed. When Connor was about to object, she added, “Do not argue with an old woman for ye shall not live to regret it.”
Inhaling deeply, Connor closed his mouth although his annoyance with the healer’s instructions was plainly visible on his face.
Sitting down on the other side of the bed, Rhona squeezed her son’s right hand, her eyes brimming with tears.
Deidre, too, looked as though she was about to cry as she clung to her husband’s arm, repeatedly gazing up into his face as though to assure her that he was still there.
Understandably, only Moira stood apart, her head bowed, wringing a handkerchief in her hands. Guilt and remorse drew down the corners of her mouth and rested in her eyes, and although she stayed for the duration of the healer’s visit, she seemed incredibly uncomfortable, frequently casting painful glances at Connor’s injured shoulder.
“Now, everyone out,” Morag instructed, sweeping her arm out toward the door. “The lad needs rest.”
Although reluctantly, everyone complied, whispering well-wishes on their way out.
“They’re such wonderful people,” Connor mumbled after the door had closed behind them, “but them staring at me with those sad eyes makes my skin crawl.”
Henrietta laughed and climbed onto the bed. Laying down on her side, she propped up her head on her elbow, her eyes searching her husband’s face.
“What?” he asked, grinning. Then his eyes narrowed. “Yer eyes don’t look sad,” he observed, a question in his tone.
Henrietta shrugged. “That’s because I’m happy,” she whispered, a hint of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks. “Not to mention, your injury isn’t all that bad.”
Smiling, her husband laid his head back against the pillow, wincing slightly as he moved his shoulder. “Did ye mean what ye said, Lass?”
Since she knew exactly what he was referring to, Henrietta bit her lip and inhaled deeply through her nose, gathering the courage she needed to portray her feelings so openly. “I did.” Then she lifted her gaze and met his eyes.
A deep smile came to his face, and his own eyes glowed with such warmth that Henrietta felt the slight chill leave her hands. “Not that I’d doubt yer words, Lass,” her husband said as his eyes searched hers, “but a part of me was afraid that ye only said it to…eh…to motivate me.” Holding her gaze, he waited as once again a question hung between them.
Although her fears screamed at her to take a step back, Henrietta was tired of doubting and questioning her own feelings every step of the way.
Sitting up, she held Connor’s gaze, and although tenderness lived in her heart, she grinned at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Why would I have bothered to try and save you if I didn’t love you?” Mockingly, she shook her head. “You’re not making any sense. Maybe the blood loss has addled your mind.”
Her husband laughed, then reached out with his good arm and took her hand in his. “It feels good to laugh,” he said before his face became earnest. “However, all the laughter in the world canna erase what happened today.” He held her eyes. “What did happen?” he asked. “I think ye know more than me, Lass.”
Henrietta swallowed, unsure how to begin.
“When I saw ye standing on that hill,” her husband continued, slowly shaking his head as though trying to determine whether or not he was dreaming, “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Ye were like an angel, come to save me.”
With cheeks flashing hot, Henrietta smiled
shyly.
“How did ye come to be there?” Connor asked. “And why was Moira not?”
Again, Henrietta took a deep breath and then told her husband everything that had happened that day beginning with Moira’s revelations to the moment Alastair had appeared on the horizon.
Apprehension had been on his face from the second Henrietta had opened her mouth. However, with each word, the tension in his body grew, and his face turned a darker shade, anger and disappointment marking his eyes.
“I canna believe I didna see it,” he growled. “My own cousin!” He shook his head as though unable to believe the truth. “We grew up together. She was like my sister.”
A smug part of Henrietta smiled at his words, relieved that no corner of her husband’s heart had ever felt for Moira the way it now felt for her.
“I cannot explain it,” Henrietta said, wishing that there was something she could say to heal the sting of betrayal he felt. “I can only say that everything that happened has led us here.” Squeezing his hand, she looked deep into his eyes, willing him to understand the enormity of the words she was about to say. “I am who I am, and yet, certain choices are my own. The life I want is not the life I thought I wanted.”
The darkness that had fallen over his face slowly receded.
“I am still afraid,” she confided, “but not too afraid to admit that I love you, that I am happy to be your wife and…that I love that you love me back.” A shy chuckle escaped her, and she cleared her throat. “I have misjudged myself, you, Alastair and many others. I did not see Moira’s true intentions either. Not until it was too late.”
“Not too late,” her husband corrected as he pulled her forward until she rested against his good shoulder. “Ye came for me, Lass. Ye risked yer life to save mine, and that means more than words could ever express.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Alastair.”
Connor nodded. “Aye, he came in the nick of time.” A frown drew down his brows. “Didn’t ye say that Moira was to alert him? But he said that my mother sent him.”
Smiling, Henrietta nodded. “I did send Moira to speak to Alastair. There was no other choice. If I had gone back to the castle myself first, I would never have made it to you in time. I knew there was a good chance Moira wouldn’t get to Alastair in time either and that he would arrive too late.”
“But he didna.”
Henrietta shook her head. “He didn’t.” She swallowed, weighing her words. “I didn’t have a chance to speak to your mother after our return, but I believe that she saw what would happen in her dreams.”
Her husband took a deep breath. “There are rumours about her visions, her uncanny ability to know what will happen, what was. I never asked her, and she never spoke of it. But she told ye, didn’t she?”
Henrietta nodded, a soft smile on her face. “She told me that we were meant for each other, that she saw us in her dreams and that that was the reason,” looking up into his eyes, Henrietta took a deep breath, “why she sent you to England…to find me.”
Her husband’s eyes opened wide. “She didna tell me that.”
“She didn’t,” Henrietta agreed, “because she believed you would not like to hear that your life was pre-determined. She thought you would seek to prove her wrong and thus miss your chance to…”
“To find the woman I love?” he asked, finishing her sentence. “She’s right. I probably would have, and it would have been the biggest mistake of my life.” His arm tightened around her then, and he planted a soft kiss on her head. “There is much to talk about in the days to come, but right now, I know everything I need to.”
Pulling the blanket up and around them, Henrietta rested her head on his good shoulder, her arm wrapped around his middle the same way his arm lay draped across her shoulders. Safe and warm and loved, she closed her eyes and fell asleep, listening to the rhythm of her husband’s beating heart.
Chapter Thirty-Nine − Answers of Old
A fortnight passed, and Henrietta could not have been happier. She woke every morning with a smile on her face, reaching out an arm to assure herself that her husband was there, right beside her, sleeping peacefully. His shoulder was healing nicely, and he grew more daring in his expressions of his love for her. Henrietta, too, enjoyed every moment she could spend with him, rarely leaving his side, and so she often accompanied him in his duties as chief of clan Brunwood.
Step by step, Henrietta found her way around the castle and its people, seeing that if she met them with an open mind and heart, they would do the same for her. She also learnt that Angus and the men that had followed him to the cliffs that day were a minority within the clan. Most adored her husband and trusted him to have their best interest at heart, which was all the more reason for the people of Greyston to welcome Henrietta into their hearts.
After the story of the ambush had made its rounds through the castle and the village, people started looking at her with different eyes. Many walked up to her with smiling faces, thanking her for saving their chief while Connor stood beside her, pride shining in his eyes as he gazed at her lovingly.
Life was good, and for the first time, Henrietta felt truly loved and wanted and welcomed into a family, not just tolerated. Rhona was the mother she had always longed for while Deidre became the sister she never got to know. Even Alastair had the occasional smile for her; his initial disregard vanished into thin air.
After confessing her deeds to her brother, Moira had been confined to her room. For Alastair’s sake, Connor had been lenient, and as of yet, a final decision with regard to her punishment had not been reached. At the same time, Angus and his followers had been expelled from the clan, which judging from the old man’s face was a fate worse than death.
Everything else had returned to normal, and Henrietta slowly found her place within the family as well as the clan. She could not imagine ever living another life, and the thought that her uncle had not forced her hand in marriage was her worst nightmare.
At least during the day.
For the past fortnight, Henrietta’s dreams had often awoken her in the middle of the night. Again, she found herself dreaming of that one fateful day her parents had died, and yet, something was different.
Before, her dreams had been true nightmares, torturing her with vivid images of her mother’s bloodstained body. Fear and pain had pressed down on Henrietta, almost suffocating in their intensity as they entered every fibre of her being, making her distrustful and afraid.
In those dreams, she had been a little girl, terrified by the thunder and lightning that assaulted the house. However, the dreams that woke her now did not stir her emotions to such an extent as before. In a strange way, she felt as though she were an unaffected observer.
Through calculating eyes, Henrietta watched herself as a little girl as she tiptoed out of her room to get her little brother from the nursery. Then she headed downstairs and hid in the pantry.
While she sat in the dark, Angus’s snarling face often drifted before her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, waking herself in the process.
“Are ye all right, Lass?” her husband asked, his dark eyes filled with worry as they slid over her. Reaching out his good arm, he pulled her closer. “Another dream?”
Gasping for breath, Henrietta nodded. “The same as the night before.” She shook her head. “I do not understand why this would bother me still.” She turned pleading eyes to her husband as though all she needed to do to rid herself of her dreams was to convince him of her rightful claim. “I’ve dealt with my parents’ death, my fears and distrust. Why do I still dream of that night?”
“Ye said yer dreams had changed,” Connor reminded her. Sitting up, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her tight while her fingers dug into the blanket, hoping to stem their trembling. “Maybe it has nothing to do with yer fears, Lass. Maybe there is something else buried in yer mind that ye seek to uncover.”
“But what? I can’t think of anything.”
“Wha
t did ye see?”
Taking a deep breath, Henrietta closed her eyes, trying to remember. “I was a little girl again, only it was as though it wasn’t me. I wasn’t scared, not like I was before. I got out of bed, went to get my brother and then hid in the pantry.” Squinting her eyes, Henrietta frowned. “Angus.”
“What?”
“I saw Angus.”
“What? The night yer parents died?”
Henrietta shook her head. “No, just in my dream. His face…he…looked familiar somehow.”
“D’ye think ye’ve seen him before?” her husband asked, his brows drawn down. “Before coming to Greyston?”
Henrietta shrugged. “I don’t know. I cannot remember.” Again, she explored the image she’d seen. “I think not. I think it was only the expression on his face that looked familiar.”
“What expression was it?”
Shivering, Henrietta shook herself. “Disgust. Hatred. Hostility.” Turning to look at her husband, she said, “The way he always looked at you, especially that day at the cliff top. His eyes stared at you as though you had no right to live, as though you had no right to be the man you are. He looked at you as if you were the enemy.” Shaking her head, Henrietta sighed, “I cannot believe I didn’t see it earlier.”
“Don’t blame yerself,” her husband whispered, pulling her into his arms. “No one saw, much less understood what went on inside his head. Ye couldna have known.”
Nodding, Henrietta felt herself dragged back to the night of her parents’ death.
“Only that is not it, is it?” Connor asked. “Ye don’t wake up from that dream because you feel guilty. It’s something else, isn’t it?”
Henrietta nodded. “If only I knew what.”
“Ye said the expression on Angus’ face reminded ye of something or rather someone.”
Focusing on the expression in the old man’s eyes, Henrietta closed her own and hoped her subconscious would succeed where her waking mind had failed.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the image cleared and broadened, depicting not only eyes but then also a proud nose, a moment later complemented by thin lips pressed together in anger.
