by Bree Wolf
Her brother? He wondered. What kind of a man would teach his sister how to fight and then not even appear at her wedding? “Has he passed on?”
At his words, she froze, staring at him wide-eyed. Then she swallowed and shook her head. “No. Why would you ask that?”
Seeing the emotions raging within her, Connor lowered his foil and stepped forward. “I couldna help but wonder why he didna come to our wedding.”
“You would not understand.” Momentarily, her eyes sank to the ground before she once more raised her foil to his chest.
“And yer parents?”
A low growl rose from her throat, and she charged him.
More prepared this time, Connor side-stepped her attack and grabbed her sword hand, twisting the foil out of her grasp. Then he dropped his own and grabbed her by the arms. “Anger willna serve ye,” he said as she fought against him. “Yer strength is nothing against mine. Yer only advantage is yer speed, yer flexibility.” He lowered his head to hers, and she stilled. “If I get my hands on ye, ye’re finished.”
“You’re wrong!” she snarled, and he saw a spark of pain lurking out from somewhere under the anger that controlled her.
“Is it?” he demanded. “Then free yerself!”
Holding his gaze, she remained still. Her eyes, however, shot daggers at him. “Release me!”
“What will ye do if I refuse?”
With her lips pressed into a thin line, she glared at him. “You cannot intimidate me!” she growled. “I’d rather die than bow my head to you!”
Seeing the determination clearly edged in her face, Connor took a deep breath, wondering what had made her so fearful of submitting defeat in a friendly match, of admitting a weakness to a companion-at-arms. From the raging anger he had witnessed, he thought it quite likely that her parents’ marriage lay at its core.
From his enquiries, Connor knew that her parents had passed away when she had been a little girl, but for the life of him, he could not imagine what had happened to make her so distrustful of everyone around her. Whatever it had been, it had forced her out of reality and into a world where she could be strong and no one could harm her as long as she did not surrender.
Only, she was wrong, and she needed to know that.
Considering his options, he spun her around and forced her backwards until her back collided with the large trunk of a tree. A hint of fear in her eyes, she looked up at him, her hands still clawing at his arms. Only when his body pressed into hers and his head bent down to her lips did she still, a tremble shaking her delicate frame. “Admit defeat,” he whispered, and her head snapped up, staring at him as though he had just struck her.
She swallowed, and her features hardened. “No! Never!”
Growling under his breath, he held her tighter until she gasped. “Surrender now or I swear I will take what ye’re unwilling to give.” Her lower lip trembled as she continued to stare at him. Then, however, her gaze travelled downward to touch his lips, and a slight shiver shook her.
Connor frowned. “Maybe ye’re not unwilling at all,” he whispered, and her eyes returned to his, “just afraid to admit what ye want.”
As Connor searched her face, her features hardened once again as though she had just made up her mind. Defiance burning in her eyes, she snarled at him, “You asked me to trust you. You gave me your word only last night, and this morning, you are already willing to break it.” She snorted. “Do you truly wonder why I am distrustful of the people around me?” She shook her head, sadness falling over her features. “Because they cannot be trusted. It is that simple.”
Reminded of his promise, Connor hesitated. Although he wanted her badly, he had no intention of forcing himself on her. However, he needed her to understand her limits. With this overbearing attitude, she would only put herself in danger.
Swallowing his pride, he tightened his hold on her, his features hardening to match hers. “I have no intention of breaking my word,” he growled, “merely of proving my point.”
“What point?” she hissed. “That men are barbarians, slaves to their primal urges?”
A vile laugh echoed from his throat. “That yer strength is no match for mine.”
As though by reflex, her eyes narrowed. “How dare you?”
“Surrender, and I shall release ye!”
Glaring at him, she shook her head.
Determined to make his point, his hand abandoned its place on her arm and slid lower. All the while, his eyes observed her face, seeing the delicate changes as she began to understand his intention.
She held her breath as his hand moved down her thigh, gathering a fistful of her skirts. “I could just lift yer skirts,” he threatened, his gaze holding hers, “and take ye right here, right now. Could ye stop me?”
Her lower lip trembled, and he could see her struggle between the desire she clearly felt but couldn’t admit to and the need to defy him and stand her ground.
“Could ye stop me?” he demanded once more, his hand moving upwards, dragging her skirts with it.
Instantly, her own hand fell from his chest and gripped his, stilling its progress. Her eyes met his before she dropped them, and her jaw tightened as she clenched her teeth. “No.”
For a second, Connor wasn’t sure he could believe his ears. However, the pained look on her face spoke volumes, and so he released her, reluctantly stepping back. “I do not mean to belittle yer abilities,” he said, compassion ringing in his voice. “I simply mean for ye to see the truth. Ye do not possess the strength to stop me, and the sooner ye accept that the better. Ye are more capable of defending yerself than most women.”
Her eyes left the ground and met his.
“Ye are.” A reassuring smile on his face, he nodded. “And it makes me proud. But ye must not allow yerself to believe that ye’re invincible. Ignoring yer limitations makes ye vulnerable. Embrace yer weaknesses, and they will make ye stronger.”
Like the picture of misery, she stood with her head bowed, shoulders slumped, and so Connor did the one thing he knew would force her out of it. “En garde,” he said, snatching his foil off the ground.
The flicker of a smile played on her lips as she bent down to retrieve her own, and Connor felt the tension of the last few minutes leave his body.
Chapter Eleven − A Question of Respect
When the sun finally began its descent, they mounted their horses and headed back to Greyston. Feeling the wind on her flushed cheeks, Henrietta smiled at the beautiful scene before her.
With the sun in its back, the ancient castle shone like a golden treasure. Hues of red and purple streaked across the dark blue sky, its brilliant colours trying to outshine the dark green of the earth, its meadows and woods vibrant with life.
Many years had passed since Henrietta had truly enjoyed herself, at least for the moment forgetting the battle she fought with the world day in and out. Although her fears had kept whispering warnings to her, the joy her body and mind had experienced at having a real opponent challenge her abilities, allowing her to explore herself, had soon overpowered the echo of her fears.
Now, racing across the plains toward the main gate, Henrietta felt reality slowly catching up with her as her eyes fell on the people of Greyston going about their business. As expected, the moment they entered the courtyard, all eyes were on them. Faces scrunched up with distrust and hostility stared at her, observing her carefully as though hoping to catch her at something unacceptable, proving them right. How could her husband fault her for being distrustful herself? It was simply good sense.
“Were ye planning on helping me off this horse any time soon?”
Turning to look at her husband, Henrietta found him sitting atop his black beast, a challenging gleam in his eyes. “Are you mocking me?” she asked, her eyes taking in the many people in the courtyard.
Guiding his horse closer to hers, he met her eyes openly. “Not at all, my lady. However, ye challenged me, and like yerself, I wouldna run from a challenge.”
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br /> “Why?” she frowned, wondering if he had an ulterior motive.
He sighed. “To prove my respect for ye, Lass. If this is important to ye, then I have no objections.”
Shaking her head, she slid off her horse, the flicker of a smile touching her lips. Oh, why did he have to be so charming?
Stepping around her mare, her features back under control, Henrietta held out her hand to him. A smile on his face, he took it, his skin warm against hers, then swung over one leg and slid to the ground. “I thank ye kindly, my lady,” he said, grinning at her before he bent forward and kissed her hand.
“Now, you are mocking me!”
A grin came to his face. “Maybe a little,” he admitted, then took the reins from her. “Head on upstairs, Lass. Supper shall be served shortly. I suggest ye change.”
Frowning, Henrietta glanced down at her dress, which was dirt-stained and dishevelled.
“Ye might wanna consider a bath.” He grinned. “If ye need assistance…”
Henrietta swallowed. “Thank you, but no. I’ll manage.” Then she tore her gaze away from the mischievous twinkle in his eyes that sent shivers up and down her back and quickly walked away.
Soaking in the large tub, Henrietta wondered about everything that had happened that day. Despite his rather harsh lessons, she could not even hate him for the many times he had grabbed her with rough hands. On the contrary, his closeness excited her and made her forget the many lessons she had learnt throughout her life.
Henrietta knew her own reaction to him to be unwise, and she couldn’t help but feel ashamed for allowing him to subdue her so easily. In the future, she would have to be more careful. But how could she when his mere presence sent delicious tingles into her belly?
Entering the dining hall on her husband’s arm, Henrietta found herself the centre of attention once more. She could only hope that time would lessen their interest and prove to them that they had nothing to fear from her. However, that day had not yet come, and so she spent most of the meal with her eyes focused on her food, here and there exchanging a word with her husband.
Concern in his eyes, he seemed genuinely distressed about the situation. However, others also demanded his attention, and so Henrietta was relieved when Moira and Deidre smiled at her from across the table. Returning their kind gesture, Henrietta’s eyes were drawn to an older man sitting farther down the table. His dark eyes seemed to be burning a hole into her skull, his lips contorted into a snarl.
A cold shiver went down Henrietta’s back. She had seen this man before. At her wedding, he had glared at her with the same hatred in his eyes, reminding her of the disgusted look her uncle occasionally bestowed on her as though she had no place in his world and wished he could remove her at the first possible opportunity.
After supper, Alastair demanded her husband’s attention and excusing himself, Connor walked away, his cousin by his side.
Left to her own devices, Henrietta decided to return to her bedchamber when Deidre and Moira came toward her.
“Don’t mind them,” Deidre said, her eyes glancing around them at the questioning stares directed at Henrietta. “They’re just curious. Ye’re quite the curiosity in these parts.”
Henrietta shrugged, trying her best to ignore the people around her. “They don’t want me here,” she said, drawing a deep breath as her eyes fell on the old man who had glared at her from down the table. Limping, he crossed the great hall, then disappeared through a side door.
“That’s Angus,” Moira explained. “Do not mind him. He hates the English.”
“Why?”
For a moment, Moira looked at her as though unsure how to answer the question directed at her. “’Tis history. Sixty years ago, it was the English who destroyed the Scottish clans. Angus was a young boy then.” She met Henrietta’s eyes, and below the sadness that clouded her own, there was a shimmer of something hidden. “The English executed his father before his verra eyes.”
Henrietta gasped, “How awful! I’m so sorry.”
Deidre placed her hand on Henrietta’s arm. “No one in their right mind would blame ye for what happened back then. However, some people have long memories, and the past still burdens them. It’s a pain they canna let go of a pain that keeps their hatred alive.” Shaking her head, she swallowed. “It saddens me to think of their suffering. It serves no purpose, for it only spreads misery.”
Understanding only too well how the past could hold its sway over one, Henrietta swallowed, wondering if she would ever be accepted by the people of Greyston Castle. How could she expect them to abandon the pain learnt through lessons of their own past when she was unwilling to do so herself?
As Alastair returned to the great hall, his eyes searched the vaulted room until he found his wife. Starting toward her, he stopped as his gaze fell on Henrietta.
Seeing disapproval on his face, Henrietta excused herself, then quickly turned away and left in the opposite direction. She had no idea where she was going, but she did not have the strength to face another person holding a grudge against her because of something she had had no control over.
Walking on, Henrietta found herself in a part of the castle she hadn’t seen before. Paintings of former clan chiefs decorated the walls, their eyes following her as though they, too, disapproved of her presence. Goosebumps rose on her arms as the last rays of the sun disappeared, dipping the world in black.
After a small eternity, Henrietta found a staircase that led up to the next floor. Heading upstairs, she proceeded down another long corridor until the echo of voices reached her ear, and before she knew it she found herself up on the gallery. Looking over the banister, she found the spot where she had stood with Deidre and Moira not too long ago. Now, however, they were nowhere in sight.
Fortunately, realising where she was in reference to the great hall, Henrietta now knew how to find her bedchamber. She headed back toward the east wing, turned around a corner and then walked down the long corridor, wondering if she would ever be able to navigate this place with ease.
Not long after, her surroundings began to look familiar, and Henrietta was just about to turn the last corner when Alastair’s angry voice hit her like a slap in the face. “I told ye. I do not want ye speaking to that woman!”
Henrietta stopped, ears alert and listening.
“But husband,” Deidre said, her voice soft, “how can ye speak so? She is all alone in a foreign land. She needs someone to speak to.”
A smile came to Henrietta’s face at Deidre’s compassion, and she leaned forward, peeking around the corner.
“She is not my concern,” Alastair snarled, towering over his slender wife, his eyes ablaze with anger. “Ye are, and I do not wish for ye to be affected by her. Ye stay away from her. D’ye hear me?”
“But−”
“D’ye hear me?” he growled, grabbing his wife by the arms.
For a moment, she met his eyes, then lowered her gaze and sighed. “Aye.”
“Good.” Relaxing slightly, Alastair released her. “Connor is the one who married her. She’s his responsibility. Let him deal with her.”
As they returned to their bedchamber, Henrietta leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes as images of her parents flooded back into her mind. Her father’s angry snarl, demanding her mother’s submission, and her mother’s whimpered sob, granting it without a fight.
The root of her fear still existed. Henrietta knew that. Once again, she had found proof that her fears were not unfounded. Not only her parents fit the picture of misery in a marriage, many others did as well, and she would do everything within her power not to follow in their footsteps.
Standing at the window of her bedchamber, Henrietta looked down at the soft lights of the village as it sat snug in the embrace of the large castle. The sun had finally abandoned its post, allowing the moon to bathe the world in a silvery glow. The sight was peaceful, and yet, Henrietta knew that anger stirred underneath.
“Are ye all right, Lass
?”
At her husband’s voice, Henrietta turned to face him. “I’m fine,” she shrugged. “Just…thinking.”
“About what?” he asked, coming toward her. His eyes met hers, and she saw the same hint of concern in them that she had noticed over supper.
Again, Henrietta could feel her defensive walls sink into the ground, and she cursed herself for her weakness. After everything she had been through, she had expected more from herself. Had life not hardened her? Taught her to protect herself?
Yes, it had. She realised. However, her heart and mind refused to walk hand in hand. While she knew to be careful, her heart refused to cooperate, solely focused on its own desire.
“They will come to see ye for who ye are,” her husband said when she remained quiet, his dark eyes seeing the turmoil within her as though she were made of glass.
Henrietta shook her head. “And who am I?” she asked, lifting her eyes to his. “I thought I knew, and yet, …”
Placing his large hands on her shoulders, he bent his head to hers. “Look at me, Lass.” A soft smile came to his lips as she did. “We’re not always the same. Ten years ago, I was not the same man I am today. People change. They learn and grow, and that’s a good thing.” He softly squeezed her shoulders. “I know that yer past taught ye to be distrustful of people, and it helped ye stay strong. It helped ye fight when ye needed to. Maybe now, ‘tis time for ye to learn something new and change and grow.” His arms slid from her shoulders down her arms and once more came to rest on her waist as though they belonged there. “But that doesna mean ye’re not true to yerself.”
As his arms held her, Henrietta wanted nothing more but to rest her head against his strong chest. Her fears, however, could not be so easily silenced or persuaded to abandon their post. His words rang true, and yet, she was helplessly drawn into the familiar abyss of the past that haunted her life. Would she ever escape it? Could she ever live unsheltered by her fears?
“Lass,” he whispered, and she looked up at him, his dark eyes shining with a promise that warmed her heart. “Ye’re not alone. Whoever abandoned ye in the past, canna touch ye anymore. Ye’re safe here.”
