Abandoned & Protected--The Marquis' Tenacious Wife (#4 Love's Second Chance Series)

by Bree Wolf

  As an excited quiver ran through her, Henrietta smiled. “I do believe you, and I have to admit I am glad to hear it.”

  Relief washed over his face, and he lowered his head down to hers, the tip of his nose gently touching hers. “As am I.”

  Chapter Thirty − A Voice in the Dark

  Sleeping peacefully, Connor frowned when a swift kick to his shin startled him. Instantly, the cocoon of slumber began to recede, and his consciousness resurfaced. His ears detected agonising moans; whereas, the rest of his body continued to register slight attacks, a hand slapping his shoulder, an arm landing across his midsection or a foot connecting with his already bruised shin.

  When awareness finally seized him, Connor shot up, one hand roughly brushing the sleep from his face as he turned to look for an intruder. Instead, he found his wife thrashing on the bed as though in a fever fit, her body convulsing painfully. Her face spoke of agony, however, not physical but emotional, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. “Lass, wake up!”

  Instantly, her eyes flew open, wide with terror as she glanced around, trying to determine her surroundings. “Connor?”

  “Aye,” he confirmed, his heart soaring at the sound of his name on her lips. “’Tis me, Lass. You’re safe. You’re home.”

  Slowly, her breathing evened, and she rested her head against his shoulder, her right hand reaching over and almost digging into his arm as though he were a lifeline, preventing her from sinking to the depths of the ocean.

  “A bad dream?” he asked, knowing that it was so. “Was it yer parents?”

  Not lifting her head off his shoulder, she nodded. “Only this time, I couldn’t see. It was as though I was blind. Everything was dark.”

  Again and again, Connor stroked her back until he felt her muscles relax. “What frightened ye so, Lass?”

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered, her fingers digging deeper into his flesh. “It was as though someone was lying in wait, watching me.” She shivered. “And I couldn’t see.”

  “D’ye think it was yer father?”

  Taking a deep breath, she shrugged her shoulders. “Everything seemed strange, somehow out of place. For a long time, all I could hear was my brother’s soft breathing as well as the rain pelting the room. As strange as it sounds, it was rather peaceful. Then my mother screamed, and everything changed. Everything became dangerous and threatening.”

  For a moment, she remained quiet, searching for the remnants of her dream, and Connor wondered what had brought on these nightmares now of all times. Had they returned because she was finally willing to deal with the demons of her past instead of hiding from them? However, as though they had a life of their own, they seemed determined to keep her from slaying them once and for all.

  “I heard the shot ring out as I have many times before,” she continued in hushed whispers, “only it didn’t stop then.”

  “What d’ye mean?”

  “Usually I wake up when I find my parents dead,” she explained, “but this time I didn’t. I never left the pantry.” Sitting up, she rubbed her hands over her face, her brows in a frown as she tried to make sense of what she remembered. “I was in the pantry, and I heard the shot, and then…” Squinting her eyes, she shook her head as though unwilling to believe what her mind told her. “It cannot be right.”

  “What?” Connor asked, feeling goose bumps crawl up his arms. “What did ye hear, Lass?”

  The frown still on her face, she met his eyes. “I heard footsteps. Loud and stomping, they climbed the stairs and went from room to room before returning to the ground floor.” Again, she shook her head, her eyes wide. “I heard a voice.”

  Reaching for her hands, Connor held her gaze. “Whose voice?”

  “I don’t know.” Staring at him, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “What did it say?”

  For a second, her eyes narrowed before frustration washed over her face. “I cannot remember. It sounded like a curse, like someone growling in anger, but I could not understand the words.”

  Holding on to her hands, Connor searched her eyes. “D’ye believe it to be a true memory or something yer mind conjured?”

  Shaking her head, his wife shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t remember ever dreaming this before.” She looked up from her hands and met his eyes. “Why now?”

  “I don’t know,” Connor whispered and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight, “but we will find out. Together.”

  Chapter Thirty-One − Helen of Troy

  Wringing her hands, Henrietta walked the length of her husband’s study as he sat on the corner of his desk watching her. Casting a glance in his direction, she asked, “How can you remain so calm? If he’s unwilling to speak to me, I fear there’ll be nothing we can do.”

  Connor cleared his throat, his eyes searching for hers. “Even if he doesna understand, even if he refuses his consent, he doesna have the power to declare the marriage void.”

  Stopping in her tracks, Henrietta stared at her husband. “Are you saying you would go against his wishes?”

  “I would, aye.” Rising from the desk, he came toward her and took her hands in his, a soft smile on his face as his eyes met hers. “I believe as ye do that Fiona and Liam are in love, and I canna deny them what I want for myself.”

  Although he had told her before, Henrietta only now realised how much she meant to him, and the breath caught in her throat as she found her husband looking down at her with love and devotion shining in his eyes. “You really do love me, don’t you?” she whispered as her vision began to blur, and a single tear rolled down her cheek.

  At her question, a gentle smile touched his lips, and he pulled her into his arms, his eyes never leaving hers. “Ye’re the only woman I’ve ever loved, Lass, and the day that ye can truly believe that will be the happiest of my life.”

  “I−”

  A knock sounded on the door, startling them.

  Clearing his throat, her husband stepped back and then toward the door to open it while Henrietta quickly brushed the tear from her face and dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. Never had she shed as many tears as in the last few weeks. This marriage had truly changed her.

  “Good morning, Brogan,” her husband said as he opened the door, and Fiona’s father walked in.

  The older man grumbled a greeting in return but instantly froze when his eyes fell on Henrietta. His lips thinned, and he took a deep breath before turning on his heel.

  “Stay.” Closing the door, Connor stepped in the man’s way. “This is an urgent matter, and we need to discuss it.”

  “But not with her here,” Brogan grumbled, glaring at Henrietta.

  Trying to stay calm, her husband took a deep breath. “Brogan, I−”

  “Connor?” Stepping forward, Henrietta placed a hand on his arm and whispered, “Would you excuse us?”

  Holding her gaze, his eyes widened, and for a moment, he didn’t say a word. Then his gaze shifted to the man standing behind her before it returned to hers. “Are ye certain, Lass?”

  Henrietta nodded. “Please.”

  “I’ll be right outside,” he told her, his eyes holding hers for a moment longer, assuring her that he wouldn’t be far. Then he reluctantly stepped back. “My wife wishes to speak to ye alone,” he told Brogan whose mouth dropped open in surprise. “If ye do not treat her with the appropriate respect, ye may not live to regret it. Am I understood?”

  Gritting his teeth, Brogan swallowed a reply and nodded.

  “All right.” Opening the door, Connor stepped outside. However, before he closed it, he looked at her imploringly and repeated, “I’ll be right outside.”

  “Thank you,” Henrietta whispered before the door closed, and she was alone with a man who hated the very sight of her.

  Feeling her own hands tremble, Henrietta squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, then met Brogan’s eyes, a gentle smile on her face. “I wished to speak to you alone because I know how difficult it is to reveal s
omething personal of yourself to another,” she said, noting the hint of surprise and suspicion that came to the man’s face. “I need to ask you a few questions, and I am asking you to answer them for Fiona’s sake.”

  Brogan snorted, “Do not pretend ye care about my daughter,” he spat. “I willna tell ye anything for ‘tis none of yer concern. Ye’re an outsider, and married to the chief or not, ye’ll never understand his people. Do not presume to know me!”

  Seeing the stubborn determination on his face that Henrietta recognised only too well, she sighed, knowing that there was only one way for her to win his trust. “We all have our past, and it shapes us more than we like to admit,” she began, linking her hands as her own demons reawakened. “Over time, we start to see Pain and Fear and Doubt as our allies, keeping us safe, protecting us,” she shook her head, “but we’re wrong because they keep us tied to our past as though the present had never come and the future is just a hollow dream.”

  Brogan swallowed, and for a short moment, his eyes dropped to the floor.

  “I recognise such a past in you,” Henrietta said, her eyes pleading with him to believe her, “because my own held me trapped for a long time as well. Only recently have I begun to see the truth of what made me the person I am, and although it is painful to confront the demons of your past, it is also worth it.”

  Brogan took a slow breath, and although the snarl had disappeared from his face, Henrietta could see that he was not convinced.

  “When I was five years old,” she began, feeling her fingernails dig into her skin, “my father killed my mother and then himself.”

  Staring at her, Brogan swallowed, his eyes wide with shock.

  “He had always had a temper,” Henrietta continued, “which was only intensified by his love for spirits. Hardly a day passed when he would not lash out at my mother and me. I cannot count how often bruises covered her face or how often I hid hoping he would not find me when anger overtook him once again.” For a moment, Henrietta closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling a single tear roll down her cheek. “I did not see how it happened, and I am grateful for that. At the time, I was hiding in the pantry, holding my baby brother, praying he wouldn’t wake up and cry. All night, we stayed in the pantry, and I listened to my father’s shouts and my mother’s sobs…until the house fell silent.”

  Brogan’s face had gone pale at Henrietta’s account of the night her parents had died, and the hatred had vanished from his eyes, replaced by sadness and empathy.

  A soft smile came to Henrietta’s face as she saw that he did not look at her as an enemy or a foreigner any longer, but someone he could relate to, someone he could understand instead, and hope grew in her heart. “What happened in my past made me distrustful of…everyone,” she admitted, feeling a new strength in her heart. “I was certain that everyone, especially men, would eventually turn against me, and that the only way to protect myself was to not rely on them, to keep them at a distance,” a sad smile came to her lips, “to keep myself from ever loving them. It is a lonely existence.”

  Clearing his throat, Brogan took a deep breath as his eyes searched her face.

  “I know that you love your daughter,” she said, and a gentle smile came to his lips, “and that you are a good father to her. Fiona loves you dearly, and it pains her to hurt you, but she cannot give up on the man she loves.” Taking a step forward, Henrietta looked at him imploringly. “I know that you would not stand in the way of her happiness unless there was a good reason.”

  Brogan’s jaw clenched as his hands balled into fists.

  “I know you have a reason for what you do, and it is not because you believe her to have been forced into this marriage. That is an excuse so that no one will ask you for the real reason. Only, as you have seen, it is not enough of a reason. Considering the circumstances, no one can accept it as true; therefore, it is assumed that you merely object to the marriage out of anger.” Shaking her head, Henrietta stepped forward. “Unless you share your true objections, no one, not even your daughter, will be able to understand.”

  Brogan sighed, his mouth opening and closing as though he wished to speak but could not find the courage or the words.

  “Is it about your late wife?” Henrietta asked.

  Instantly, Brogan’s eyes flew up, and he stumbled a step backwards as though he had been punched in the gut. “What do ye know of my wife?”

  “Only what Fiona told me,” Henrietta said, now more convinced than ever that Fiona’s late mother was the key. “She said that her mother had been a beautiful woman, much sought after, and that in the end, she had chosen the man she loved: you.”

  For a short moment, Brogan closed his eyes, and a soft smile touched his lips. “She did,” he whispered and once more opened his eyes. “Although I’d hoped, I’d never truly believed she would choose me. The day she told me, I thought I’d strayed into a dream.”

  Henrietta smiled. “You were lucky to have found each other, just like Fiona and Liam.”

  Meeting her eyes, Brogan sighed, and Henrietta could see the many contradicting thoughts tearing him apart. “I never wanted anything but her happiness,” he confessed as though revealing a well-guarded secret. “No matter what happened, she’s my daughter and I love her.”

  Henrietta frowned. “No matter what happened?”

  Closing his eyes, Brogan took a deep breath. “Ainsley was like Helen of Troy, a vision, a siren. Men would take one look at her and fall in love.” He sighed. “As did I, and Reid as well.”

  “I see,” Henrietta said, sensing they were getting closer to the real reason for Brogan’s objections to his daughter’s choice. “Did you not believe she truly loved you?”

  Brogan shrugged. “I wanted to. On some days I did while on others I had doubts.”

  “You did not think yourself worthy of her love?”

  “Compared to her, I was a no one,” he confessed. “Compared to her other suitors, I was a no one as well. There was no good reason why she should have chosen me. I never expected her to. Only I could not step down without at least stating my desire to make her my wife.”

  “You still doubt her love, do you not? Even today,” Henrietta asked, his own demons almost visible in the tortured expression on his face. “But how does that affect Fiona?”

  Brogan took a slow, painful breath. “Because I am not certain that she is, in fact, my daughter.”

  Henrietta’s eyes went wide, and yet, deep down she had suspected something like this. “You believe her to be Reid’s daughter?”

  Brogan nodded, a hint of relief on his face that Henrietta understood. As painful as it was to drag the past back into the light of day, it also felt good to finally voice one’s concerns to another who would simply listen and understand.

  Throwing his hands in the air, Brogan shook his head, his eyes wide with indecision. “I canna let her marry her own brother, can I?”

  “But you’re not certain, are you?” Henrietta asked. “What gave you the idea that Fiona is not your own child? Did they admit to an affair?” Remembering Reid’s placid face, Henrietta doubted that the man even so much as suspected that Fiona could be his daughter.

  “No.” Brogan shook his head. “I didna have a chance to ask her.”

  Henrietta nodded. “Yes, Fiona told me that her mother died in childbirth.”

  Loss edged in his face, Brogan looked at her. “All of a sudden she was gone, and I…”

  “I’m sorry,” Henrietta whispered. “It must have been awful to lose her so unexpectedly.”

  Brogan nodded, then lifted his eyes. “But ye know what that is like, do ye not?”

  A sad smile came to Henrietta’s lips, and she nodded. “Tell me what made you doubt her love. For Fiona’s sake.”

  Fighting through the pain, Brogan forced back the memories that so plagued him. “Although she’d agreed to marry me, many of her suitors still tried to dissuade her, convince her that she had chosen badly. Our entire betrothal, up until the morning of
our wedding, I lived in fear that she would change her mind and call it off.” He shook his head in exasperation. “A part of me knew I was being foolish, but I couldna help myself. I watched her. I watched them look at her, speak to her.” Meeting Henrietta’s eyes, he smiled. “She never gave me any reason to doubt her, to doubt the love she had for me, and I felt even more foolish.”

  When Brogan remained silent, his eyes distant as he relived memories from long ago, Henrietta cleared her throat, bringing him back to the here and now. “Did something happen with Reid? Something that made you doubt her after all?”

  Sighing, Brogan nodded. “He had spoken to her many times, and she had merely answered him with a courteous smile on her lips, like she had all of the others. But one night, I thought I’d seen something different.”

  “You saw them together?” Henrietta asked, wondering what it would feel like to come upon her own husband in another woman’s arms. Instantly, her stomach twisted painfully, and Henrietta had to swallow a lump in her throat. Later, she thought and turned her attention back to the man before her.

  “It was a festival,” Brogan remembered. “A bonfire lit the night. There was music and dancing and…merriment. Everyone was laughing and having a wonderful time as did we. We danced long into the night, but at some point, a friend in tears called for her, and Ainsley went to comfort her.” Taking a deep breath, Brogan swallowed. “When I saw her again, she stood in the shadows of the castle wall…with Reid.” Gritting his teeth, he shook his head. “I canna say what it was, but the way they spoke to each other sent chills down my back. So, I stopped and tried to listen. Only I couldna hear them. They were whispering, and I couldna get close enough without revealing myself.”

  “What happened?” Henrietta asked, uncomfortable at the level of intimacy she asked him to share with her, and yet, she had to know. For Fiona’s sake.

  “They were whispering,” Brogan forced out, the muscles in his jaw clenched. “Their heads bent together, they whispered to each other. I couldna see Ainsley’s face, but Reid’s said more than a thousand words. I knew exactly how he felt for I felt the same way about her.” Brogan swallowed. “He brushed a strand behind her ear, and she reached out and placed her hand on his arm. That’s when I left. I couldna look at them any longer.” Raking his hands through his hair, he began to pace, and Henrietta could see that his shock and pain were still as fresh as they had been twenty years ago.