Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

T he first thing Morgan felt coming out of the black, numb darkness was something cool and soft being pressed gently against his forehead. His warm head pounded with relief as small droplets of cool water trickled over his temples, down his jaw, and to the back of his neck.

The second thing he felt was the pain, dull and constant, pounding in his right side. It thrummed along with his heartbeat, pulsing throughout his entire body. It was worse than any punch he had ever received. It was deeper; beyond physical. It reached from his lower right side and up into his heart.

Helena. Where is Helena? Is she safe?

He groaned at the pain, and a sudden shiver ran through him as his worry overrode his sleep, and his eyes finally snapped open. The pain in his chest lessened when he saw Helena’s placid blue eyes staring down at him; a small, relieved smile gracing her angelic face. It was she holding the cloth to his head, waking him from his tortured dreams.

“I am here,” she whispered, tracing a delicate fingertip over his brow, “I am here.”

“Are you all right?” he croaked, willing his heavy limbs to reach for her. But before he could attempt to hold her, Helena’s hands were at his forearms, pushing him gently back into the bed.

“I am,” she promised, laying a soft kiss on the bruised knuckles of his right hand. “Try not to move, you will rip your stitches.” Her touch, words and tone were like a soothing rain over his hot skin, and he closed his eyes and let out a long breath. His heart finally beat in a steady rhythm, and the pain in his side lessened significantly.

“The doctor saw to me after he finished with you,” she went on, as if knowing he needed more detailed answers. “He gave me an antidote of sorts and I will be back to myself in no time.”

“Luke,” he muttered, his body jolting at the memory. Morgan opened his eyes and immediately saw the morbid answer in Helena’s regretful expression. Despite his fading consciousness, he had still heard the sickening thud of Luke’s head hitting something hard and known that his chances of getting back up were slim.

“She is not being charged with anything,” a familiar, masculine voice stated from the corner of the room. “He is alive, for now. Though by nature or by justice, it will not be for long. And no one but us and the authorities will ever know what actually happened. I have made certain of that.”

Morgan turned his head towards Ambrose with a wary look and gave him a nod of thanks. Though he was relieved to know his brother was by his side, he still had no idea where they stood.

“That is good to hear. And Reuben?”

“Very much like Luke, he may live,” Ambrose answered, his expression still grave, “Then again he may not. He lost a lot of blood before help arrived. Either way, he has been charged with murder and attempted murder. I have no doubt that, even if he survives his wounds, he will not survive the hangman.”

“I should have stabbed him in the heart,” Morgan said viciously, then winced as a fresh bolt of pain shot through him.

“You did well enough,” Ambrose said.

Morgan heard Ambrose’s familiar, “I-am-older-so-do-not-argue” tone, but unlike before, he felt a surge of anger well up in him. Yes, Ambrose was the oldest, and he had done very well keeping his sister and three adopted brothers in line. But this time he had failed. In the most awful way possible.

He turned back to Helena, reaching for her hand without remorse. Her eyes widened a little at the bold move, but when he looked up at her imploringly, her gaze softened and she slipped her fingers into his gracefully. Morgan pressed her warm palm into his and brought her hand to his mouth, placing a soft kiss upon it.

“Helena, I pray that you do not go far, but would you please give me a moment with Ambrose? There are some things we need to discuss.”

For a moment Helena looked unsure, but she nodded and squeezed his hand.

“We have things to discuss too, you know,” she told him, slipping her hand from his.

“Truly,” he agreed, “and we will address them with haste.”

Morgan’s pain eased a little when his answer drew a small smile from Helena’s lips. He watched her leave the room as a sense of duty washed over him. He had been a coward through all of this. In many ways. But that was now going to stop.

“We are all grateful that you are going to survive, brother…”

“This is your fault,” Morgan stated harshly, cutting Ambrose off with his sharp words and glare. “I told you something was wrong with Luke. I brought you the letter, and yet you did nothing.”

Ambrose’s tensed stature melted as he slumped forward in his chair and hung his head.

“I know.”

For a moment Morgan’s anger was stymied by surprise, but only for a moment.

“Luke had not only married Helena as a ruse, but he had been drugging her, Ambrose,” Morgan growled. “She is your sister! You are supposed to protect her…”

“I know !!!” Ambrose boomed, rising to his feet, his face twisted with fury. “Damn it! Do you not know that I will carry this mistake with me for the rest of my life?! I took her choice away because I thought I knew what was best for her, and what did I do? I nearly got her killed! I nearly got us all killed! Reuben’s plan had been to steal our money and murder us, or did you forget that?”

Morgan remained silent. He was no longer sure who he was more enraged with. Ambrose, or himself?

“I have not forgotten,” Morgan replied through gritted teeth. “But I care about her more than us .”

Ambrose squeezed his eyes shut as he grimaced and shook his head.

“Do not speak so emotionally about my sister,” he said, his tone steely.

For a moment, a sliver of guilt snaked through his heart. It was true that Ambrose had committed a sin out of ignorance. But Morgan had broken a cardinal rule of brotherhood by not only going behind Ambrose’s back, but falling in love with his little sister.

“You are—were a rake and a comic, and I knew that you would charm your way into any woman’s bed you saw fit. You have made inappropriate references to Helena in the past, but I never believed that you would actually try to charm your way into hers.”

“I did not charm Helena into anything. You do not understand what happened between us,” Morgan spat out.

“Nor do I want to,” Ambrose replied quickly, putting a hand up to stop Morgan from elaborating. “What I want is to rewind time and find a way to bypass all of this, but I cannot. What I can have, though, is my friend back. My true, sarcastic, overly confident friend who reminds us to laugh when life gets too serious.”

“I cannot be that for you anymore,” Morgan urged. “Not without Helena. I did not mean to fall in love with her, Ambrose, and I am certain that she did not mean to fall in love with me, but there is something in the two of us as individuals that completes us as a whole, and I will not let her go.”

“I used to joke because I thought I was happy,” he went on, shaking his head, “the women, the power, it all made me drunk on life for a time. Then, shortly after we locked up George, I woke up one morning with the worst hangover and no longer saw life as funny. For a while thereafter, I pretended that all was well and fine. Until Helena. Once she caused me to realize what I was missing, I could no longer pretend to be happy. Not without her.”

The silence stretched out between them as they each absorbed what the other had said. Morgan lay prone and helpless on the bed, while Ambrose stood a few paces away from him, his hands resting on his hips as he stared down at the embroidered carpet.

“So you are saying I cannot have my best friend and brother back to his cheerful self unless he marries my sister.” Ambrose finally said decidedly.

“Yes.”

And there it was. His truth. His confession. His plea. His bargain. All wrapped up into one word.

Ambrose finally looked up from the floor, his annoyance still evident.

“I believe she feels the same way about you,” he grunted, as though displeased.

Morgan did not realize he was holding his breath until he heard the heavy sigh escape his own lips. An invisible weight seemed to lift off of him as Ambrose’s words resonated in his own head. Could she? After he had failed her?

“I will not be forcing Helena into another marriage,” Ambrose went on, “The choice is completely hers. If she says no…”

“If she says no, neither of you will have to worry about me anymore,” Morgan stated, his tone now calm. You and I will find our way back to friendship in some sort of fashion, I suppose, though you will not see me as often as before. And Helena will never have to worry about interacting with me again.”

Ambrose did not look pleased with Morgan’s response, but he gave a nod and stepped closer to Morgan’s bed. The two men looked at one another warily, knowing that their friendship, for multiple reasons, had been forever altered.

“I shall go fetch Helena,” he said, reaching out to lay a familiar, brotherly pat on Morgan’s shoulder.

“Thank you, brother,” Morgan replied, giving him a respectful nod. Ambrose’s lips twitched at the word, but instead of responding, he walked to the door and opened it to leave.

He had not taken a full step before Morgan heard him chuckle softly and stop. Though his pain was still sharp, Morgan was on his feet and shuffling to the door, somehow knowing what he would find.

“What are you doing?” Ambrose hissed quietly, swiveling his head towards Morgan as he heard him get up.

“I am fine,” Morgan grunted. “I want to see.”

“God, you must be in love with her,” Ambrose muttered under his breath as he rolled his eyes.

For a brief instant, their usual bond snapped into place and Morgan grinned at Ambrose. His brother then smirked back and helped him complete his remaining steps to the door. Upon reaching it, Morgan leaned into the frame as he peeked out, and felt his heart swell at the sight of Helena curled up on the love seat, deeply asleep.

“She has had a terribly exhausting day,” Ambrose whispered as they both looked down at her. “And I believe the medicine the doctor gave her has only added to her fatigue.”

Morgan nodded, feeling his entire body respond to the sight before him. He wanted to lean down before her, pick her up, and carry her home to his bed where they would both rest for days. Helena did indeed look exhausted, but it did nothing to take away from the radiant beauty that shone from her. Nothing, not even poison, could take that from her.

“She and I will talk later,” he decided, his tone barely above a whisper. “Take her to bed. Make sure she gets her rest.”

“Let me help you back to yours first,” Ambrose insisted, but Morgan put up his hand.

“I will be fine,” Morgan replied, giving Ambrose a small push towards Helena. “Go. See to your sister. She deserves to rest in her own bed.”

At this Ambrose nodded and moved towards Helena to scoop her up. Morgan watched closely, making sure her head was in no fear of being bumped as Ambrose pulled her into his arms.

“Goodness,” he chuckled softly, looking down at the sleeping woman in his arms. “I have not done this since she was about eight.”

Morgan watched as emotions of all sorts travelled over his friend’s face. Relief. Worry. Fear. Guilt. Love. They all passed from Ambrose’s heart to his eyes.

“She is safe now,” Morgan said quietly. Unable to help himself, he stepped away from the door frame and gently stroked the back of his knuckles across her warm cheek, smoothing a lock of hair back behind her ear. As he did so, Ambrose looked up at him and a quiet, thoughtful expression filled his face.

“We will keep her safe,” Ambrose promised.

Morgan nodded and watched in silence as Ambrose carried her away. He turned to walk back to his bed and go back to sleep when a memory of their last night together slammed into him. The exquisite ecstasy they had created had turned into a frenzy of panic and tears after the way in which he had chosen to end things between them.

Helena had begged him, begged him to stay and speak with her, but he had not. He had crushed her then, just as much as Ambrose had when he took away her choice of husband. Would she want him? She seemed willing to speak with him, and she had been happy to see him at the dinner party, but did that mean anything? Her life had been put at risk, so she would have been grateful to see anyone step in to save her.

A twisted fear ran through his veins until it reached his heart, and the pain he had briefly ignored suddenly came back with a vengeance. Forgoing the bed, Morgan walked to the chair where his shirt and jacket had been draped and got dressed. With painful effort, he made his way down the stairs and left.