My Bratty Wife

The soft, afternoon sunlight cast a warm, intimate light across the master bedchamber at the Blackwood castle. Ryan had gently bathed Suzy, his touch infinitely tender as he cleansed away the grime and blood of her terrible ordeal, his heart aching with every bruise he uncovered. He put back the Blackwood ring he had taken from Eleanor back on her neck. He then coaxed her to eat a little of Mrs. Madelyn’s nourishing chicken broth and a few bites of soft bread, feeding her himself when her hands trembled too much. Now, finally, exhaustion had claimed her.

She lay curled against him on the large bed, her head nestled in the crook of his arm, her breathing deep and even. Her vibrant, curly auburn hair, still slightly damp from her bath, spread across the pillow and his shoulder like a silken shawl. He had been rocking her gently, humming a tuneless, soothing melody, and she had drifted off to sleep, her grip on his hand surprisingly strong, even in slumber. He watched her, his heart overflowing with a love so fierce, so protective, it almost hurt. The lines of pain and fear that had been etched on her face were beginning to soften, replaced by a childlike vulnerability in sleep.

A gentle, almost hesitant knock sounded at the bedchamber door. Ryan, careful not to disturb Suzy, turned his head slightly. His voice was a mere whisper, hushed and soft. "Come in."

The door opened silently, and Davis, his expression one of respectful concern, stepped inside. He took in the scene – the sleeping Duchess, the Duke protectively holding her – and he bowed low. He was about to speak when Ryan quickly brought a finger to his own lips.

"Shhh," Ryan breathed, his voice barely audible. "Lower your voice, Davis, if you please. Her Grace is resting. She needs all the sleep she can get."

Davis nodded immediately, his gaze flicking towards Suzy. He saw how she clung to the Duke, her fingers laced tightly with his, her face turned towards his chest as if seeking refuge even in her dreams. She murmured something then, a soft, incoherent string of sounds, and snuggled closer to Ryan, a tiny sigh escaping her lips.

"My apologies, Your Grace," Davis whispered, his voice now a faint breath of sound. He held out a sealed parchment. "A letter arrived by special courier, Your Grace. It’s from Thorne. And he indicates... it is good news."

Ryan’s eyes, which had been soft with affection as he looked at Suzy, sharpened with a sudden intensity. Thorne. His most trusted investigator, the man he had tasked with delving into the depths of the nobles’ murders, the man who had vanished a year ago, presumably on a dangerous lead. "Good news?" Ryan whispered back, his heart giving a hopeful leap. "What is it about? Quickly, Davis."

"Thorne has discovered the identity of the murderer, Your Grace," Davis relayed, his voice low but clear. "He is returning to Carleton Hall as soon as it is safe to do so. He stated in the letter that it is a matter of utmost urgency and secrecy, something he feels he must impart to you personally, and only to you."

A wave of profound relief, quickly followed by a grim satisfaction, washed over Ryan. The murderer. The scoundrel who had brought such unrest and sorrow to the kingdom and his duchy, who had indirectly led to him distancing himself from Suzy for her safety. Soon, very soon, he would have a name, a face. He would bring this reign of terror to an end. He could finally provide a truly safe environment for Suzy, for their coming child. A genuine, heartfelt smile touched Ryan’s lips. "That is very good news, Davis," he whispered, his eyes shining. "Very good news indeed."

Davis nodded, sharing his master’s relief, but then his expression became more grave. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper.