Splintered Heart (The Bentons and Northcutts 2) ✅

Chapter Twelve

May 6th, 1667

Phoebe had not left her room since they returned to Briar's Keep. Rafe knew that she was deliberately avoiding him.

"Damn," he cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he paced the parlor. He had not known what had come over him to seduce her. Mayhap it was because of their harrowing experience with the landslide, and losing both of their horses. When the mud had taken Phoebe away like a raging river, Rafe had thought he had lost her forever. The pain, though brief, felt like it was choking the life out of him. Believing that he would never see Phoebe again...the wonderful woman who had brought so much life into his life...he had thought that he himself would die as well.

But Phoebe had not died. She had lived, but he was overwhelmed at having nearly lost her. And to his great shame he had let his passion get the better of him and he had made love to her. She was not his wife, and he had promised himself he would never have a mistress or father bastards, but he had taken her maidenhead out of wedlock. And he felt terribly about it because he knew that he had put her in a precarious position. She had not protested, but she had lost her virginity to him. For the sake of her reputation she would be bound to marry him, which Rafe would never object to. But Phoebe had made it abundantly clear that she did not want to get married ever. She had succumbed to desire and to him, but she did not want him. He knew this, and he knew that this was why she hid away from him.

I have compromised her. Now that we've lain together I must marry her. Something that she does not want.

He would be lying if he said that he hadn't enjoyed it. Tasting her kisses and being enveloped by her body...it had been one of the most wonderful and fulfilling moments of his life. It was everything he wanted and more. For a glimmer of a moment, they were one. And...for that moment, he almost felt as though he was loved by her.

But now she avoids me. She has not spoken to me. I have ruined the plans she has made for herself...and it is my fault.

Muffled voices outside the parlor drew Rafe's attention, and he quickly left the room. Down the he saw his cousins Elisa and Siobhán standing together talking to Phoebe. Rafe felt heat on his face when he saw Phoebe, having finally emerged from her chamber, but he composed himself and quickly approached the grouping of women. "Is everything all right?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

Phoebe stirred very slightly at his arrival, but her stoic expression remained unmoved. "Miss Phoebe asked us about Bernard's...drinking habits," Elisa said.

"He did not drink water," Siobhán confirmed, shaking her head sadly. "He disliked the taste."

Rafe's stomach squirmed in discomfort. In the moment he remembered his conversation with Goodwife Winstead and waved to the women. "Please come with me," he said. "We have a greater problem that we need to discuss."

The three women followed him back into the parlor without a word. They each took seats on separate couches near the fireplace; Phoebe occupying one alone, and Elisa and Siobhán occupying the other. Rafe glanced up and down the corridor before closing the door shut. He had done a full sweep of the room earlier before entering to wallow, but he nonetheless walked the perimeter to ensure that no one was else was there. Then he stood beside both couches. "We know one well here was poisoned," he began, looking between the women. "But with the information we have been given, it looks like the fiend who committed this act deliberately sought out people to poison."

Siobhán paled, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Aye, I agree," Phoebe said. She glanced at the other women. "Lord Bernard did not drink water, but suffered poisoning nonetheless. And the entire House Abrams succumbed to the poisoning, but they did not draw water from that well—"