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“You are my baby sister,” he rasped, looking at her with a pained expression. “He was,is, my best friend. The two of you should never have…”

“It was upon my insistence,” Helena repeated, cutting him off. Ambrose flinched at the words as if they were a blow to his face.

“I understand that you may not wish to know that about me, brother, but I am more than just your sister. I am a woman. And while they are limited, there are some decisions I have the right to make. Also, please remember, Ambrose, that if Reuben had not been spying on us, no one would have been the wiser. Morgan kept his promise. He kept my identity safe. He keptmesafe.”

“I do not want to hear any more about what Morgan did or did not do for you,” Ambrose retorted hurriedly.

Helena closed her mouth and nodded. She did not have a particular desire for that either.

“Morgan tried to talk me out of it,” she said at last, knowing they had to finish the conversation somehow. “I was simply too stubborn to take his advice.”

Ambrose huffed.

“NowthatI believe,” he said with a smirk.

The two of them shared an affectionate look, and Ambrose shook his head.

“I do not how I ever came to the conclusion that Luke was the right man for you. You need a man who is stronger than you. Despite his malicious subterfuge, Luke would never have been able to control you.”

“I do not think many men can,” Helena replied honestly. “I was raised by you and your band of brothers, Ambrose, there was strength and stubbornness everywhere I looked. Of course I was going to take after you.”

A look of pride shone in Ambrose’s eyes as a touch of a smile graced his lips.

“So Morgan…” he went on hesitantly, “Morgan makes you feel as if…?”

“As if I do not have to be so strong,” Helena breathed, her breath trembling as her truth finally came out. She had been searching for the words within herself for weeks, but it was now that she could finally say them. Morgan removed her mantle of burdens and let her rest. Let her be cared for, completely.

A knock on the door interrupted their moment, and a maid popped her head in through the double doors.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, my lady, but the nurse has sent me. Lord Grandhill is beginning to stir. He should be waking soon.”

Helena’s heart throbbed in her chest as she rose to her feet too rapidly. The world spun again, but only for a moment this time, and she looked at Ambrose.

“I need to be there when he wakes up,” she stated. It was not a request.

Ambrose nodded and motioned with his hand for her to go. She took a step towards the door, wishing she was already upstairs, but she stopped and turned back to her brother.

“Come with me,” she urged gently.

“I do not know if I can.”

“He is your brother,” Helena stated. “In every way but blood, and has been so nearly all of your life. Whatever happens next between Morgan and me, I do not want that bond between you to fade.Ever.Come brother, please. He will want to see you.”

Ambrose’s brow furrowed as his jaw tensed, struggling for a moment with his raw emotions.

“You are wise beyond your years, Helena,” he rasped, standing up to join her.

“Thank you,” she replied, looping her arm around his. “I get it from my brother.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The 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 wassheholding the cloth to his head, waking him from his tortured dreams.