My Bratty Wife
Chapter 58 - Fifty Eight

Chapter 58: Chapter Fifty Eight

A piercing scream ripped through the stillness of the room, echoing off the cold stone walls of the castle bedroom. A cold sweat slicked Suzy’s skin as she jolted awake, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to her like a shroud. She found herself gasping for breath, heart hammering against her ribs, the sheets tangled around her legs.

The remnants of the nightmare clung to her like a shroud. She was back in the well, the darkness an oppressive weight pressing down on her. The slimy stone walls felt cold and damp against her skin, the stale air thick with the taste of fear. Just like the last dream, the desperate cries for help tore from her throat, raw and primal, echoing in the suffocating darkness.

But this time, there was something different. A flicker of movement in the inky blackness caught her eye. A figure, shrouded in shadows, stood at the mouth of the well, peering down at her. She strained to see, her heart pounding against her ribs, but the figure’s face remained obscured. All she could make out was a dark silhouette, a nameless, faceless entity.

Just as Suzy strained to see the figure’s face, a voice filled the dream but the voice itself was distorted, as though muffled by a thick cloth. The words were indistinct, but one phrase pierced through the haze of fear – "I’m so sorry."

Suzy reached out, her hand grasping at empty air. The figure at the top of the well seemed to hesitate, then with a final, sorrowful sigh, vanished into the darkness. The well plunged back into an oppressive silence, broken only by Suzy’s ragged gasps for breath. She was drowning in the darkness, trapped, alone. Her lungs burned for air, her body trembling with fear.

Then, with a jolt, she was awake. The familiar surroundings of her bedroom swam into focus – the high, ornately carved bed frame, the tapestries on the wall, the soft glow emanating from the bedside lamp.

"Milady?" a gentle voice broke through the fog of terror. "Milady? Are you alright?"

Suzy turned her head, her eyes searching the room until they landed on Doris standing beside the bed, concern etched on her face.

"I... I had a nightmare," Suzy stammered, her voice shaky. She clutched the sheets tightly, trying to ground herself in reality.

Doris’s brow furrowed with worry. "Another one, Milady? About the well?"

Suzy nodded, a shudder wracking her body. She wanted to describe it, to share the details of the shadowy figure and the whispered apology, but the words wouldn’t come.

Sensing her hesitation, Doris offered a soothing smile. "There, there , Milady," she said softly. "Let’s get you some warm milk and calm those nerves."

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky with streaks of pink and orange, the weight of the dream still clung to Suzy. She wasn’t so sure. This dream felt different. It felt... real. But what did it mean? Was it a message?

She laid back against the pillows, her eyes closed, trying to piece together the fragments of the nightmare.

The terror of the dream receded slightly as Doris entered the room, carrying a steaming mug. Warm milk, fragrant with cinnamon, filled the air, offering a comforting counterpoint to the chilling remnants of the nightmare.

"Milady?" Doris inquired, her voice gentle as she placed the mug on the bedside table. "How are you feeling now?"

Suzy opened her eyes, a weak smile playing on her lips. "Better, thank you, Doris," she replied. "The warm milk sounds lovely."

Doris beamed, relief washing over her features. "Excellent," she exclaimed, handing the mug to Suzy. "Take your time, Milady. Let the warmth soothe you."

Suzy took a tentative sip, the warm liquid filling her with a comforting sensation. As she drank, her gaze flicked towards the door. "Where’s Noah?" she inquired, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes.

Doris chuckled softly. "He’s stationed right outside the door, Milady. He wanted to check on you after he heard your scream but I assured him I had everything under control."

Suzy nodded in understanding. A young guard, eager to prove himself, wanting to be helpful – it was kind of endearing. "That’s alright, Doris," she said. "Thank you for handling it."

As Suzy finished the warm milk, Doris busied herself tidying up the room, her movements efficient yet comforting. Suddenly, she paused, her eyes flitting towards Suzy.

"By the way, Milady," Doris announced, a hint of amusement in her voice, "your dance instructor is on his way."

Suzy nearly choked on the last sip of milk, her eyes widening in surprise. "Dance instructor?" she sputtered, setting the mug down with a clatter. "What dance instructor?"

Doris blinked, a hint of confusion crossing her face. "The one His Grace told you about last night, Milady," she explained. "He said he was arranging for lessons."

The revelation of a dance instructor sent a jolt through Suzy, shattering the fragile peace that the warm milk had offered. Yes, Ryan had mentioned something about dancing last night, but she had dismissed it as a passing thought, a fleeting curiosity. Never in a million years did she expect him to be serious about it.

"He should arrive at the castle in about an hour, Milady," Doris continued, unaware of the turmoil churning within Suzy.

Doris noticed the mix of emotions flitting across Suzy’s face. Her brow furrowed slightly, and she tilted her head in concern. "Milady?" she inquired gently. "Is everything alright?"

Suzy blinked, the question pulling her out of the tangled web of her thoughts. "Everything’s... fine, Doris," she replied, the word tasting foreign on her tongue. "Just a bit surprised, that’s all."

Doris nodded understandingly. "Indeed, Milady," she agreed. "It is rather unusual of His Grace."

Suzy took a deep breath, trying to clear the fog of confusion from her mind. There was no point dwelling on the "why" for now. She needed to focus on the "what." "Alright, Doris," she announced, her voice laced with determination. "Help me get ready."

————————-

In the dimly lit study, Ryan sat slumped in his chair, a frown creasing his brow. Davis stood ramrod straight, reciting a report about a message from Thorne.

Ryan’s mind, however, was far from the investigation. His thoughts drifted to Suzy, the image of her pale face and worried eyes flashing in his memory. The words Davis spoke became a monotonous murmur, then faded altogether into a background hum.

A vivid flashback slammed into Ryan’s consciousness, transporting him back to the chaos after the ambush. He lay on his bed, the throbbing pain in his arm a constant reminder of the close call. The attending doctor, Dr. Abernathy just finished cleaning and bandaging the wound.

His voice, gruff yet reassuring, echoed in the flashback.

[ FLASHBACK ]

"You’re a lucky man, Your Grace," the doctor rumbled, his words clipped like a military command. "The bullet missed anything vital by a hair’s breadth. Another inch, and we’d be talking a completely different story."

Ryan grunted, the throbbing pain in his arm taking another round of discomfort. "And the infection?" he rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Thankfully, the Duchess seemed to know what she was doing," the doctor replied, a hint of grudging respect in his voice. "Whatever she did or applied stopped the infection from spreading. Another stroke of luck for you, Your Grace."

[ END OF FLASHBACK ]

The memory faded as abruptly as it appeared, leaving Ryan with a disquieting sense of disorientation. The doctor’s words hung in the air – "The Duchess saved you." The woman he barely knew much about, the woman who has made it her life’s mission to press his buttons, the woman whose fate had thrust upon him as his wife. What had possessed her to act so decisively, to save him?

Davis, his report finished, was staring at him expectantly.

"Davis," Ryan boomed, his voice sharp, "Have you arranged the dance instructor?"

Davis blinked in surprise. The dance instructor? It wasn’t the most pressing matter at hand, but he knew better than to question the Duke’s orders. "Yes, Your Grace," he replied, consulting his notes. "The instructor should be arriving at the castle any moment now. He might have even begun the lesson with the Duchess."

Ryan cleared his throat, a flicker of an emotion that might have been apprehension crossing his features. "Good," he said curtly. "I want to... ensure he’s... doing a good job."

Davis raised an eyebrow in surprise. The request was unusual, to say the least. The Duke, a man known for his stoicism and control, taking a personal interest in his wife’s dance lessons? It was a deviation from the norm, to be sure.

"Of course, Your Grace," Davis replied, masking his surprise. "I’ll see to it that you have a clear view of the lesson."

As Davis turned to leave, Ryan stopped him again. "And Davis," he added, a hint of something akin to pride in his voice, "send word to Thorne. Tell him to keep up the good work and I’ll join him after the ball."

Davis’s surprise deepened. After the ball? This was becoming increasingly bizarre. "Of course, Your Grace," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Anything else?"

Ryan shook his head, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "No, Davis," he said, a cryptic glint in his eyes. "For now, that’s all."

As Davis bowed and exited the study, Ryan leaned back in his chair, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.