The Wedding

by Julie Garwood

  “He wanted me to see what he’d done. Go to bed now. You need your rest.”

  “Was it a message for you or for me?”

  “Me.”

  “Gilly belonged to me.”

  “But you belong to me,” he reasoned.

  “Was it a message of what’s to come?”

  “Hugh’s soldiers said MacNare called it a gift,” he told her. He forced her closer to him again and began to remove her clothes.

  She didn’t resist until he tried to take her chemise off her. “I’ll be cold.”

  He wouldn’t be deterred. “I’ll keep you warm tonight. I notice you’re still wearing the medallion your father gave you. I told you to throw it away,” he reminded her. He really didn’t care what she did with the wooden disk, now that he understood her better and knew she wasn’t wearing it to insult him. It seemed harmless enough.

  “I didn’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Throw it away.”

  “I can see you didn’t,” he said, amused. “You’re really exhausted tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep though. I’m too angry and . . .”

  “And what?”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t ready to admit to him how frightened she was. “Will you come to bed with me?”

  “Not yet. I have one more duty to complete.”

  “Is it important?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could you rest beside me for just a few minutes, please?”

  She wouldn’t get into bed until he agreed, so he removed his boots, stretched out on his back, and stacked his hands behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling. She stared at him.

  He gave the appearance of a contented man who didn’t have a worry in the world, and had she not seen him standing across from her in the courtyard, she would have thought he hadn’t seen or heard about Gilly yet. His reaction didn’t comfort her.

  She would have preferred sleeping on the side closer to the door, but he made her take the side by the window instead. She didn’t want to stare out at the ruins, but she didn’t want to look at Connor either, because his cold attitude was nearly as unsettling as the view in the moonlight, and so she ended up flat on her back staring up at the ceiling, too.

  She couldn’t understand her husband’s indifference. When he was looking’ down at Gilly, he’d appeared completely unconcerned, but she thought he’d been pretending so the messengers wouldn’t have anything worthwhile to report. Now she wasn’t so certain. Perhaps Connor hadn’t been pretending at all. Could he really be so unfeeling?

  The horse was her pet, yes, and though she had raised her and loved her dearly, she was still just an animal. But would Connor have behaved differently if the remains of one of his soldiers had been dragged home to him?

  She found herself fervently hoping so.

  Several minutes passed in silence while she thought about her husband’s behavior. She thought of another question to ask him then and glanced over to make certain he was still awake first.

  “Who did you say the soldiers came from?”

  “Hugh.”

  “Is he an ally of MacNare’s?”

  “His soldiers would have been killed a long time ago if their laird was an ally of MacNare’s.”

  “Is he your ally then?”

  “When it’s convenient for him to be,” he answered. “Hugh’s land borders ours to the south. I let him live in peace as long as he stays out of my way.”

  “I wouldn’t trust him.”

  “I don’t.”

  Connor watched her struggle to stay awake. She could barely keep her eyes open and was yawning every other minute now, but she was still determined to talk about what had happened instead of giving in to the inevitable. He decided to help her lose her battle. He pulled her into his arms, held her close, and began to stroke her back. The heat radiating from his body warmed her and made her drowsy in no time at all.

  “MacNare’s a demon, and demons don’t fear anyone,” Brenna said. “That makes them all the more dangerous and terrifying to others.”

  He closed his eyes and waited for her to tell him she was afraid of the bastard.

  She took a roundabout way of admitting it. “Women, especially, would be frightened.”

  “But not you,” he said. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t you, Brenna?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “And you know I won’t let anything happen to you, don’t you, Connor?”

  He was smiling when he leaned down and kissed her forehead. “MacNare isn’t immortal. He has fears like everyone else. He fears one man in particular.”

  “You’re certain of this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Should women also fear this man?”

  “No.”

  “Who is he?” she asked. She fell asleep waiting for her husband to give her the name of the man this demon feared.

  She slept soundly for over an hour, until she was jarred awake by the clanking sound of the drawbridge being lowered.

  Connor wasn’t in bed with her. She knew, before her feet touched the floor, that he was leaving the safety of the fortress. She grabbed her plaid and wrapped it around her on her way to the window.

  The sight was ominous. A procession of soldiers on horseback, each carrying a fiery torch in one hand and holding a rope in the other, slowly crossed the bridge, dragging a bony carcass behind them. The clipping sound the horses made didn’t cover the brittle echoes of the remains banging against the wooden planks.

  Connor led the way to the ruins. When the procession reached its destination, everyone dismounted. They formed an arc, and in the center, four of the men began the digging. Their muscular silhouettes glistened in the flickering light as they lifted mounds of dirt and flung them to the side.

  The hole was deep. Another soldier stepped forward, reached down, and lifted each man up. The beacons were thrust into the ground then, and the soldiers moved in unison to pull on the ropes. The carcass was slowly dragged forward. It teetered on the edge of the black hole for several seconds, then plunged down. The ropes, like snakes, slithered down into the cavity as soon as the soldiers released them.

  After they filled the hole with dirt, a single torch was left burning bright on top of the mound, and the other beacons moved toward the horses.

  Minutes later, the procession came thundering back across the drawbridge. A single light remained behind to keep vigil over the ruins. It burned bright for several more minutes, flickered twice, and then was gone.

  Brenna kept watch at the window for her husband.

  When Quinlan and Crispin returned to the keep ten minutes later, she stepped back into the shadows so they wouldn’t see her. The soldiers had been to the lake to wash, and she assumed her husband had gone with them.

  Almost a full hour passed before he appeared on the path. The breath caught in the back of her throat at first sight of him. The fire from his torch blazed around him, and in the glow of the light, his magnificent body seemed covered with gold. She didn’t sense the danger in him until he grew closer, and then she noticed the change. He was moving like a predator now. His stride was long, determined, the muscles in his shoulders and arms rolling with fluid grace under sleek skin, his gaze, watchful.

  He was ready to strike. The power he radiated made her heartbeat quicken. Her hands trembled as she pulled the plaid tight around her shoulders to ward off a sudden chill. She knew she was being fanciful. He was her husband, not a stranger. Yet her instincts continued to warn her. She understood why as soon as he reached the courtyard.

  She felt his rage before she saw it. His head down, he deliberately followed the grooves in the ground over which Gilly had been dragged, and when he reached the spot where the animal had lain, he stopped. He shuddered once, then drew himself up, threw his head back, and looked up at the sky. In the harsh light from the torch, the lines in his face were gray, stark, edged with fury. The vein in his clen
ched jaw throbbed, and his shoulders and neck became rigid.

  He was consumed with anger. She stared into the cold, deadly eyes of a savage, for the rage controlled him now. He hurled the torch into the air, lifted his sword high above his head, and with both hands, plunged it deep into the bloody ground.

  He was a terrifying sight. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry out to him.

  She looked beyond to the ruins and suddenly she understood Connor’s rage. He had told her his father had died there, but she hadn’t questioned him to find out who had been responsible. She wouldn’t ask him now, for in her heart, she already had her answer.

  She drew a long breath and turned her gaze back to her husband. He was looking directly at her. Their gazes held for a full minute before he turned away. He ripped the sword out of the ground and started back to the path.

  She shouted his name. His expression was still murderous when he looked up at her again. She should have been afraid; she wasn’t. She put her hand out to him and ordered him to come home to her.

  She waited in the center of the room. The sound of footsteps grew closer and closer. She kept her gaze on the door, her heart pounding with anticipation. She would take him into her arms and soothe the rage in him with gentle whispers and soft caresses.

  She had witnessed the transformation from laird to savage and knew without a doubt that Connor was the one man MacNare feared.

  She couldn’t feel sorry for the pig.

  Connor was having difficulty concentrating on his duties. Thoughts of his wife and what he’d done to her the night before kept intruding.

  He’d behaved like an animal. He should have stayed at the lake until he’d gotten his anger under control, or spent the entire night there, but when she’d called out to him and beckoned him to come to her, he’d been powerless to resist her lure.

  She shouldn’t have touched him. If only she’d stayed on the other side of the bedroom, he might have been able to ignore her. Connor acknowledged this to be a lie as soon as he thought it. He’d had every intention of taking her from the moment he started up the steps, but he hadn’t meant to take her like a savage. Had he hurt her? God help him, he didn’t know. She didn’t resist him, though, or ask him to stop. He would have listened to her and obeyed her wishes, of that he was certain. He remembered how she’d run to him and put her arms around him and wouldn’t let go. She hadn’t known what he was going to do to her then, of course. Hell, she probably would have thrown herself out the window if she’d been able to guess his thoughts.

  She would never forgive him. Why should she? He’d used her shamelessly, done things to her that must have terrified her, had taken her not once but twice, and in ways she wouldn’t understand. He knew exactly why he’d needed her so much. He’d been living with rage for such a long time, and she was such a gentle, loving spirit. He’d needed her to breathe, to feel . . .

  “Connor, you’re choking Peter.” Crispin came up behind his laird and put his hand on his shoulder.

  Connor shoved the soldier away. Peter staggered back, took several deep, gulping breaths, and straightened up again.

  “You almost killed a man, Peter,” Connor said, his voice harsh. “Had I not knocked the sword out of your hand, one of my loyal followers would be dead. I will not tolerate stupidity.”

  “Laird, I . . .” Peter began.

  Connor silenced him by raising his hand. “Don’t give me your excuses. Quinlan will decide what’s to be done with you.”

  He waited until the soldier had taken his leave before discussing the matter with his two commanders. Crispin and Quinlan flanked his sides.

  Crispin felt the soldier was hopelessly inept and should be sent home. Quinlan was in agreement, but promised he would wait until his anger had abated to make any decision.

  Crispin changed the subject. “Have you decided how you’re going to retaliate against MacNare?”

  “I have. You and I will leave late this afternoon. Select eight or ten soldiers to ride with us.”

  “Will you go to Kincaid first? He did make you promise not to continue the raids.”

  “I should go to my brother and explain, but I’m not going to. He’ll be furious, of course. However, as soon as he hears about MacNare’s message, I’m certain he’ll realize I should send the bastard a message of my own.”

  “Don’t confront MacNare or kill him until it’s my duty to ride with you,” Quinlan requested.

  “You make this same request each time we alternate responsibilities,” Crispin reminded. “I’m certain Connor knows how you feel about our enemy now.”

  “And you put the very same request to Connor each time I ride with him, Crispin.”

  Connor stopped the rivalry by telling the soldiers they would both ride with him when the time came. “I won’t kill him until I’ve found the evidence I need. The promise I gave my father comes above all others. Crispin, go and choose your men and be ready to leave before the sun sets. Quinlan, walk with me back to the courtyard so that I can explain the duties I want the men to complete while I’m away.”

  He finished outlining the soldiers’ responsibilities before they’d reached their destination and added one last request. “See that my wife is moved to another bedroom. Do it today.”

  “Did you and Lady Brenna disagree about the measures you’re going to take against MacNare?”

  “No, I haven’t discussed the matter with her. Why would you think I would?”

  “She’s your wife, Connor.”

  “I’m aware of that fact.”

  “And it was her horse that was butchered.”

  “Yes,” Connor agreed. “And for those reasons, you believe I should explain my intentions to her?”

  Quinlan laughed when he saw how puzzled Connor was. Explaining his intentions to his wife had obviously never occurred to him.

  “Most wives would like their husbands to tell them what they’re feeling.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Then your reason for moving her to another chamber was due to something else?”

  “The matter doesn’t concern you.”

  “That is so,” he agreed. “But as your friend, I feel I should advise you that your wife will be injured by this decision. She won’t understand. Surely you’ve noticed mi’lady has feelings for you.”

  “Of course she does, and that is precisely why I’m moving her to another room. I assure you she’ll be relieved.”

  Connor refused to say another word on the subject. He ordered Quinlan to get started on his duties and went inside the hall.

  Netta, the servant in charge of cleaning the first floor, dropped the cloth she’d been wiping a table with as soon as she saw her laird. She jumped back, bowed, and stammered out her greeting.

  The servant was a jittery woman who trembled at the mere sight of him. Connor couldn’t understand why. The woman had served him for over a year now, and in all that time, he’d never once raised his voice to her.

  “Netta, go upstairs and tell my wife I wish to speak to her.”

  “Should I wake her if she’s still sleeping, Laird?”

  Connor shook his head. “No, it’s early yet. If she doesn’t immediately answer you, leave her alone. Try to be quiet,” he added. “My father’s widow may still be sleeping.”

  The servant stumbled twice in her haste to leave the hall. Connor paced about the empty room while he waited, his mind on the explanation he was going to give Brenna. He knew he should probably apologize for his conduct the night before. He wasn’t going to, however, for the simple reason he knew he wouldn’t make any sense. He had never, ever told anyone he was sorry, and he wasn’t about to learn how to now.

  Connor had only just started a fire blazing in the hearth when Netta returned with the news that Lady MacAlister wasn’t upstairs. He ordered her to send servants outside to look for her and resumed his pacing again. Quinlan’s remark about sharing information with his wife had surprised him, and he found himself wondering
if Alec ever told Jamie how he felt about worrisome matters. No, of course he didn’t. Men wouldn’t . . . would they?

  He shook his head with disgust. Being married complicated his life. He should have realized that before he married. It was a little late for second thoughts, however, and now that she belonged to him, he was honest enough to admit he would never give her up, and thinking about her with anyone else made him angry. Did that mean he liked being married to her? Who was he trying to fool? He liked her all right, more than he’d ever thought possible. Even now, he was tense in anticipation of the moment she would come into the hall.

  His own admission was somewhat appalling to him. He was acting as eager as a young soldier trying to impress his commander. He had already softened toward his wife, and if he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall in love with her. He was certain he knew exactly what would happen then. She would die on him.

  Loving Brenna wasn’t worth the heartache.

  Crispin had come inside to announce Laird Kincaid’s arrival. He was a little late, however, as Alec was already standing by his side. The two men watched Connor pace. When Quinlan joined them a moment later, he bowed to Laird Kincaid before turning his attention to Connor. He was amused his laird hadn’t noticed his brother yet. It wasn’t like Connor to be so preoccupied, but Quinlan was certain he was thinking about Lady Brenna.

  Alec didn’t find his brother’s inattention amusing at all. Connor redeemed himself in his older brother’s eyes a few seconds later. “Are you going to announce my brother or not, Crispin?”

  “He was waiting for you to look at me,” Alec snapped. “Turning your back on a man can get you killed.”

  “Turning my back on a family member is rude, Alec, not dangerous.” He came forward, formally bowed to Alec, and said, “You honor me with your presence, Laird.”

  “Your manners still need improvement.”

  “I learned everything I know from you. Someone’s angered you, I see. You’re wearing your sword.”

  “I am angry,” Alec replied. “My men are waiting in the lower bailey. We’re going on a hunt for a man who dared to defy me, and I want you to ride with me.”