The Bride Says Maybe

by Maxwell, Cathy

  When the stud had started bucking, she’d been able to swing herself down and had landed with some grace in the tall grass beside the road.

  However, there was no time to be graceful with Laird Breccan. His was a commanding presence, an intimidating one. He held her as if she weighed nothing. She had struck out at him out of alarm and a need to gather her courage. It had been a reaction on her part and not a deliberate action.

  But she hadn’t expected him to comply with her order to release her with such immediacy.

  Tara’s bum hit the mud of the road with a thud.

  For a second, she sat in surprise, her very brains feeling jarred and her bottom growing wet from the ground.

  She wasn’t the only one shocked. “Och, Breccan, you dropped her,” one rider whispered. “You just dropped her.”

  The other released his breath before saying in awed tones, “You have nerve, nevvy.”

  “I was honoring my lady’s request,” was the deep, rumbling reply—and her temper took hold.

  She jumped to her feet, proving no real damage had been done although she would be verily bruised in unmentionable places on the morrow. “How dare you treat me in such a rude, insulting manner.” Her words fairly sizzled out of her mouth.

  His hat was pulled low over his brow. She could not make out his expression beyond the grim set of his unshaven jaw. He obviously did not like being spoken to in this manner. Good! She’d do more of it. He was a huge, brawny man on a horse that would tower over any in her father’s stables, but Tara had spirit. Her temper was usually slow to ignite, but when it did, she had the fearlessness of a dozen men his size, and she did not hold back on opinions.

  “The idea that I would ever marry someone with your boorish manners is so beyond reason it is laughable,” she said, each word a whiplash. She’d reduced men to tears with fewer and gentler words than she now used on him. “I’ll not marry a Black Campbell. Not ever, do you hear me? No, no, and no.”

  The men with him literally gasped aloud. She didn’t care. These were the sort who would agree to anything the Black Campbell said. Besides, it was medieval to have retainers to do one’s bidding. She wanted to scoff at him for riding around the countryside like some Highland chieftain of old.

  However, instead of blustering or spouting out in pride, Laird Breccan lifted his reins and turned his horse around. With a tilt of his head, he indicated his men should follow, and he set off down the road—leaving her behind.

  Tara stared in incomprehension.

  He couldn’t be leaving her. Why, she was several miles from Annefield and all alone.

  Furthermore, he’d dropped her in the mud. Did he really think she could walk back? Wasn’t he at least a bit concerned?

  He kept riding.

  “You are no gentleman, Campbell,” she shouted at him.

  He stopped, kicked his horse round to face her although he kept his distance. “Aye, you are right, Davidson.”

  Tara frowned. He didn’t act like most men did around her. He was far from fawning or compliant. She should let him keep riding . . .

  “I thought you wished to marry me,” she heard herself say, sounding like a petulant child even to her own ears.

  His horse pawed the ground, a sign he was anxious to be going. Laird Breccan held him quiet. “I had thought to do so. I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Because I wish to run away?” she challenged. “To stand up for myself?”

  “Because you have no honor.”

  His words hit her with a force she’d not known before. “I have honor,” Tara said.

  “Do you now?” He let his horse come forward, walking toward her. When they were within six feet of each other, he stopped. “Is it honorable to run away from your father’s promise?”

  “It is his promise, not mine.”

  “Are you not a Davidson daughter? Is his word not your own?”

  Tara frowned. She wished he’d remove his hat so she could see his eyes. She knew what they looked like. They were gray, the color of ice on Loch Tay on a winter’s day. “I make my own promises,” she declared.

  He considered that for a moment, shrugged his shoulders as if giving her the benefit of a doubt. “Be that as it may, you are willing to see your father thrown into a debtor’s gaol instead of honoring his word.”

  Her father was penniless, as she was herself now. “I choose not to be sold into marriage.”

  The lines of his mouth hardened. “Is your heart fixed upon another?”

  Yes, she could say, she loved Ruary Jamerson, then they’d be done with each other. She sensed it. She knew men; she understood them. Breccan Campbell was not one to share anything, especially a woman. It would not matter to him that Ruary no longer loved her. Campbell was telling her that he would expect her complete allegiance. What he claimed, he kept.

  Instead of answering him, she said, “You could have set me on the ground. You didn’t need to drop me.”

  “I was obeying my lady’s command.”

  “You say ‘my lady’ as if it leaves a sour taste in your mouth.”

  His horse stepped restlessly. Laird Breccan had straightened at her soft accusation. “I don’t stand on ceremony.”

  “Oh, I believe you do, Laird. You accuse me of having no pride, but perhaps you have too much of the same quality?”

  “I spoke of honor, my lady. There is a difference,” he returned.

  Tara had met many men whose opinions of themselves were overinflated. Laird Breccan was not one of their number. He was no braggart. “Tell me,” she ordered quietly, speaking to him as if they were equals, “you pay off my father’s debts leaving him free to squander what money he has to his name again, but what is in this marriage for me? Why should I agree to this match?”

  “Other than the dignity of being my wife?” His voice was laced with unpretentious irony.

  “I could be the wife to at least a hundred different men,” she answered.

  “You think highly of yourself, my lady.”

  Tara shook her head. “I understand the vanity of your sex. It is my looks that have attracted you, Laird, plain and simple. You know nothing of me. We’ve only spoken once, and it was not a memorable conversation. At least, not of the sort that would indicate a man was interested in a woman. I was surprised when I learned you’d offered for me . . . and had gone to considerable trouble to do so.” She knew she was tweaking the bear’s nose. She had everything to lose if he walked away. Her father’s foolishness would be exposed. He would be ruined, and her humiliation would be complete.

  Still, that realization didn’t stop her from adding, “So now who is the one who thinks highly of himself?”

  The grim line of his lips tightened.

  Tara was not one to be rude if she could save herself from it. However, something about this man challenged her. She remembered first meeting him, remembered being aware of his presence.

  He was very still a moment, then he swung down from his horse. His men now started to ride up. They had kept their distance while she and the laird had been throwing words back and forth to each other.

  Laird Breccan held up his hand, a silent command for them to stay back. They obeyed immediately.

  He towered over Tara. It took all her courage to stand in her place. He believed she had no Davidson pride? She wanted to prove him wrong, and yet the urge to run was very strong inside her.

  “You have a sharp tongue, my lady.”

  “I do,” Tara admitted. “There is more to me than just my looks. I’ve a mind as well.” She’d never said such a thing before. In fact, she’d once believed that all she had to offer was the arrangement of two eyes, a nose and a mouth.

  But suddenly she wanted someone, anyone to realize there was more to her. There had to be. There must be.

  “What if all I want is your looks?” he asked, his
voice so low only she could hear him.

  “Then I would think you as shallow as all the others. And you would be doomed to disappointment. Looks do not last forever. Even a rose loses its beauty to age and time. Are you certain you wish to marry me?”

  She could see his eyes now. She’d expected them to be hard, sharp, and there was a touch of anger in his curt answer. “Yes.”

  To her surprise, her body reacted to that one word. Something deep in her very core tightened, and she found herself starting to lean forward.

  She held herself back, startled by such a strange fancy. Tara might have been desired by many men, but other than Ruary, whom she loved passionately, no others had moved her.

  Yet here it was, a twinge of yearning. And the focus of her desire? The laird of the Black Campbells.

  He did not seem to notice the turmoil inside her. He stood as if he could have been carved from stone. “And what of you?” he challenged, his voice still quietly low. “What is it you want?”

  No one had ever asked her that question before.

  For a moment, she had no answer. She’d been taught her job was to please. Be pretty and pleasing, the watchword of every debutante presented in society.

  And yet, she realized she was haunted by just that question. What did she want?

  Why had she been running?

  “I want to return to London,” she answered.

  “London?” He snorted his opinion.

  “Have you been there?”

  “I don’t need to go. Everything I could ever want is here.”

  “And how do you know? Have you never gone to Town?”

  “I dinna wish to go,” he answered, his accent thicker, a sign she had touched a nerve.

  But a new thought had crossed Tara’s mind. She took a step toward him, no longer intimated. “You asked me what I wanted. I told you. If I marry you, can you help me? Will you?”

  He frowned as if she spoke gibberish, but she was seeing her way clear now. At last she realized here was her chance to make a bid for her own life.

  She did not wish to rusticate in the wilds of Scotland. During her three years in London, she’d learned she had a taste for the sophisticated life of the city. She’d been happy to shed the Highlands from her voice and from her person. And she wanted to return to that life. She understood it, found it safe. A woman had more opportunity in London.

  “A man’s wife should be by his side,” Laird Breccan said.

  “That is not true. There are many couples, well-respected ones, who live separate lives. They are honest with themselves.” Yes, she could see that now. What had once seemed puzzling to her young mind, the idea that a man and woman could be married and rarely speak to each other, now appeared honest. “We are not a love match. We don’t know each other, and, truly, we are from two different worlds. You don’t even want me. You want my body.”

  There it was, the basic negotiation between a man and a woman.

  He released his breath with one long sound as if he didn’t know how to respond to her declaration.

  The air between them seemed to crackle with unspoken words. She sensed he wanted to deny her logic . . . but couldn’t. He did want her.

  And he didn’t just dismiss her outright. He appeared to consider her words.

  Few people did that. Most treated her lightly, as if she were a bauble without a thought in her head. As time had passed, she’d found it easier to be what they assumed—except for now. She wanted Laird Breccan to understand she had a will of her own.

  “I want bairns,” he said at last.

  Bairns. Children. “How many?”

  He pulled his hat off his head and raked gloved fingers through black hair that was overlong although clean. A haircut and a shave would do him a world of good. He was not as old as people supposed. Perhaps ten years or so older than her own one-and-twenty.

  “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” he muttered.

  “Why? You talked to my father about money. Can you not do the same with me? After all, this arrangement involves my life. We should speak plainly between ourselves.” Aileen would be impressed. Aileen prided herself on her forthrightness and had criticized Tara for the lack of it. “So, how many children must I give you?”

  “As many as I can have.”

  “That is an unacceptable answer. I’ll never have the opportunity to return to London if that was the case.” She thought a moment. “One.”

  “One? Are you daft?”

  “No, sensible,” she replied a bit offended. “And watch your tongue. No one has ever accused me of loose brains before.”

  “They must not have known you.”

  His murmured comment almost startled a laugh out of her. “You are right. Few know me.” But they would in the future. She promised herself that. She pressed on. “One child. That is fair.”

  He did not like the offer. For a moment, he stared off into the distance but then turned to her, a canny Scotsman ready to strike a deal. She braced herself.

  “Aye, one child,” he surprised her by saying. “But he stays here with me. You’ll not be taking my bairn to London.”

  Tara considered his counter. Leave the child here. The thought did not disturb her. She’d grown up without a mother, and most women she admired left their children in the care of nannies.

  “What of funds for my London house?” she asked. “And I’ll expect a handsome allowance.”

  “You are not concerned about leaving your child?” There was disapproval in his voice.

  “Do you intend to be a good father?”

  “Aye, the best.”

  “Then our child shall have more than what I had.”

  His brows came together. He had shapely brows. They were not shaggy and bold like her father’s and other men’s. Indeed, if he shaved and cut his hair, he might be rather handsome instead appearing so forbidding.

  She’d heard that children were afraid of him and many adults as well. There were dark stories told about the Black Campbells.

  But she didn’t have any fear.

  “Very well,” he said, again surprising her with his easy agreement. “A house, an allowance, a son.”

  “Or daughter,” Tara was quick to add. She didn’t want to be forced to tarry wanting to bear another child.

  “Want a male bairn,” he said.

  “And I want to go to London.” She wanted to be reasonable. “May I have the second child there?”

  “Without me?”

  “You want to see your children born?” She appraised the big man with new eyes. She hadn’t really considered that any man had a care for babies. Her father hadn’t.

  “Aye. And they need to be born at Wolfstone. That is their home.”

  Wolfstone. She’d heard of it but had never seen it. The house was centuries old, and people said it had never been improved upon. She imagined a stone fortress, an inhospitable place for birthing babies . . . but then, her freedom was at stake.

  “One child, then we shall discuss the second,” she countered. She wanted to be reasonable. They were making a bargain between them, one that had many advantages for her. A married woman received a great deal of respect, and in light of all the trickery and mischief she’d instigated over the past few months, it was doubtful any other man would have her. Even though she was untouched, she had made some grave errors of judgment that could cost her dearly.

  Laird Breccan’s charge that she was not honorable echoed in her mind. Others might feel that way as well. But if she was married . . . then there could be a future for her.

  “There will be no discussion,” he informed her coolly. “I’ll have my children in hand before you go to London.”

  “What if I return after three years?” she suggested. “We could have another child, then I’d return to London. That seems fair.”
>
  “Not if you expect me to pay your expenses.”

  He hadn’t hesitated in his response. “That is a foul threat,” she said. “And it is ungentlemanly of you to not agree with my wishes since it will be my body doing the birthing.”

  “You have already told me, my lady, that I am no gentleman, and I don’t claim to be one.” He ran a hand along his horse’s neck before saying to her, “Besides, you’ve already cost me a pretty penny.”

  “My father cost you a pretty penny,” she corrected. “Those are not my debts.”

  “I stand corrected, my lady.”

  “But will you agree to my terms?”

  He shot her an assessing look from the corner of his eye. Beyond them, his two men craned their necks as if they had been trying to listen, but Tara doubted if they had overheard anything. Both she and Laird Breccan had been cautious.

  “Two bairns born at Wolfstone,” he said, “then you can have whatever I have. It will be yours to go wherever you wish.

  He glanced back at the two men waiting for him. “This will be between us? Not even my uncles will know?”

  Ah, so those men were relatives. “Of course I will be quiet. I don’t want any word of this to be spread about.” There were already too many who would gleefully shred what little she had left of her reputation.

  But with marriage, even to the Black Campbell, there would be freedom. She would have a place in the world, and her father’s capricious vices could no longer threaten to destroy her security—

  Struck by this new thought, she asked, “Do you gamble excessively?”

  He made an impatient sound. “I am not foolish with my money.”

  Spoken like a Scotsman. “Do you not fear you are being foolish now?”

  He turned the full force of his gaze upon her. There was intelligence in his eyes and a touch of compassion as well. Perhaps he understood what it meant to be constantly judged?

  “Not if I have my bairns,” he answered. He held out his gloved hand. “Do we have a meeting of the minds, my lady?”

  She realized he wanted to shake her hand, much like she’d seen men do between themselves at the few horse sales she had attended.