The Bride Says Maybe

by Maxwell, Cathy

  Breccan shrugged. “A horse can change in a blink. He might have been hurting and not showing it.”

  “But will he be able to race?” Lachlan asked, and the men around them leaned close for the answer.

  “So you’ve placed a wager as well?” Breccan asked his uncle.

  Lachlan acted as if the question was a foolish one. “Of course I’d put money on you, lad. And I can’t wait to see Owen Campbell’s comeuppance.”

  Several heads nodded.

  However, Breccan was saved from a reply by a stirring amongst the men around him. Breccan turned and looked to see what had caught their attention and saw Lady Tara walking with purpose toward him with the air of an avenging Diana, goddess of the hunt.

  Men gaped in open admiration. Breccan could understand how they felt. He still had difficulty looking at her without his mind leaping to a hundred fantasies. Perhaps even two hundred.

  If she was aware of her impact on his men, she gave no indication, and perhaps that was good. Someone muttered something about the bed having been broken, and now he understood why. Ah, yes, Jonas’s tongue had been busy.

  And there was more than one whispered comment and a snicker or two as Breccan moved forward to meet her.

  In truth, he did not need her distraction right now. He had a busy day ahead of him, one already disrupted by Taurus’s injury. Who knew what would happen next—?

  “I wish to talk to you,” Lady Tara said without preamble.

  “Can it wait?”

  “Would I have come out here if it could?” she replied tartly. She started walking between the paddocks, moving away from the stables, where they could be overheard. She didn’t look back but expected him to follow as if he were a pet monkey.

  For a second, he debated letting her stew in her own vinegar, but then curiosity propelled him forward. His dogs started to trail after Breccan, but he sent them back with a word. There was no sense in antagonizing her more than she was.

  From behind him, someone called, “Make her purr, Laird.”

  The randy bastards. If they knew what had really happened last night, they wouldn’t be so proud of him. Thank God for Wolfstone’s thick walls.

  Lady Tara had stopped at the far paddock post. She waited impatiently. He could swear she tapped her toe.

  He slowed his step. He had to. He was male.

  Her jaw tightened, but he gave her credit that she waited until he reached her before she lashed out, “What is this about you not having any money?”

  “I have money.”

  She shot him a look that said she believed he was lying. It made him bloody angry.

  “Are you done up?” she asked, rephrasing the question.

  “No.”

  “If you don’t win that horse race, will you be?”

  Breccan wondered where she’d heard the story. He decided not to prevaricate. “Money will be tight.”

  “What of our bargain?”

  “The damn bargain,” he said with disgust. He had more pressing concerns than her bargain.

  “That is not how you spoke yesterday.”

  “Right now, yesterday seems like a lifetime ago. Wait, I remember. Yesterday at this hour, I was still a single man. I didn’t realize life was so good.”

  Her brows came together like two angry lightning bolts. “You can still be single. I’ll go speak to the Reverend Kinnion now. I’m certain he’d be happy to annul the marriage.” She started off as if she would walk all the way to Kenmore Kirk to plead her case, but Breccan caught her arm and swung her around.

  He placed both hands on her shoulders. “You do not want to do that, my lady.”

  Her chin lifted. “What I don’t want is to be poor. I thought you were different from my father. Now, I find out, I left one gambler to live with another.”

  “I’m not a gambler—”

  “Did you wager on your horse?”

  “Of course—”

  “And if you have to forfeit the race, will you lose your money—?”

  “Are you always a nag?” The words just shot out of Breccan. In the short time they’d been together, she’d demonstrated an amazing ability to slice right through reason and common sense.

  Her back stiffened. She took a step away from him. “I am done with this marriage,” she announced in a voice that would have made the queen proud.

  “And I am saying, that you and I have no choice but to go on. That is, not unless you want to be the laughingstock of the valley.”

  “I’ll tell people the truth. They will laugh at you.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, my lady. Aye, they will think I’m a fool. But there is already a good number in this valley who believe that of me. And, considering how much I spent to marry you and what I’ve received so far for it, well, I agree with them. Of course, on the other hand, if you return to your father, I should receive my money back. And then I could lose a thousand races and come out ahead. Come to think of it, toddle on. Go see the Reverend Kinnion.

  She shook her head like a young filly evading the bit. He could tell she wanted to do exactly that. Righteous indignation had her up in arms.

  But then common sense took over.

  “I can’t go, and you know it,” she said. “Between my jilting my last suitor and marrying you, well, who else would have me?”

  “Aye, you are running out of men to walk over,” he agreed.

  “Walk over?” She crossed her arms against her chest. “I’ve tried—” She started to protest, but then stopped. For a long second, she was quiet, and then, as if willing herself to patience, she said, “You don’t like me, do you?”

  Her directness startled him. “Why would you accuse me of such?”

  “Because you’ve challenged everything I’ve said.”

  “Perhaps your thinking deserves challenging.”

  “My thinking? You don’t know what I think at all.”

  “I know you are unhappy.”

  “And you would say without good reason?”

  Now it was Breccan’s turn to make an impatient sound. “No. There is no good reason. You didn’t want me to touch you last night and this morning, you are now carrying on as if you have a say in how I spend my money.”

  “We have a bargain—”

  “One that you have yet to uphold,” he pointed out.

  “I will uphold it. But I—”

  “When?” he asked, cutting her off.

  “What do you mean ‘when’?”

  “When will I bed you? I have time right now. Let us see to the matter.” He took a step toward the house, but she skittered backward.

  “It is the morning.”

  “As good a time as any,” he replied, and reached for her arm, feeling a bit triumphant because he was giving her something to think about.

  She moved to place the corner post between them, bracing herself as if ready to run. “This is not why I came out here.”

  “I thought you wished to discuss our agreement,” Breccan answered.

  “I wanted to discuss why you can’t honor it.”

  “I will honor it, my lady,” he said, putting steel in his voice. “My horse will win that race. What you should worry about is honoring your vows to me.”

  She glared at him as if ready to carry on, but then the fight left her. “You sound like every gambler I’ve ever known. You all are always certain that fortune will favor you.”

  “I am not like other men,” Breccan assured her.

  She tossed him a look that made her doubts clear. It was as if she could see how much he’d placed on the line lately. He was stretched thin, and well she knew it.

  “Why did you offer to marry me anyway?” she asked.

  Now it was Breccan’s turn to take a step away.

  She came around the paddock post to say, �
�I bring no dowry. We barely know each other, and, from your own admission, paying my father’s debts might have ruined you.”

  That was true.

  “So, I’m asking,” she continued. “Why do you want me? There are half a dozen women in the valley more suited to you than I am. And they would have added to your coffers.”

  “Are you asking for honesty?” he questioned. “Or are you looking for a weapon to use against me later?”

  A spark of anger lit her eye. “I’m trying, Breccan. I am trying.”

  The sound of his given name on her lips surprised him. He liked it, and it was an indication of sorts that she was willing to be open to him.

  “Perhaps I am as besotted with your beauty as any other man?” He made the truth sound like a suggestion. He assumed she would be flattered.

  He was wrong.

  She crossed her arms tightly against her waist. “I am not beautiful.”

  Breccan started to laugh off her disclaimer, but she said, “I don’t see myself that way. But in truth, I don’t believe anyone else sees me at all.”

  “Of course we see you. Tara”—her name was like a caress on his tongue—“you are a hard woman to miss. You know that.”

  A frown line formed between her eyes, a frown that wrinkled the perfection of her skin. “Everyone assumes my life is easy because I have good looks. They believe that because men like staring at me, I could not want for anything else. But while men are writing poems to my earlobe or offering to drink wine from my shoe—which is the most disgusting idea—they don’t do the one thing I wish they’d do.”

  “Such as?”

  “Letting me have an opinion. Or giving me an honest hearing when I do say what I think. Even my sister Aileen will patronize me. Silly Tara. Headstrong Tara. Lov-lee Tara. Those aren’t compliments, are they? And I’m expected to be perfect at all times. I’m judged for it. Someone will meet me and comment about my imperfections as if finding fault with me is a sport. Of course, if I strive for their good opinions, I am considered difficult or conceited.” She shook her head, and said with bitter mockery, “Oh, no, I must not be conceited, even though all everyone else focuses on is the arrangement of eyes, nose, and mouth on my face.”

  Breccan could understand. The first thing anyone thought of him was about his size. The conversation was always about his height, his strength, and there were many who described him as a great beast of a man, which was not a charming epithet.

  But this was not about him. And she spoke of wanting something more than platitudes.

  So, he admitted the truth. “I’m guilty.”

  “Of what?”

  Breccan knew he could be treading into dangerous territory. “I wanted to marry you because I like looking at you. That is not a sin.”

  “But what if I were ugly? What if I become ugly?” Her magnificent blue eyes lit up with the idea. “What if there was a fire, or I was set upon by brigands—?”

  “Brigands?” The word amused him.

  “Brigands,” she reiterated. “And they carved my face up or cut out my eyes.”

  “That’s bloodthirsty.”

  She shrugged his protest away. “Brigands are bloodthirsty, but that is not the point. What if I become unattractive? Then what happens?”

  “Then nothing. I took a vow. You are my wife.”

  “You can’t say that. You don’t know me . . . and shouldn’t vows mean something more?”

  “Like what?”

  She searched the ground as if looking for an answer, then said, “Like love.”

  Breccan almost wanted to laugh. “Love? Love is an excuse for bad behavior.”

  “And why do say that?” she asked, acting disconcerted by his response.

  “My father fell in ‘love’ with a woman from Glasgow. He didn’t hesitate to leave Wolfstone for her. Walked right away from his responsibilities here, and it ruined him. It almost ruined all of us.”

  “What happened?”

  A hard lump of resentment formed in Breccan’s chest. He did not like thinking about it, but Tara should hear it from him. “It turns out the woman was married. Her husband was a soldier who came home and discovered the affair. He shot my father in a rage of passion, and the law found the murder justified. It is not one of the best stories in the family, but when you want to mock people or make them feel belittled, it is a good one to trot out.”

  “I’d not heard this tale,” Tara said, and her commiseration sounded genuine. “How terrible for your mother. The humiliation must have been painful.”

  “It destroyed her. Few ever considered her feelings. She was not an attractive woman, but she was the best of mothers. My father’s taking up with another and abandoning his family broke something inside her. They blamed her. She blamed herself. I believe she thought if she were more good-looking, her husband might have strayed, but he wouldn’t have left. She became a recluse.”

  Tara raised her hand and touched her chest over her heart. “I can understand.”

  The note of empathy in her voice humbled him, an emotion Breccan did not trust. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said briskly. “She’s been dead ten years and more.” And he missed her wise counsel every day.

  He sidled away. He kept those memories at bay for a reason.

  But Tara was not done with him. “My mother died giving birth to me,” she said.

  No one with any conscience could walk away from that statement. “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded as if agreeing with him. The line of worry had returned between her brows. “I fear there are important things I should know that only a mother can tell you.” She glanced at him as if wanting confirmation.

  “My mother was important to me.”

  “I wonder what kind of mother I will be?”

  Breccan took a step toward her. “Some things are instinct.”

  “That’s what they say.” She hesitated, as if turning something over in her mind. “You said during the sacrament of marriage that you promised to be a good husband to me.”

  “I did.”

  “Thank you.” She let the words hang between them a moment before adding softly, “I pray your horse can run.”

  “I do as well.”

  And he had a sense that an agreement had been struck between them.

  From the moment she’d ridden into his stables looking for Ruary Jamerson, she’d rarely been far from his thoughts.

  However, in his dreams, she hadn’t talked, she hadn’t had opinions, or likes and dislikes. The Tara Davidson of his imagination had never challenged him or spoken of loss or expressed an understanding of what it meant.

  No, the woman of his fantasies had just let him love her—wait, that wasn’t true either. The woman of his imaginings had let him roger her, and he’d rogered her well . . . something he now realized had been the musings and hopes of every suitor who had crossed her path.

  He also caught another bit of insight—yes, he lusted for her, but the reason he’d really wanted to marry her was to prove his worth.

  She’d been right. He didn’t know her. He’d promised himself to her . . . but had he truly wanted a wife? Or another way to prove to his Campbell brethren that the Black Campbells were every bit as good as they were?

  And then she asked a question that wiped every conscious, sensible thought from his brain—

  “Will the bed be repaired by tonight?”

  The flood of excitement that rushed through Breccan dumbed him of speech.

  She waited for his answer, and it was as if the sun shone down upon her head with a special ray of light. She was so lovely, so perfect, so everything she did not want to be.

  And was it his imagination, or did this talk between them make her more intriguing?

  Because now she wasn’t just the musings of his lustful mind. She’d taken on dimension—
/>   “Laird, Laird!”

  The demand for Breccan’s attention seemed to come from far away. He registered the voice, but it wasn’t until Tara stepped forward, and said, “There is a lad coming for you,” that he realized he was needed.

  He turned and saw Davy Erroll running toward him. That is when he remembered he had been due at the mill close to an hour ago. There was a dispute between a tenant and Erroll, Davy’s father, that Breccan had promised to resolve.

  He held up a hand. “I’ll be right there, Davy.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to face Tara. He began walking backward, saying, “And I’ll have the bed repaired by tonight.” He’d see it done if he had to do it himself and use his own shirts.

  And then, because he couldn’t help himself, because she was all he’d ever let himself want and because now, finally he would have her, Breccan changed direction and instead of walking backward, he moved forward. He marched right up to her, placed his hands on her arms, and kissed her.

  Yes, he kissed her.

  It wasn’t a big kiss. He knew every man jack around the stables had been watching them from the moment they had walked away. Well, now they had something to chew on.

  Nor was this a self-conscious kiss like the one he’d given her at the wedding. It was one born out of joy and anticipation. It was a hard buss but an enthusiastic one—and it sent a shot of desire straight through him. From the stables, he heard shouts of encouragement.

  One of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life was to set her down. “Tonight,” he promised. Yes, tonight.

  He turned and walked to Davy before he lost all control of himself.

  He’d picked her up and moved her.

  Tara wasn’t a big woman, but she was bigger than a chair. He’d lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. He was that strong, that huge, that powerful.

  All over.

  He could split her in two.

  No, she didn’t believe that, but she knew that consummating their marriage would be painful. She had been warned that it would be, and Tara already knew that Breccan was said to be larger than other men. If she hadn’t believed before, she was certainly convinced after how easily he had picked her up.