She began shaking, whether from rage or some other emotion, she didn’t know.
It wasn’t right the way he was treating her. And she didn’t have to tolerate it. She didn’t.
A cold nose nudged her.
Tara looked over to see that Daphne had wandered into the room and sat on the floor with a worried look on her face.
“Why are you here?” Tara asked the dog. “You deserted me as well.”
Daphne stood but did not leave. She placed a paw on Tara’s thigh.
“I don’t know what to do,” Tara confessed. “And right now, I hate him. I don’t understand him.” A knot had formed in her stomach, one of fear and disappointment.
She placed her hand on Daphne. The dog moved closer as if apologizing for all that distressed Tara. “It’s all right. It will be all right.” She drew a breath, then confessed, “I never thought to fall in love. It is not what I thought it would be. I had believed love was where everything was perfect. But it isn’t, Daphne. It is about knowing that someone is hurting. I’ve hurt Breccan, and I don’t know what I’ve done.”
The admission rang with truth.
And it made sense. Her husband was big and strong. He had a warrior’s skill and courage . . . but he had a saint’s heart. This was a man who thought of other people before himself.
“He is afraid of me,” she told Daphne. “Does he believe I would hurt him?”
Daphne stared at her intently, as if trying to send a message to Tara. These dogs trusted Breccan. His people could trust him.
So why had he turned on Tara the way he had?
“Does he not trust me, Daphne?”
The dog didn’t say anything, but in her heart, Tara heard the echo of truth.
Breccan’s attitude toward her had switched dramatically. And yet, his response to her a moment ago had been very real.
So had hers. She’d been eager for them to consummate their union, but there had been something deeper driving her. She wanted to be as close as she could be to this man. And he’d wanted her. She’d never believe him if he denied it.
Indeed, from the moment they met on the road from Annefield, her awareness of him was far too keen for him to have just been a passing player in her life.
“He’s the one.” One life; one love . . . and if she wasn’t careful, she would lose him.
Tara came to her feet. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her face appeared pinched, tight. Her eyes were sad, and the sight brought out her fighting spirit.
Before he’d married her, Tara had not known what she wanted. She’d chosen to return to London because it was familiar.
But now she yearned for something more meaningful in her life.
Daphne sat on her haunches, watching Tara with anxious eyes, and that is when Tara had an insight.
“It was Owen Campbell. He said something.” Yes, of course, it made sense. Breccan had been anxious for her company until after his cousin’s visit. That is when Breccan changed. “I left them alone, and who knows what his cousin said against me.”
Tara doubled her fists. “I should have seen this sooner. This is the sort of intrigue society thrives on. Breccan doesn’t understand jealousy. Or mean-spiritedness.” Or perhaps he did too well. After all, she thought him very mean to her.
“Well, I shall teach him a lesson,” she vowed. She shook her finger at the dog. “He had better never shut me out again. I will let him have this one time, but he’s going to learn.” And with that vow, Tara began to dress. She wasn’t certain what form her lesson would take, but she was determined to ensure he never treated her this way again.
An idea had come to Breccan for an improvement to a bit of land that needed to be drained. It would not be a hard feat to perform.
The task also kept his mind off his wife.
She’d felt so good in his arms this morning. She’d filled them just right.
But he had to wonder at her change of heart. Before she had been shy about being with him. This morning, she was overeager, almost desperate. Perhaps because she needed his seed spilled to make him believe the baby was his—?
He threw down the pen he’d been using and pushed away from the desk. He was going mad.
The woman had him chasing himself with wild thoughts.
He didn’t want to believe this of her.
Largo and the foxhounds were spread out across the floor sleeping. When he stood, they rose, tails wagging. They moved forward for a pat. “I don’t want to feel this way about her,” he confided. “I bloody hate it. And I don’t know what I shall do if she is with child.”
Would he live the rest of his life this way?
He picked up his drawing and stomped out of the room. He didn’t know where Tara was. He’d not paid attention. He needed to work to release the impotent rage he felt.
A half hour later, he had a shovel in hand and was heading toward the land he needed to drain. His path crossed with Lachlan’s
“Where are you going?” his uncle asked.
“I want to see what happens if I dig a ditch by that bit of marsh. I wouldn’t mind having it dry.”
“Breccan, it is Sunday, a day of rest. Why are you not with your wife?”
For a second, he thought of telling his uncle. He’d fling out the anger he felt, release the bitterness and the bile—but the words stuck in his throat.
Breccan found he could not hurt her. God help him, she had the power to sting with a hundred darts, and he could not raise a hand against her . . . because he loved her. He bloody loved her. Something about her connected with something inside himself.
“She had other plans,” Breccan said, and would have moved on, except for his uncle’s hand on his arm.
“Wait,” Lachlan said. “I’ll come do some digging with you. Let me change my clothes. Fetch a shovel for me.”
Breccan could have said he would prefer to be alone, but his own company was making him miserable. “I’ll wait.”
Lachlan did not take long. He met Breccan by the edge of the far field, and the two went down to the stretch of marsh together.
It did not take long for Breccan to tell Lachlan his plan for the ditch. The two men set to work, and in a little time, the task was accomplished.
“Were you expecting this to fill with water?” Lachlan asked when they were almost done.
“In time.” Breccan climbed to the ground above the ditch to study it a moment. “There is a spring up there that has kept this ground wet. We’ll see if the ditch will drain it in this direction. It may also provide us with water.”
Lachlan shook his head. “All for a wee patch of land.”
“We have to use all we have,” Breccan assured him.
“You are always thinking. You are as far away in spirit from my brother as the moon is from the sun.”
The compliment pleased Breccan. He did not want to be compared to his father.
“Well,” Lachlan hedged, “except in one matter. Men can be selfish when they love.”
For a second, Breccan didn’t think he’d heard his uncle correctly. “I don’t think anyone has ever accused me of being selfish.”
Lachlan pushed some dirt with his shovel. “Aye, you are a good man, Breccan. A generous one . . . except to your wife.”
Breccan straightened. “This is not a conversation I want.”
“It is a conversation you are going to receive,” his uncle said. “Your father is gone, not that he would have anything to say. Jonas is the next oldest, and we all know he has no common sense so, it comes down to me.”
“And what do you have to say?”
“You aren’t being good to your wife.”
The accusation rankled.
“I don’t know that that is your business,” Breccan said.
“It has to be,” his uncle returned. “You are
being a fool.”
“You don’t understand.” Breccan started to walk away. He did not have to listen to this.
“I know more than you think, lad,” Lachlan answered. “You are not being fair to her. You are punishing her, and it is clear for anyone to see.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes you are. And no one understands it, most of all your lady. You might as well beat those dogs.” Lachlan nodded to Largo and Terrance.
Tidbit was rooting through the brush. Daphne had a mind and will of her own and had taken back up with Tara. Breccan was not pleased with her defection. It was as if the terrier disapproved of him as well.
“Tara and I are not a love match,” Breccan heard himself admit. “We have an arrangement. A bargain. She’s planning on leaving for London as soon as she is able.”
“I did not have that impression of her,” Lachlan said.
“Well, then, that’s all you know.” Breccan set off for the house, but his uncle stepped in front of him.
“Don’t be a dunderhead, lad. Anyone with eyes can see the two of you are a match.”
Breccan didn’t want to hear this. He didn’t want his thoughts directed this way. He would have walked off a second time, but Lachlan put a hand on his chest, a warning for him to halt.
“I will not let you be a fool, nephew. You are daft in love with your wife. From the moment you married, you have appeared like a man who has a priceless jewel and doesn’t know what to do with it.”
“I know what to do. I choose not.”
“Och, the way you talk. What has she done to earn your disdain?”
“That is not a matter for you,” Breccan answered.
“No, you are right. It is not my business. However, I used to have a rage with my wife. Something would set me off. Usually, it had to do with the fact I was leaving, and it hurt so much every time I walked away from them. Aye, I was doing my duty, but that didn’t make it easier. Nursing some supposed slight or hurt, well, it made me feel justified for going off on one more voyage. I’d tell myself, she needed the time to do some thinking. Whenever I returned home, everything was forgiven. We would be at each other like rabbits.” Lachlan laughed at memories. The years fell away from him.
He looked to Breccan. “I loved her, man. I loved my children. But my children would leave someday. That is what they are born to do. My wife, she was my rock. She was the only person who wasn’t afraid to chastise me when I was wrong or laugh at me when I was foolish. It’s good to have someone who loves you and who is that honest. Now, I’m left with Jonas. It is a sorry sight.”
“I understand your sadness. I can’t imagine losing all—”
“That’s life, Breccan. None of us are meant to go on forever. What hurts, what weighs me down, is that I’d had one of these piques before I left on that last voyage. I thought I was teaching her a lesson by not talking to her, so she knew I was angry—”
The guilt of recognition whispered in Breccan’s ear.
“—I don’t know what we argued about. It no longer matters. I had hurt pride, and I was an ass. I looked at how she was behaving and didn’t pay enough attention to my own manner. When I sailed into the harbor homeward bound, I couldn’t wait to put my arms around her. I’d had an epiphany out at sea. I realized that I was causing pain to the most important person in my life. I was determined to change. I wanted to put my arms around her and promise I’d never behave that way again.”
Lachlan drew a deep breath and slowly released it. He raised eyes shiny with tears to meet Breccan’s gaze. “Don’t be an ass. I had years with my woman. I think she understood me. I know she forgave me. You don’t have that luxury, Breccan. You can destroy something good with your pride.”
He handed his shovel over to Breccan. “There, that is all I wanted to say. You are a man. You make your own decisions. But I pray you are wiser than I.” He turned and walked away.
Breccan watched his uncle cross the field. His shoulders were stooped. How many years had Lachlan kept that inside himself? It had to be almost twenty years since his family had died. And yet, the pain of losing his wife had been real and present.
It was a long time before Breccan left that place.
Tara had gone to church.
There were always women, mostly widows, who sat alone. Tara was not excited about attending without her husband, but she was thankful she was there. Church always gave her a place where she could think.
Her cousin Sabrina and uncle Richard were there, and she sat with them. Her father was not present. Sabrina murmured that no one had heard anything about him.
Sabrina and Tara were not close. Her cousin was more Aileen’s confidante than Tara’s. She also had an annoying habit of acting as if she thought Tara was a brat. The brat in Tara was highly offended.
Sabrina was a brunette of medium height. There was just enough red in her hair that people could claim to see the family resemblance.
But today, Sabrina’s company provided a safe haven until her cousin said after services, “You are married?”
Tara could feel people around them pause in their conversations, waiting for her answer. She knew what to do. She put on her brightest smile. “Yes, I am, and happily so.”
“But was this not sudden?”
“Sometimes matters work in that direction,” Tara said.
“So, where is Laird Breccan?” Sabrina asked. “Why did he not accompany you to services?”
Tara vowed that the next time they were alone, she would scold her cousin on her lapse of manners. It was an awkward question. But then Tara realized the right answer was the truth. “The laird has many projects that will help the clan and the valley. He is working on one now.” That was the truth. If Breccan wasn’t seeing to the cottages, he would be with the horses or the mill or some new scheme hatching in his mind.
Her uncle looked down his nose at her. “Laird Breccan is an ugly man.”
“He is not,” Tara said. “He has strong features, but I find him the most remarkable of any man I know.” And she spoke the truth. Looking around those milling about after the service, she thought Breccan far more handsome than any man here. His face had character.
“You might need eye spectacles,” Uncle Richard replied.
“Perhaps my vision is better than yours,” she returned evenly in a tone that would have made a duchess proud.
She was saved from more of this conversation by Reverend Kinnion’s approach. “My lady,” he said, “it is good to see you.” He took the hand she offered and scrutinized her a moment. “Marriage agrees with you,” he said.
Again, Tara plastered on her smile. “How nice of you to say so.”
“Seriously,” he emphasized, and took a step closer. “I had my doubts for you that night. I know the laird fairly well. I admire what he is doing.”
“As I do myself,” Tara agreed, hoping Sabrina and Uncle Richard were paying attention so that she would hear Breccan praised.
“But the largest difference is in yourself,” the Reverend Kinnion said. “There is a new maturity about you. This is good. I look for this in the brides I marry. It is a sign that the marriage agrees with you.”
It took all of Tara’s willpower to not burst into tears. “Thank you, sir,” she said, then excused herself. One of Wolfstone’s stable lads waited with the pony cart she’d driven over. She now climbed into it, gave a jaunty wave of her hand to no one in particular, and drove home.
Sunday would be a day of rest for most people, except Breccan. She heard that he was doing some work in a far field. For a second, she was tempted to go after him, but then decided she could not do that. She’d gone to him. She’d humbled herself to him—and he had rejected her.
This was her third rejection by a man in the last two months, but this one wrenched her heart. The famed Helen of London seemed to be a Scottish crone in the valley.<
br />
Tara promised herself that she would not wallow in self-pity. If Breccan wanted her, he was going to have to crawl on his knees. And until then, she was done with men. They had become too difficult to understand. They were mercurial creatures prone to lunacy.
That evening, she escaped to her room as soon as possible.
The light of a full moon poured in through the bedroom window. She thought about closing the drapes but decided she liked the room filled with silvery light. She climbed into bed, then, needing company, went to the door to fetch Daphne from the pile of dogs on the landing. If Breccan didn’t want to grace her bed, she would fill it one way or another.
But when she opened the door, she found Breccan there, preparing to knock.
For a long moment, they took each other’s measure, then Tara slammed the door in his face as hard as she could.
And it felt good. It gave her a bit of her own back. How dare he knock at her door? How dare he appear now after she’d spent the day doing nothing but thinking of him?
But then the handle turned, and her husband walked into the bedroom.
Chapter Seventeen
Breccan stepped into the room and held up his hands as if to show her he meant no harm. He shut the door with his shoulder.
But Tara wasn’t feeling forgiving. “What? Do you need your clothes? Your shaving strop?” She crossed her arms tightly against her chest.
It was actually hard for her to speak. Her chest was tight with not just anger but also hurt, pain.
How did one overcome the sadness he’d brought to her?
And even though she tried to hold herself together, to keep her pride intact, what she was feeling must have shown on her face.
He raked his hair with one hand before saying, “Tara, I’m sorry.”
She nodded. Anything she might have said would have been cruel, mean. Now that he was here, she wanted to strike out.
Instead, she pivoted on her heel and walked across the room, placing the bed between them. “Go about your business and leave,” she said, sitting with her back to him. Indeed, it hurt to look at him. She wanted to detest him . . . but she didn’t.
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