The Bride Says Maybe

by Maxwell, Cathy

  She loved him.

  He’d won her heart. He was all that was noble and brave.

  Breccan had also changed her. London no longer held any appeal. At Wolfstone, she could see her that life had meaning.

  She could feel him watching her. She doubled the hands in her lap into fists, her nails biting the palms. She wished he’d say something, then immediately feared what he might say. What if he had come to tell her to leave?

  “I have a story,” he said.

  To the devil with his stories.

  “This one is about a troll. Do you know what trolls are?”

  Tara didn’t answer. Instead, she closed her eyes as if she could make herself stop hearing him.

  “Well, they are ugly creatures,” he continued. “They come from the north. Some are small and some are tall. They aren’t handsome. Each of them might have a good heart, but first you’d have to look past their big noses and awkward bodies. And being that way, well, it causes them to be a bit defensive.”

  “A bit?” The words just snapped out of her.

  There was a beat of silence where Tara could see him smile. “More than a bit.”

  She nodded. That was better. She opened her eyes, focusing on the corner closest to her. When she’d first arrived here, there had been dog hair in the corner. She’d cleaned it with her bare hands. After all, this was their room. Their haven.

  “This one troll,” he continued, “he was conscious, perhaps more than the others, of being unhandsome. He felt slighted, and it colored the way he saw others. He also admired things that were lovely to behold. He thought that if he had children, he didn’t want them to be trolls. He wanted to save them from being mocked.”

  “You can’t save people from what others think,” Tara said tartly. “Small minds can niggle on any detail.”

  “Aye, that is true. But the troll did not know that. Trolls aren’t always wise. He looked at the world beyond his reach and wanted to be part of it. He wanted his children to feel as if they could go anywhere, do anything.”

  The mattress gave as he sat down upon it.

  She tried not to think of his coming closer. Then she would have a decision to make—whether or not to trust him. She might be better off alone. Loneness would save her from living with someone judging her and constantly finding her lacking.

  “So, this troll dreamed of winning the hand of a beautiful—” He paused as if searching for a word.

  “Selkie?” she suggested.

  “Yes, a beautiful selkie with blue eyes.”

  “What if her eyes were brown or green,” Tara challenged.

  “Or red,” he acknowledged. “He just wanted her beauty. He also wanted everyone to see her on his arm; and then they wouldn’t think him a troll. They might believe he was a man of merit.”

  Tara looked over her shoulder. Breccan was stretched out on his side, his hand propping his head up. “Shall I mention small minds again?” she asked.

  Breccan waved a dismissive hand. “It wouldn’t matter. Trolls don’t think deeply.”

  “Some do.”

  “No, see that is where you are wrong,” he assured her. “They fool you into believing that they consider their words, but trolls can act in capricious ways.”

  “This is unfortunate for them.”

  “Aye. But trolls are not perfect. Sometimes they don’t think clearly.”

  Tara studied the pattern of the counterpane in the silver moonlight before ordering, “Go on.”

  “This troll tricked the selkie into marrying him. She had a father that did not take care of his debts, and the troll took advantage of that. He was willing to take advantage of many things because he wanted the selkie in a very bad way. Trolls can be selfish in that way. They can walk over anything for what they want. Even people.”

  She pulled her knees up, her heels on the bed. She wrapped her hands around her legs, listening.

  “However, this troll discovered that selkies have minds of their own. A pretty face doesn’t mean she can’t think.”

  “Selkies aren’t perfect,” she pointed out.

  “No,” he agreed. “But it makes it difficult for a troll when he realizes that what he married wasn’t some mythical creature but a human one. And then, he starts thinking about his own faults, his own pride. Trolls have great pride.”

  “So do selkies.”

  Breccan smiled. “Perhaps trolls and selkies have more in common than what they thought.”

  “Perhaps.” She unfolded her legs and faced him. “I’m not going to make this easy for you, Breccan. If this is an apology, I want to hear it.”

  The smile left his face. He sat up. She realized he was in his stocking feet. She wondered, distractedly, where his boots were. And then his hand tilted her chin up so she could meet his eye.

  “You are right. This is one time a story can’t help. I felt a disappointment, Tara, and I took it out on you. I realize I was unfair.”

  “What were you disappointed about?”

  He searched her face, then said, “Nothing. It no longer matters.”

  “But it did at one time.”

  Breccan reached out and touched her hair. His hand rested on her shoulder. “Not really. The fear was in me.”

  Tara hesitated, uncertain, yet she had to ask, “And what do you fear?”

  “Being hurt. I was born to love you, lass, and I had to learn that it was all right if you hurt me.”

  For a second, she couldn’t speak. “You love me?” Gratitude overwhelmed her. He cared. He loved her. This remarkable man had just, in his own way, declared himself to her.

  He took her choked silence for disagreement. He pulled his hand away. “I know men far better than I have declared themselves to you. I know that I’m not worthy—”

  She cut him off by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him with all she had.

  Whatever words he was going to say, she swallowed, climbing into his lap.

  The kiss broke only when she was forced to take a breath. Their noses were inches from each other. And was it her imagination, or were his eyes shiny with the same tears of joy that escaped from hers?

  “I love you, Breccan Campbell. I love you with all the passion and depth of my being. You hurt me terribly when you wouldn’t speak to me. You wouldn’t even tell me what I’d done wrong, so that I could make it right.”

  “Tara, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was a bumble-headed fool.”

  She nodded her agreement, but she wasn’t going to let it go. Not yet.

  “I would never treat you in that manner. You must promise me, you will never injure me with silence again. Shout at me, rail against me, hiss at me how angry I’ve made you—but no silence.”

  He gathered her in his arms. “No silence. Never again.” He leaned to kiss her, but she pulled back.

  “And trust between us? Please, Breccan. Trust me?”

  She could see this request was more difficult for him, and then he said, “Aye, I trust you. You are my wife, Tara. You are my heart.”

  His words made her so happy, she felt she glowed with joy.

  “Now,” he said, a new huskiness in his tone, “where did we leave off this morning?”

  She slid on his lap so that her legs straddled his hips. “We were here,” she said.

  He tilted back his head and laughed and she could feel that he was aroused. She was as well.

  “You are such a brawny man,” she said, her body moving against him with a will of its own.

  His answer was to pull the hem of her nightdress, which was riding her thighs, up and over her arms and head. He dropped it to the floor—and she was gloriously naked.

  Blushing wildly, she thought to cover herself up but then caught herself. This was the man she loved. She could be vulnerable with him.

  “You are beau
tiful,” he whispered. “More lovely than any selkie, especially in the moonlight.” He cupped her breasts. His hands were warm on her skin. “I have dreamed of these.”

  His touch felt good. She felt herself relax, trusting him and allowing herself to enjoy the feeling of his hands on this most sensitive of skin. Deep within her, she experienced a tightening, a hunger, a need.

  Tara covered his hands with her own. Her nipples were tight and hard against his palm. He had a man’s hands, knowledgeable ones. She bent forward and kissed him.

  He weighed her breasts, then traced the curve of her waist to her hips. Her hair created a curtain around their kiss. Their tongues brushed. The kiss deepened, and suddenly they both tired of waiting.

  Breccan sat up and started undressing. Tara helped him. It wasn’t the most efficient method. They managed to be in each other’s way, and the only negotiation was kisses . . . kisses and laughter.

  Breccan had not thought of combining the act of love with humor. And yet, with Tara that seemed a natural combination.

  She was sweetly shy and ticklish. There was also his determination to touch every inch of her body.

  Unbuttoning his breeches was a challenge. First, he was ready to burst. He needed release. His body begged for it. But she almost unmanned him when she began helping with those pesky buttons. If he could have ripped his breeches off his body, he would have.

  As it was, Tara would undo a button, then be too charmed by the velvety soft hardness of his erection and forget her task. It was as if she’d never seen such a thing before. She laughed when he was finally free and she could run a hand up the length of him.

  Her soft laughter had the sound of joy in it.

  Breccan was suddenly humbled that this lovely woman would honor him with her love. He no longer questioned her motives. He never would again. There was an honesty about Tara that no man could challenge.

  He leaned her back on the bed, her glorious hair spread across the pillow. He raised himself up over her. She smiled and opened her arms to him. She was ready for him. It had not taken much, and Breccan was tired of denying himself. With one smooth thrust, he entered her—

  He did not register the barrier he’d broken until she flinched in pain and tried to move away from him. He immediately understood what had happened and cursed himself a hundred times.

  What a fool he had been to believe Owen.

  Breccan rolled onto his back, wrapping his arms around her and carrying her with him. He held her tight so that she could not run. Her heart was racing like that of snared rabbit.

  “It’s all right,” he whispered into her hair. He was still inside her. He could feel the tension in her body, yet she embraced him deeply. “Just relax. You are fine,” he assured her.

  She raised herself, her surprised eyes reflecting the moonlight from the window. “I don’t like that,” she said.

  “I understand. It was a shock.”

  “Is that it? Is it over?”

  Breccan tightened his hold on both her and himself. He wanted to thrust, to go deeper, but first he had to help her.

  He rolled her back to the bed. He was settled between her legs. He braced his weight with his arms. “Can you trust me?” he asked.

  That line of worry that marred her brow was there, but she nodded. Her hands rested on his shoulders, but they were doubled into fists.

  “Will you trust me?” he repeated.

  She looked into his eyes and nodded reluctantly.

  “The worst is over,” he promised.

  “How do you know?”

  His wife had the mind of a barrister. “I don’t,” he admitted. “But if it hurts, all you have to say is ‘Breccan, stop,’ and I will.”

  He hoped he could.

  Even now it was hard to hold himself back, yet she nodded, offering the trust he had requested.

  She was so tight, so deliciously hot. He could feel her deep muscles start to accommodate him as she relaxed. He prayed he knew what he was doing.

  Breccan was well endowed, but his wife seemed to adjust for him. He began moving, tentatively. He did not want to harm her again. He watched her eyes, those expressive eyes that mirrored every emotion she experienced.

  Ah, but she felt good to him. People lauded his strength. Little would they know how much he had to use now to rein himself in.

  Each movement took him a little deeper.

  Her fists on his shoulders relaxed. She tilted her head back, changing the angle of her body to give him easier access. He kissed that neck. He lined it with kisses, then dared to bury himself to the hilt.

  Tara gasped.

  Breccan covered her lips with his, not wanting her to stop him. No woman had ever felt as good as Tara . . . and then she moaned softly, arching her hips, inviting him closer—and Breccan was lost.

  He moved with intent now. Her precious body had no trouble accepting the length of him. It was as if she’d been made for him.

  Too quickly, he reached the point where, if she’d said stop, he could not have, even if she’d shouted to the ceiling. He was driven to possess her. She was his. All of her.

  And any child created this night would be his blood.

  Tara responded to his thrusts, meeting him with a passion of her own.

  Now it was Breccan who became the student. He wanted to learn how best to please her, to understand every nuance of her body and she was generous enough to teach him—

  He felt her tighten. Her muscles grabbed him, pulled him.

  She cried his name. Her arms were around his neck, and he held her as her body reached the pinnacle of desire. It ripped through her, tightening and moving in a way he’d never experienced from a woman before.

  Breccan felt his own release. She drew out of him. And in that moment, he was completely hers. He would never let her go.

  For the first time in his life, Breccan understood what it meant to “become one.”

  They were no longer two separate people but one joined in love.

  His arms banded around her, and he gently rocked Tara, enjoying the completion of this moment. And then he whispered, “I love you. Tomorrow, I will love you more, and the next day and the next day and the next.”

  “Until we love each other ten thousand days more,” she suggested. She placed her hand along the side of his jaw. “So handsome,” she murmured.

  “I am a troll,” he persisted, but she shook her head.

  “You are the most handsome man I’ve ever known,” she whispered, and he believed her.

  The next morning, Tara woke cradled in her husband’s arms. She adored the experience and made him promise that from this day forward, she could always use him for her personal pillow.

  He was happy to agree—and then they made love again.

  Love. Her life now had purpose. She’d been born to love Breccan Campbell. In fact, she would happily climb to the top of any mountain and shout her love for him.

  And he was not too big for her. This became a point of pride with her.

  She delighted in discovering new ways to please him. In doing so, she pleased herself as well.

  The first day, Breccan and Tara had not come out of the bedroom at all. They hadn’t wanted to come out the second day, but the world could not be kept at bay. There was a horse race on the horizon, cottages to be repaired, and a hundred little daily chores that must be monitored.

  But there was a difference now in Tara’s attitude as she went about the tasks of being the Lady of Wolfstone. This estate would be her children’s legacy. Indeed, she wasn’t certain, but she sensed that the spark of life had taken hold within her, and she no longer had concerns for the future.

  How could she have once thought that life ended when a woman married? She now saw that for those who loved, every day was a new adventure. Together, she and Breccan would build a home that would s
helter not only their children but also their grandchildren’s children.

  Beyond their lovemaking, her favorite time of the day was becoming the aftermath, when she would lie on his chest, as satisfied and relaxed as a cat, and they would discuss their activities for the day.

  They talked often of the upcoming race. Breccan confided that he had strained their finances by making the wager with Owen Campbell.

  “Are you keeping Mr. Ricks away from Taurus?” she asked.

  He frowned. “Why should I?”

  “He is the one who put the hot nail in the shoe.”

  “I asked him about that. He said it was a mistake.”

  Tara lifted her head to look into her husband’s eyes. “I do not have a good feeling for him.”

  “You have not been around him that often.”

  “Often enough.” She wagged a finger at him. “And if you are going to have a canny wife, my laird,” she said, broadening her accent, “then you should listen to her.”

  He promised her he would.

  She knew he wouldn’t. Breccan was loyal to the men he hired. He didn’t understand that, in the horse world, men could be evil.

  But she did. Ruary had told her of some of the tricks, and she endeavored to protect her husband.

  Her first allies in the project were Jonas and Lachlan. They were not as trusting as Breccan. They understood Tara’s concerns and lined up the right men to keep watch over the stallion.

  The Thoroughbred seemed healed from the lameness. They started to exercise him again.

  Tara prayed her husband’s trust would not be betrayed. The horse looked good on the exercise field, but would he race? That was the question.

  The race day was a clear one for November.

  The route was to be from Moness House to the center of Aberfeldy. It was a wee bit over a mile, a distance Taurus should cover quickly.

  Tara pinned a swatch of the Black Campbell tartan to her cape. She was proud to drive into the village beside her husband and accompanied by her kinsmen.

  There was a good turnout for the race. Many people had come to witness the race between the two Campbells. Of course, whenever there has been talk and whenever money exchanged hands, well, there would always be a crowd.