The Bride Says No

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Coming back was wrong,” he said, interrupting her. He tossed the hammer and file into the wooden box in the corner that held his tools. His shoe on, Dirk turned his interest toward a pile of hay in the corner of his stall.

  Ruary faced her. “It took me a long time to move past what you did, Tara. You took my heart when you left. I know I shouldn’t have hoped, and yet . . .” His voice fell off.

  “I was young, Ruary. I didn’t understand what you meant to me.”

  “You are still young, my lady,” he corrected, but there was no heat in his words. Indeed, he sounded tolerant, caring.

  “Perhaps, but back then, I had to go, Ruary. I had to experience the world beyond Annefield. Now I understand that what we had between us was rare . . . and wonderful.”

  He shook his head, his brow furrowing. “I can’t listen to this.” He picked up his tools and started to pass her, but she stepped into his path, put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  It was an act of desperation.

  Ruary immediately stiffened, so Tara kissed him all the harder. Please, please, please, she pleaded with him in her mind. Please forgive me.

  No, what she was doing wasn’t right. But in this moment, she wasn’t thinking of anyone but herself.

  For one second, his lips softened, and he kissed her back before pushing her away.

  “No, Tara. No.” His breathing had gone ragged, as if he battled within himself.

  But she had no such conflict. She wanted to melt into him, to wrap him around her so completely that the world would not know where he began and she left off.

  “I love you.” The words came straight from her heart. “I have always loved you, and I shall never apologize for it.”

  “We don’t belong to each other,” he said, as if trying to remind himself.

  “We don’t belong to anyone else—yet,” she answered, her gaze refusing to waver.

  They stood this way for a long moment.

  “Tara, we can’t go back to the past.”

  “Yes, we can.” She tried to smile, willing him with her eyes, her mind and her heart to give her another chance. That was all she wanted. Just one more chance.

  For a second, he stood in hesitation, one foot pointing in the direction of the stall door, and she wanted to cry. She couldn’t lose him. She’d gone to such lengths for him—

  Ruary dropped the heavy toolbox. He brought his arms around her like bands of steel and pulled her against him, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, her breasts flattening against his chest. He smelled of the late summer air, fresh hay, and the man she so dearly loved.

  “This isn’t good,” he whispered.

  “It’s heaven,” she answered, and he kissed her then.

  This was no timidly eager kiss like those they had shared years ago. This was the kiss of a man who unashamedly wanted a woman.

  She could feel his arousal. Knew it was for her.

  An onslaught of desire and longing brought her arms around his neck. She clung to him as if to never let him go. This was what she had wanted.

  This was the connection she had so foolishly tossed aside. Ruary Jamerson was a man like no other.

  And Tara didn’t care what his status was in life. All she knew was that for whatever reason, destiny had brought them together.

  She’d tried to run once, to obey the rules.

  She would not run again.

  Chapter Nine

  Blake had needed to escape the house.

  All through dinner, he had churned with anger and conflicting feelings. Tara would have jilted him for the horse master. A horse master!

  Did she see Blake and all he’d worked for of such little consequence that she would lust after a man who was only a step above a servant? And the irony was that Penevey insisted Blake marry Tara because the marriage would supposedly raise his status in the world. Obviously, all he’d worked for was of little value to her.

  But he felt it was Aileen who had betrayed him . . . and he couldn’t quite define why. She owed him nothing. Her first loyalty should be to her sister. Still, he heaped on her the blame even while realizing he was being irrational.

  And it was for that reason that as soon as the meal had ended—a dinner during which the only conversation had consisted of the earl and his lively widow’s amorous repartee—he’d changed clothes and gone in search of exercise. He needed to clear his head. No good ever came from his losing his temper. He’d lost it recently when he’d learned Tara had run away, leaving him to public humiliation, and now look where he was—angrier, more lost and more unsettled than he had ever been in his life.

  A fine decision it had been to go after her.

  The horses in Annefield’s famous stables were either young stock in training or hot-blooded stallions, all expensive livestock and not suitable for a Sunday’s ride. There were only two geldings in the stables; one had thrown a shoe, so Blake had taken the other.

  He now rode Thomas Aquinas, a strong bay Thoroughbred who wanted a run, which was fine with him. Blake was on the beast’s back because he needed the wind in his face and the demons chased out of his being. He pulled his hat low and gave the horse his lead. Off they went.

  For a good hour, all he did was ride. Thomas knew his business, and he wasn’t some ladies’ mount. A man had to think when he was on this horse.

  When Blake and Thomas were both out of breath, they began trotting down a sheep’s path that soon led to a meandering road along Loch Tay.

  In front of them, a boy was driving a shaggy beast of a bull with huge horns. The bull eyed Thomas as they passed, as if deciding whether he could take him on or not. The lad’s stick and Thomas’s snort of disdain seemed to make him think twice.

  The boy pulled a forelock, an ancient symbol of respect. Blake nodded in return and, for a second, felt quite the country gentleman.

  The air going through his lungs was sweet and clear, a striking contrast to London’s thick soot. The views were astounding. The mountains made him feel as if he’d been cupped in God’s hand, while Loch Tay’s silver waters gave him a sense of freedom.

  But then the road took him through the village of Kenmore and past the kirk he had attended that morning. His anger, his discontent, came thundering back.

  If he was wise, he would ride this horse to London without a backward glance at Lady Tara or Lady Aileen. He would return to the life he had . . . yet he wasn’t certain he wanted that either.

  Indecision made him uncomfortable. He always knew what he wanted. At one time, it had been just to survive. Then his goal had become earning Penevey’s respect.

  And now?

  Why was he here? The question didn’t pertain to why he was in Scotland; it carried a heavier weight—one his life had not encouraged him to ponder until this moment.

  He had everything most men would desire, yet a part of him felt empty. Incomplete.

  Blake was not a man given to introspection. It made him uncomfortable. And so he put his attention to riding, to turning Thomas in the direction of where he had no choice but to return—Annefield.

  He decided to abandon the road and ride across fields. Thomas was game for it. All it took was a touch of Blake’s heels for the big horse to clear the stone dyke edging the road and they were off again, jumping fences and both of them enjoying the independence of making their own way. Some of the tension in Blake’s shoulders started to ease.

  When he was certain they were close to their destination, he pulled Thomas into a walk to let him cool down. The house came into sight, but Blake found he wasn’t ready to return.

  He stared at Annefield’s stone facade. Beyond the drunk, self-seeking earl of Tay and his two headstrong daughters, the Scots he’d met had appeared willing to measure him by his accomplishments instead of his connections. That’s when he realized that the disquiet, even the fury, he felt was directed at himself.

  He had no love for Tara.

  She was a bauble, a pretty thing that other men had wanted and he’d won
. He’d been caught up in the gamesmanship in the chase for her. He also understood that his money had played a large part in her choice. Tay had driven a hard bargain, then asked for a considerable advance on the funds.

  The money did not bother Blake. He would have risked it all to please Penevey.

  However, he now understood he would never be accepted. Not completely. Arthur and his other half brothers had nothing to fear from him. They would always be the duke’s first choice.

  Perhaps the time had come for Blake to start pleasing himself first.

  The idea was radical.

  A lad needed a mentor, and Penevey had served the purpose . . . but perhaps the time had come when Blake should consider what he wanted out of life.

  Discovering he still wasn’t ready to return to the house, Blake directed Thomas to a path leading through the woods on the far side of the stables. They were about to come into a clearing a good distance from the house when Blake heard Lady Aileen’s voice. Thomas had heard it as well and obviously liked his mistress, because his ears picked up, as did his pace.

  As they came through the woods, Blake realized Lady Aileen was pleading with someone, begging that person to do as she asked.

  Jealousy was a new emotion to Blake when it came to women. He’d never cared deeply enough for any one of them to be territorial. Yes, Tara provoked him. It was outrageous to have one’s intended openly mooning over another man for all to see, but he wasn’t jealous.

  However, he discovered he envied the man who could make Lady Aileen plead with such open emotion and fond affection.

  And he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t want to know to whom she spoke.

  He nudged Thomas forward.

  On the far side of the clearing, close to a line of trees, was a small, wooden-rail paddock of the sort that was hastily built and could be torn down quickly.

  Lady Aileen, looking very attractive in a straw hat and serviceable day dress of a deep green, was trying to coax a lovely gray mare to come to her and eat from a small pail. The mare stood at the far end of the paddock, eyeing her mistress with disgruntled distrust.

  Aileen was so intent on her task that she didn’t detect Blake immediately, so when she turned from the mare in frustration, she was startled by his presence and almost dropped the pail.

  “I didn’t mean to alarm you,” he said as an apology, urging Thomas closer to the fence.

  She shook her head and pressed a hand to her brow. The action caused her hat to fall off her head, the green ribbon around her neck keeping it from tumbling to the ground. Her hair had come loose from her pins. She gave a discouraged sigh.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “My mare, Folly, she’s angry with me. She is refusing to eat.”

  Ah, here was a problem Blake could help her solve. Blake swung down from the saddle. He tied the gelding’s reins around a fence rail.

  “Perhaps she doesn’t like being alone?” he suggested.

  “I’m certain she doesn’t,” Aileen said, “but I need to keep her separate from the other horses in the barn.”

  Folly trotted over to sniff noses with Thomas. “If you put a mate out here for her, she’ll be happy.”

  “I know that,” Lady Aileen retorted. “But all the other horses must be kept in their stalls in case the earl decides he wants a reckoning.”

  “Won’t he miss this mare?”

  “He believes Folly is dead,” she said. The mare seemed to understand she was being discussed and eyed them with the disdain of an offended dowager at a party.

  “He sent the order two months ago to have her put down,” Lady Aileen continued. “He doesn’t like feeding horses that can’t earn their keep. Heaven forbid a penny is wasted that he can’t gamble.”

  “Could she not have been sold?”

  “No, she’s mine.”

  Lady Aileen took an agitated step toward Folly and ran her hand along the mare’s neck. “The earl doesn’t believe animals have souls. He says they are put on this earth to serve man and when they are done, well, we have no obligation to them.” She turned stormy gray eyes on Blake and demanded, “Do you believe as he does?”

  “I don’t,” Blake said truthfully. “I assume all creatures that feel pain or can show loyalty must have a soul.” As if approving of him, or letting him know he’d like to graze, Thomas bumped Blake’s shoulder with his head. But the gelding’s response was nothing to Blake compared to Lady Aileen’s approval.

  “That is how I feel,” she said, her earlier guardedness toward him vanishing. In its place was a vulnerable, troubled woman, the sort that would tug at any man’s sense of honor.

  “Then that is what you should tell your father.”

  Her response was an undignified sound of disgust. “If I thought the earl had any cares for anything beside himself, I would have. The last time he met Angus, our head groom, in Newmarket, Father questioned him about the horses in the stables that he rarely visits and sent word he wanted Folly destroyed. Angus knows what Folly means to me, and, of course, I countermanded the order. It wasn’t hard to do. The servants are loyal to me. No one was worried. The earl’s last visit was years ago. But now he is here, and Angus is most anxious that the earl not discover that his direction has been ignored, or else he could be sacked.”

  “Why would Lord Tay want to put down the mare? The animal looks fine.”

  In answer, Lady Aileen handed him the pail of grain and raised her arms, shooing the mare away from Thomas.

  Folly’s head came up and she snorted her impatience. This was no obedient animal. She had some spirit to her. Blake liked Tay’s bloodstock. He preferred smart horses and used his elbow to shove away the nose Thomas was leaning toward the grain bucket.

  Again Lady Aileen waved her arms, and the mare started to turn away with an angry swish of her tail. But instead of trotting, she hobbled a step or two.

  “What is wrong with her?” Blake asked as she took the pail away from him.

  “Age. In her hips, or at least that is what Mr. Jamerson believes, and he’s usually right. She can’t be ridden. She’d be in too much pain, so we just let her be.” Unshed tears welled in Lady Aileen’s eyes. “But now, alone, she is refusing to eat. She is such a stubborn mare. She’d starve to death just to spite me.”

  “No horse will starve to death. Put the pail down and leave it here. She will eat sooner or later.”

  “Not Folly. Not when she is in one of her moods. She’s upset being out here by herself. Every time I go after her with grain, she turns away. If I leave it, the pail remains untouched.” With a distracted hand, Aileen brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over one eye.

  “Then let’s find a mate for her,” Blake answered. “Borrow a horse from the neighbors, a horse your father doesn’t know.”

  “And run the risk of some neighbor mentioning such a thing to Father? No. He doesn’t pay attention to anything at Annefield except the horses. They are his claim to fame. Since he arrived, he has walked the stables every day, counting the stalls.”

  The mare had lowered her head, looking like some aged crone stubbornly waiting to die. But she was also paying attention to the humans standing close by, as if she understood what they were saying.

  “If she is in pain, letting her go may be the kindest thing for her,” he suggested, trying to keep his tone tactful.

  “Some days, yes,” she agreed. “And then others, she acts like her old self, and I don’t have the heart to take her life from her. I’ve prayed that she would die naturally and peacefully without any action required from me. I hope to come to her stall one day and see that she is gone, happy and content and all by God’s will. But that hasn’t happened yet, and I need her here. She is my mooring.”

  “In what way?”

  “You will think me silly.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Lady Aileen looked up at the blue sky with its fat white clouds before confessing, “She knows my secrets. She has seen my failings, he
ard my fears, my doubts, and yet she has never betrayed me, unlike most people. She’s always been faithful. Why should I not be at least half as loyal to her? See? She hears us. She understands. And I doubt if she is in pain. Putting her down would be an expedience.”

  Blake understood what she meant. How many times had he wished he’d had just that sort of support? His friends were boon companions and trusted . . . to a point. What Lady Aileen spoke of was someone closer than he’d allowed anyone in his life to be before.

  “Where is the gate to this contraption?” he asked, meaning the fence.

  “To your right. What are you going to do?”

  “Make Folly eat,” he replied as he led Thomas to the gate. “She’s already shown a preference for Thomas.”

  “As long as he is on his side of the fence. She does not like them in her field.”

  “Perhaps a bit of annoyance is what she needs,” Blake said.

  “This will not be pretty, Mr. Stephens. She really doesn’t like males.”

  He unhooked the gate. “Like her mistress?”

  Lady Aileen made a sputtering sound. “I don’t dislike men.”

  He hummed his different opinion as he twisted Thomas’s reins, unhooked the throat latch strap and threaded them through it before fastening the latch again. In this way, there wouldn’t be a danger of the gelding breaking the reins.

  Blake turned Thomas loose into the pen.

  Lady Aileen hurried to the gate, opening it so that she was out of harm’s way. The paddock was small. “This is not a good idea,” she warned, “Folly can kick, bad hips and all.”

  “I need the grain,” he answered. He was not surprised that she had not followed his instructions and still had the pail. He took it from her, shaking it so that Thomas knew what was in it, as if the horse had any doubt. Indeed, the gelding fell into step behind Blake as he moved to the center of the enclosure, stretching his neck to nose the pail.