Lairds' Brides Series - book 2 - The Wedding by Julie Garwood

[Dalyia]

Lairds' Brides Series

book 2

The Wedding

by

Julie Garwood

Product Description: Only a master could top the stunning success of For the Roses* and Julie Garwood has proven once again why she "attracts readers like beautiful heroines attract dashing heroes" (USA Today) with this joyous New York Times bestseller. Returning to the enchanting world of her classic The Bride* she brings the soaring adventure* love and rivalry of medieval Scotland to glorious life in a delightful tale her fans will adore.

Journeying from England to Scotland to wed a highlander* Lady Brenna had resigned herself to the arranged match. But when a band of fierce* painted warriors captured her en route* she fearlessly met their demand to marry their leader -- the quick-tempered laird Connor MacAlister. She couldn't know that her capture was merely the first act of vengeance against her betrothed* Connor's sworn enemy. Brenna harbored no illusions that her husband was in love with her; after a hasty forest wedding* MacAlister assured her she could return home once she had borne him a son. But she could not deny that she had once proposed to MacAlister -- ten years ago* when she was just a child* and the visitor to her father's castle charmed her with his dazzling* unexpected smile. Now* as she sets out to win the brave chieftain whom she has come to adore* a legacy of revenge ensnares Brenna in a furious clan war -- and only her faith in her gallant hero can save her

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محتوى مخفي

يجب عليك الرد لرؤية النص المخفي

[Dalyia]

Prologue



Contents - Next



The Highlands* Scotland* 1103

Donald MacAlister didn't die easy. The old man fought to stay alive with every ounce of strength and every pound of stubbornness he possessed. Though he should have welcomed death as an end to the terrible pain and anguish he was enduring* he wouldn't give in to his suffering yet* for there was still the most important legacy of all to pass down before he could close his eyes and rest.

His legacy was hate. The laird was consumed by hatred for his enemy. He needed to see his son burn with the fever for revenge* and until he was certain the boy understood the importance of righting the terrible wrong done this dark day* he would continue to fight death. And so he clung to life and to his son's hand* so small and fragile in his big* leathery one* his black eyes boring into those of his only living heir* while the old man instructed him in his sacred duty.

"Avenge me* Connor MacAlister. Take my hatred into your heart* protect it* nurture it* and when you've grown older and stronger* use my sword to slay my enemies. I cannot die in peace until you've given me your word you'll avenge this evil deed done to me and mine. Promise me* boy."

"Yes* Father*" Connor fervently vowed. "I will avenge you."

"Do you burn with the fever for revenge?"

"I do."

Donald nodded with contentment. He was finally at peace* and if he lived long enough to give his son directions for his future* that was all well and good; but if the next breath he drew were to be his last* that would be acceptable to him too* because he knew his son would find a way to do what he must. Connor had already proven to be highly intelligent* and his father had complete faith in him.

'Twas a pity Donald MacAlister wouldn't be around to see his son grow into manhood* but with a broken leg and a fair-sized hole near his belly* he knew how foolish it was to wish for impossible things. God was proving merciful* however. The pain had eased considerably in the past few minutes* and a blessed numbness was stealing up from his feet to his knees.

"Father* give me the names of the men who did this to you."

"'Twas the Kaerns who attacked. They came down from the north and from too far away to want our land. They're blood related to the MacNares* though* and I've a suspicion their laird had a hand in this evil. MacNare's always been a greedy one. He'll never be content. You'd best kill him before he causes you trouble* or his lust for more land will bring him to your doorstep. Don't act in haste*" he cautioned. "Neither the Kaerns nor the MacNares are cunning enough to have planned this boldness. They must have acted under directions from another. I don't know who the traitor is* but you'll find out. 'Tis my feeling the enemy hails from within."

"One of our own betrayed you?" Connor was stunned by the possibility.

"Since yesterday eve when they attacked* I've been considering that possibility. The Kaerns came in through passages only my followers knew about. They never would have found the entrances without direction. There's a traitor all right* and it will be your duty to ferret him out. He's one of us* Connor* of that I'm certain. God willing* he's singing the death rattle even now on my own battlefield. You'll bide your time until you have all the names. Then wreak vengeance upon all of those still living. Consider killing their sons as well* boy."

"I will* Father. I'll destroy all of them."

Donald's grip on his son's hand tightened. "This be my final lesson to you. Watch me die and learn how to live as a warrior. When you leave me* go to the path in the forest. Angus waits there to give you instructions for your immediate future."

The laird waited until his son nodded his agreement before speaking again. "Look around you and tell me what you see. Is it all gone?"

Connor stared at the destruction surrounding him* silently weeping with anguish. The stench of burning wood and fresh blood made his stomach lurch.

"The keep is in ruins* but I'll rebuild."

"Aye* you will. You must make your fortress invincible. Learn from my mistakes* Connor."

"I will make my keep stronger."

"What of my loyal men?"

"Most are dead."

The despair in the boy's voice washed over the laird* and he immediately tried to reassure him. "Their sons will come back. They'll wear your colors and claim your name. They'll follow you as their fathers followed me. The time draws near for you to leave. Wrap a cloth tight around and around your injury to stem the blood before you stand* or more will be lost with each step you take. Do it now while I rest beside you."

Connor hurried to obey his father's command* though he didn't believe his injury was significant enough to merit protection. Most of the blood covering his body was from his father's wounds* not his own.

"You'll have a scar to remind you of this black day*" Donald predicted.

"I need no reminder. I won't forget."

"No* you won't forget. Does it pain you?"

"No."

Donald grunted with approval. The boy had never been a complainer* a fact his father found most pleasing. He had all the makings of a mighty warrior.

"How old are you* boy?"

"Nine or ten years now*" he answered.

"I'm thinking you might be older or younger. Your size tells me you're still a boy* but your eyes have turned into those of a man. I see the bright fire of fury there* and I am pleased by you."

"I could take you with me."

"You will not drag a dead man behind you."

"Do your injuries pain you* Father?"

"'Tis the truth I don't feel anything now. I seem to have gone numb. A blessed way to die* I'm thinking. Some men would not be as fortunate."

"I would stay with you if you…"

"You'll leave when I command you to leave*" his father ordered. "You'll save yourself so you'll be able to keep your promises to me. The enemy has left* but make no mistake* they'll come back to finish it."

"We have time* Father. The sun is still high* and the enemy dragged your barrels of wine with them. They'll be too thickheaded to come back before morning."

"Then you may linger a moment more*" his father conceded.

"Will Angus send me to Euphemia to tell her what happened?"

"He will not. You will not tell that woman anything."

"But she's your wife."

"My second wife*" he corrected. "Never trust a woman* Connor. 'Tis foolhardy to do so. Euphemia will find out what happened when she returns with her son* Raen. I want you to be well away from here by then. I won't have you trained by her relatives. They're all leeches."

Connor nodded so his father would know he understood* and then asked* "Did you trust my mother?"

Donald heard the worry in his son's voice and thought it was probably his duty to give him a kind remembrance of his mother. Still* the boy needed to hear the truth* and for that reason* he didn't soften his answer* but spoke from his heart.

"I did trust her* and anguish was the result. I loved your mother. She was my own sweet* bonny Isabelle* and how was I repaid for my generosity? She up and died on me* that's how* breaking my heart and leaving me desolate. Learn from my folly and save yourself the heartache. I never should have married again—I realize that now—but I am a practical man above all else* and I knew I needed heirs to follow after me in the event something foul happened to you. Still* it was a mistake. Euphemia already had one son from her past marriage* and one child was all she was capable of carrying. She did try though."

Donald paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. "I couldn't love Euphemia* or any other woman. How could I* after what my own sweet Isabelle had done to me? Still* I shouldn't have ignored your stepmother. It wasn't her fault I couldn't care about her. You must try to make up for my wrong. Try to honor her and put up with her pampered son. Remember* your first loyalty must be to your own."

"I'll remember. Where will Angus send me? There is time for you to tell me*" he persisted. He was deliberately stalling so that he would have a few more minutes with his father. "Angus could have been killed before he reached the forest."

"It would not matter. Do you think I would entrust such important orders to only one man? I'm not foolish. I told others what was to be done."

"Let me hear the command from my laird."

Donald relented. "There's only one man I trust* and you must go to him. Tell him what took place here today."

"Do I tell him everything you have told me?"

"Yes."

"Do I trust him?"

"You do*" he replied. "He'll know what's to be done. You must seek his protection first* then order him to train you in his image. Demand your right* boy. Pledge that you'll be his brother until the day you die. He won't fail you. Go now. Go to Alec Kincaid."

Connor was stunned by the order. "He's your hated enemy* Father. You cannot mean to send me to him."

"I do mean to*" his father replied in a hard* unyielding voice. "Alec Kincaid has become the most powerful force in all the Highlands. He's also a good and honorable man* and you need his strength."

Connor was still having difficulty accepting the duty his father had just thrust upon him. He couldn't stop himself from making another protest.

"But you warred against him."

Donald surprised his son by smiling. " 'Tis the truth I did. My heart wasn't in the fight* though. Kincaid knew that. I tested him sorely and am proud to say I was the nagging thorn in his side. Our lands connect to the east* and so it was a natural inclination of mine to take some of his. He wouldn't let me have it* of course. Still* he understood. Had he not* all of us would be dead by now."

"He is that powerful?"

"He is. Be sure to show him my sword. Leave the blood upon the blade so Kincaid will see it."

"Father* none of the MacAlisters will follow me if I go to their enemy."

"You will do as I command*" his father said. "You're too young to understand* and so you must trust my judgment. I want your promise that you will go to Kincaid now."

"Yes* Father."

Donald nodded. "The time has come for you to bid me goodbye. We've dallied long enough* and I've put off dying for as long as I dare. Even now I can feel myself slipping into sleep."

Connor tried* but he couldn't seem to make himself let go of his father's hand.

"I will miss you*" he whispered.

"And I* you."

"I love you* Father."

"Warriors do not speak of such feelings. I love you too* son* but I won't be telling you so."

He squeezed Connor's hand as a way of softening his rebuke* and finally closed his eyes. He was ready to let death have him* for he had seen the fire burning bright in Connor's eyes* and he knew he would be avenged. What more could a father ask?

Donald MacAlister died a few minutes later* still clinging to his son's hand. He died as he had lived* with honor* dignity* and on his own stubborn terms.

Connor lingered by his father's side for as long as he could* until he heard someone whispering to him from behind. He turned to see a young soldier struggling to sit up. Connor couldn't remember his name* and from the distance separating them* he couldn't tell how serious his injuries were. He motioned to the soldier to stay where he was* then turned back to his father. He picked up the sword resting on his chest* bowed his head in prayer for his father's soul* and then crawled away* clutching the treasured sword to his heart. He eased over hot* glowing embers that blistered his arms and the bloody remains of friends* which made his eyes fill with tears.

He finally reached the man who had called out to him and discovered the soldier wasn't fully grown up* after all. Why* he couldn't be more than two or three years older than Connor.

Thankfully* he remembered the soldier's name before reaching him. "Crispin* I thought you dead. Roll onto your back so I may tend your injuries* or you will surely die."

"There isn't time. They came here to kill both your father and you* Connor. Aye* that was their purpose. I heard one of the bastards boast of it to another. Leave before they come back and realize they've failed."

"The enemy rests now. They won't come back until the wine they drink wears off. Do as I command you to do."

Crispin slowly rolled over* visibly grimacing over the pain the movement caused.

"Is your father dead?"

"Yes*" Connor answered. "He lived long enough to tell me what I must do. He died in peace."

Crispin began to weep. "My laird is dead."

"Nay* Crispin. Your laird kneels before you."

Connor wouldn't allow him to argue with him* or laugh over his boast* but gave him duty upon duty while he bandaged him. He told the soldier how he could help to repay their enemy for this atrocity* and when Connor was finished binding his wound* he had given the soldier something more powerful than anguish to fill his mind and his heart. He had given him hope.

Although it was difficult because of his size* Connor eventually dragged Crispin to safety. He hid him away in the forest* well-protected by thick branches* and went back to the destruction twice more to drag out two others. One was Angus* the loyal soldier to whom his father had entrusted the duty of instructing his son. The other was a boy Connor's age called Quinlan* who had only just arrived to begin his training the week before. His injuries were severe* and he was in such pain* he begged to be left alone. Connor was deaf to his pleas.

"I decide when you die* Quinlan* not you."

The boy stopped struggling and even tried to help.

Connor desperately wanted to go back again and again to search for more* but the enemy had decided to return before nightfall* and even now he could see the shadows their horses made on the rise below. He knew he couldn't chance being discovered. He still needed enough time to remove the trail he'd made. He immediately set about doing just that* and once he was satisfied the three he'd hidden away would not be found* he promised to bring help and ordered them to stay alive.

He was finally ready to do his father's bidding. He rode his faithful mount half the distance to Kincaid land* but when he reached the steep ledges* he left the horse behind and climbed over the rock so that he could shorten the way.

Once he reached the flats again* he began to run. He moved over the land with the speed of a young buck for short spurts* and when exhaustion made his legs too weak to continue the grueling pace* he used his father's sword and scabbard as his cane and slowed to a walk until he was able to regain his strength again. He wasn't very strong yet* but his determination was that of ten grown men. He would not fail his father.

Connor felt nothing now* not the cold or the pain or the terrible loss. His mind was focused on one thought. He had to get to Alec Kincaid. Pledging his loyalty to the laird was the first step he must take to fulfill his father's wishes* and Connor wouldn't let anyone or anything stop him.

He lost track of time* and darkness was fast approaching. The sky was bright now with hundreds of orange streaks from the sun's too-quick descent behind the twin peaks directly ahead of him* but in a few minutes* those brilliant banners would also be gone. His desperation mounted with each step he took. He had to reach Kincaid before night closed in on him because he knew he would never be able to find his way in the dark. If he continued in darkness* he ran the risk of going in circles* or worse* backtracking the distance he'd already covered.

He could not fail. He started running again. He thought he was close to the border between his father's land and Kincaid's* yet he couldn't be absolutely certain. And then he heard shouts to halt from soldiers running toward him* but in his confusion he thought the enemy had chased him down and meant to kill him before he could keep his promises to his father. He staggered on until he couldn't take another step.

Dear God* he'd failed. He hadn't even begun yet and now he had failed. Kincaid was the beginning of his future* but Connor wasn't even strong enough to get to him.

"Can you speak* lad? Can you tell us what happened to you? You're covered in blood."

The soldiers surrounding him were all wearing Kincaid's colors. As that fact registered in Connor's mind* his legs gave out* and he went down hard on his knees. He wanted to close his eyes for just a moment* but he didn't dare. Not yet. He couldn't sleep until he had spoken to Kincaid. He needed to tell him what happened. He could trust him… He must…

He shook his head* trying to clear his thoughts* and then took a deep breath* threw back his head* and shouted* "Take me to my brother."

"Who is your brother* lad?" one of the sentries asked.

"By my father's command* from this day forward Alec Kincaid is my brother. He will not deny me."

It was all right to close his eyes now. He had fulfilled the first of his father's demands. The rest would come as soon as he had spoken to Kincaid. He would tell him where he'd hidden the injured soldiers* command that he go and get them… and he would tell his brother so much more…

Connor's last thought before he lost consciousness gave him peace. His father would be avenged.
And so it began.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 1

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England* 1108

It wasn't love at first sight.

Lady Brenna didn't want to be presented to company. She had far more important things to do with her day. Her nursemaid* a dour-faced woman with Godfearing ways and with clumped together* protruding front teeth* wouldn't listen to her arguments* however. She cornered Brenna in the back of the stables and lunged forward. Never one to let an opportunity or a little girl slip past her* the nursemaid lectured her charge all the way up the hill and across the muddy courtyard.

"Quit your squirming* Brenna. I'm stronger than you are* and I'm not about to let go. You've lost your shoes again* haven't you? And don't dare lie to me. I

can see your stockings peeking out. Why are you dragging that bridle behind you?"

Brenna lifted her shoulders in a shrug. "I forgot to put it back."

"Drop it this minute. You're always forgetting* and do you know why?"

"I don't pay attention to what I'm doing* like you tell me to* Elspeth."

"You don't pay attention to anything I tell you* and that's a fact. You're more trouble than all the others put together. Your older brothers and sisters have never given me a moment's worry. Even your baby sister knows how to behave herself* and she's still sucking on her fingers and wetting herself. I'm warning you* Brenna* if you don't change your ways and give your parents a little peace* God himself will have to stop His important work and come down here to talk to you. Just how are you going to feel about that? You don't like it much when your papa has to sit you down on his knee and talk to you about your shameful behavior* now do you?"

"No* Elspeth. I surely don't like it. I try to behave. I really do."

She peeked up to see if the nursemaid believed she was contrite. She wasn't* of course* because she really didn't believe she'd done anything wrong* but Elspeth wouldn't understand.

"Don't you bat those big blue eyes at me* young lady. I don't believe you're the least bit sincere. Lord* but you smell. What have you gotten into?"

Brenna lowered her head and kept quiet. She'd been chasing after the piglets just an hour before* until the tanner put their mama back in the pen* and her peculiar stench was just a small price to pay for all the fun she'd had.

Her torture had only just begun. Even though she had had a bath two days before* she was bathed again* and in the middle of the day* of all times. She was scrubbed from head to toe* and so thoroughly* she had to cry about it. Elspeth wasn't at all sympathetic to her wails* and Brenna eventually got tired of crying. She barely struggled at all while Elspeth dressed her in a blue gown and too-tight matching slippers. Her cheeks were pinched hard for color; her white blond tangles were brushed into curls* and she was then dragged back down to the hall. She would have to pass her mother's inspection before she could be left alone.

Her oldest sister* Matilda* was already seated at the table with her mother. Cook was there* too* going over supper arrangements with her mistress.

"I don't want to meet no company today* Mama. It's sorely wearisome for me."

Elspeth came up behind her and poked her in the shoulder. "Hush now. You mustn't complain. God doesn't like women who complain."

"Papa complains all the time and God likes him just fine*" Brenna announced. "That's why Papa's so big. Only God is bigger than he is."

"Where did you hear such nonsense?"

"Papa told me so. I want to go outside now. I won't run after the piglets again. I promise."

"You're staying right where I can keep my eye on you. You're going to behave yourself today. If you don't* you know what will happen to you* don't you?"

Brenna pointed to the ground. "I'll have to go down there." She dutifully repeated the threat she'd heard over and over again.

The little girl didn't have any idea what was'down there*' she only knew it was awful and she didn't want to go there. According to Elspeth* if Brenna didn't change her sorry ways* she was never going to get into heaven* and just about everyone* including her family* wanted to go there.

She knew exactly where heaven was* because her papa had given her exact directions. It was right on the other side of the sky.

She thought she might like it* but really didn't care. Only one thing was important to her now. She wasn't about to be left behind again. She still had nightmares at least once a week over what her mama referred to as "the unfortunate incidents*" because the terrifying memories were still lurking in the back of her mind* where everyone knew all little girls tucked away their worries* just waiting for the right opportunity to jump out in the dark and scare her. Her screams would wake her sister* of course. While Elspeth was busy soothing baby Faith* Brenna would drag her blanket to her parents' chamber. When her papa was away from home doing important work the king could give only to someone as trustworthy and loyal as he was* she'd sneak into the big bed and cuddle up next to her mama* and when her papa was home* she'd sleep on the cold floor right next to Courage* his beautiful silver-handled sword* which Mama swore he loved almost as much as his children. She felt safest when her papa was there* because his loud snores always lulled her back to sleep. Demons didn't try to crawl in through the window* and nightmares about being left behind didn't visit her when she was with her parents. They wouldn't dare.

"Please tell Brenna to keep her mouth shut when company arrives* Mother." Matilda requested. "She shouts every word. She does it on purpose. When will she stop?"

"Soon* dear* soon*" her mother replied almost absentmindedly.

Brenna moved away from her sister. Matilda was bossy by nature* but now that their brothers were away learning how to be as important as their papa for their king* her condition had worsened. She was becoming as bothersome as Elspeth.

Brenna's shoulders slumped. "Mama* I'm weary of everybody telling me what to do all the time. Doesn't anybody like me?"

Her mother wasn't in the mood to placate her daughter.

"Brenna* do not say another word until you are given permission to speak."

Elspeth moved forward to offer her opinion. " 'Tis my fear you'll never catch a husband for that one* milady."

Brenna put her hands over her ears and ran across the room. She hated it when the nursemaid referred to her as "that one." She wasn't one of the piglets* after all.

"I'll catch a husband by myself!" Brenna shouted.

Joan walked into the hall in time to hear her sister's boast.

"What have you done this time* Brenna?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me what you've done. I promise I won't lecture you."

"I sassed Mama. Did Papa catch your husband for you* Joan?"

"Catch a husband?" she asked. She didn't laugh* because she knew she'd injure Brenna's tender feelings* but she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

"I suppose he did*" Joan admitted.

"Did you help?

"No. I'll meet my husband on the day I marry him."

"Aren't you scared he's ugly?"

"What he looks like won't matter. Papa assures me it's a strong alliance."

"Is that good?"

"Oh* yes. Our King has given his approval."

"Rachel says you have to love your husband with your whole heart."

"That's only a foolish wish."

"Elspeth says Papa won't ever find anyone for me. She says Papa's too busy for the likes of me. I have to catch one by myself. Will you help me?"

Joan smiled. "I can see this is worrying you. I'll be happy to help."

"How do I get one?" Brenna whispered.

Joan pretended to consider the matter for a long minute before she answered.

"I imagine you select the man you want and then you ask him to marry you. If he lives far away* you must send a messenger to him. Yes* that would be how you would do it. Why are we whispering?"

"Mama told me not to talk."

Joan burst into laughter. The noise alerted Elspeth* who immediately rushed over.

"Please don't encourage her* Lady Joan. Brenna* you were told to keep quiet. Doesn't that mouth of yours ever rest?"

"I'm sorry* Elspeth."

The nursemaid snorted in disbelief. "No* you're not sorry." She moved closer* wagged her finger in front of Brenna's face* and said* "One of these days God's going to march in here and lecture you sound* young lady. Mark my words. You'll be sorry then. He doesn't like little girls who sass."

Elspeth finally left her alone. Brenna fell asleep waiting for company to arrive. Her sister Rachel shook her awake and pulled her along to stand with her older sisters.

Brenna hid behind Rachel until her name was called and she was dragged out for display. She was suddenly feeling too shy to look up at the company* and as soon as her papa finished bragging about her* she moved behind her sister again.

None of the strangers paid any attention to her* so she decided to sneak out of the hall while she could. She turned around* took one step towards the entrance* and then came to a quick stop.

Three giants strode into the hall. She was too stunned to move and couldn't stop staring at them. The one in the middle was taller than the other two* and held her interest the longest. She watched him closely* and when her parents crossed the hall to greet the newcomers* she realized he was bigger even than her own papa.

She grabbed hold of Rachel's hand and started tugging. Her sister took a long time to look down.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"He isn't God* is he?" she asked* pointing to the dark-haired guest.

Rachel rolled her eyes heavenward. "No* he most certainly isn't God."

"Did Papa lie to me? He told me only God is bigger than he is* Rachel."

"No* Papa didn't lie. He was just teasing you That's all. You don't need to be afraid."

Brenna was thoroughly relieved. Papa hadn't deceived her after all* and God hadn't bothered to con down from heaven to lecture her. There was still time for her to change what Elspeth told her was her sinful life.

Her papa's shout of laughter drew her attention She smiled* because he was having such a fine time and then turned to look at the middle one again She'd been told time and again that it was rude stare* but she didn't obey her mother's rule now. The giant mesmerized her and she wanted to remember everything she could about him.

He must have felt her staring at him* though because he suddenly turned and looked directly her.

Brenna decided to make her papa proud of her and behave like a proper young lady. She grabbed a fistful of her skirt* hiked it up to her knees* and bent down to curtsy. She promptly lost her balance and almost hit her head against the floor* but she was quick enough to lean back so she could land on her bottom.

She stood back up* remembered to let go of her skirts* and peeked up at the stranger to see what he thought about her newly acquired skill.

The giant smiled at her.

As soon as he looked away* she squeezed herself up against Rachel's backside again.

"I'm going to marry him*" she whispered.

Rachel smiled. "That's nice."

Brenna solemnly nodded. Yes* it was nice.

Now all she had to do was ask.

Papa let his daughters leave the hall a few minutes later. Brenna waited until everyone else had gone upstairs* then ran back outside. She was determined to catch one of the piglets today so she would finally have a pet of her very own. She would have preferred a pup* but papa had let her older brothers and sisters all have them* leaving none for her* and she meant to right his terrible wrong by taking one of the piglets.

Luck was on her side. The piglets' mama had once again left the pen and was now sleeping in a mud pool on the far side of the stables halfway down the hill. Brenna tried not to make any noise* but she slipped in the mud and made a loud splatter anyway. The babies must have worn their mama out. She didn't even lift her head or open her eyes. Brenna heard the loud squeak of the front doors being opened next. Because no one shouted at her* she was certain she hadn't been seen.

The piglets made her task easy* for they had rolled themselves into little balls and were sleeping on top of each other. Brenna scooped one up in the hem of her skirts* wrapped it up tight* and clutched it against her chest. She thought to run to the kitchens and hide her prize there* and she was sure she would have succeeded with her plan* if her new pet hadn't made such a fuss about it alt.

Brenna didn't realize her jeopardy until she was outside the pen and heard the horrible noise coming towards her. Pigs weren't supposed to fly* but the enraged mama seemed to be doing just that. Her head went down when she reached the yard* and she charged forward.

Brenna started screaming. Suddenly too terrified to think* she ran in circles* around and around the pen* clutching her piglet in her arms as she bellowed for her papa to come and save her.

Papa didn't rescue her; the giant who'd smiled at her did. And just in the nick of time. The mama's snout tripped her* and as she was being pitched to the ground* she felt herself being lifted high into the air. She squeezed her eyes shut* stopped screaming* and looked around again. She was still in his arms* yet on the opposite side of the fence a fair distance away from the pen. How had he ever gotten over the fence?

Chaos surrounded her. Everyone was running toward her and the giant. Her papa was the last one to reach the fence.

She didn't even want to think about her punishment if he discovered what she had hidden in her skirts. She fervently hoped he never found out.

She knew her savior could feel her pet wiggling between them. She finally gathered enough courage to look up at him to see what he was going to do about it.

He looked surprised* and when the piglet let out another squeal* he smiled.

She was so happy he wasn't angry* she smiled back before she could remember to be shy.

One of his friends stepped closer to the fence. "Connor* is everything all right?"

He turned to answer. Brenna stopped him by putting her hand on the side of his face and nudging him back to her again.

She whispered her plea then. He must not have heard her* because he leaned down closer until their foreheads were almost touching.

"Don't tell."

The giant suddenly threw his head back and let out a bellow of laughter. She told him to hush* but that only made him laugh all the more.

He didn't tell on her* though* and once he'd put her back down* she was able to run past her papa before he could grab hold of her.

"Come back here* Brenna."

She pretended she didn't hear him and continued on.

It wasn't until she was safely hidden under the kitchen table with her new baby sleeping in her lap that she realized she'd forgotten to ask the man to marry her. She wasn't discouraged. She would ask him tomorrow* and if he told her no* she would come up with another plan. One way or another* she meant to catch him and save her papa the trouble.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 2

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Scotland* 1119

He wore war paint to his wedding.

Connor MacAlister's mood was just as grim as the dark blue paint smeared across his face and arms. The laird wasn't happy about the duty he'd taken on* but he was an honorable man* and he would do whatever was required to gain justice.

Connor had vengeance on his mind and in his heart; though* in truth* he didn't think he was unusual. Every Highlander worth his sword was vengeful. It was simply the way things were.

Five soldiers rode with their laird. The men were also finely turned out for battle* but their collective mood was much lighter* because none of them was going to be saddled with an English bride for the rest of his days.

Quinlan* the first-in-command* rode beside his laird. The warrior was almost Connor's equal in height* but he wasn't quite as muscular through his shoulders* upper arms* and thighs and* therefore* didn't measure up to Connor's strength. That wasn't the reason Quinlan had stayed on with the MacAlister clan* however. It was Connor's intelligence* his relentless thirst for justice* and his unwavering leadership abilities that kept the warrior by his side. As his loyal follower* Quinlan would give his life to keep his laird safe. Connor had already saved him once* and Quinlan knew his laird would willingly do so again and again* regardless of the risk. The other men felt the same way Quinlan did* for Connor treated all of his followers as valuable members of his family.

Quinlan wasn't just a loyal follower; he was also a close friend* and like all the other MacAlisters* he too embraced his grudges* stroking them like lovers for years and years if need be* until he could find a way to right a wrong done to him or his family.

"It isn't too late to change your mind*" Quinlan remarked. "There are other ways to retaliate against MacNare on my father's behalf."

"No. I've already sent word to my stepmother that I am taking a bride* and nothing you can say to me will make me change my mind."

"Do you think Euphemia will finally come back then?"

"Probably not*" Connor answered. "She finds it too difficult to return to our land since my father was taken from her. She mourns his passing even to this day."

"What about Alec? Your brother ordered you to end this feud* and you gave him your word to do just that."

"Yes* and this will be my last insult. It will surely pain MacNare for a long* long time. I'll have to be content with that. You know how hungry the pig is for an alliance with the English. We'll use his greed to our advantage. Remember* friend* he shamed and humiliated your family."

"And we warred against him for his treachery."

"It wasn't enough*" Connor decreed. "When I'm finished* your father will be able to hold his head up again. He'll be vindicated."

Quinlan suddenly laughed. "I'm thinking God had a hand in this* Connor. We didn't know until this morning the name of the daughter you meant to take. Do you remember her yet?"

"She wasn't easy to forget. Besides* I now have a better reason to give to Alec. That is more important to me."

"Your brother's going to be furious all the same."

"No* he'll be pleased once I make him realize the Englishwoman betrothed herself to me long ago."

"And what will you tell him?"

"The truth. She did ask me to marry her. You haven't forgotten that fact. You laughed for a week."

Quinlan nodded. "She asked you three times* but I would remind you that was years ago. She will surely have forgotten."

Connor smiled. "Will that matter?"

Lady Brenna was suddenly overcome with the eerie sensation that someone or something was watching her. She was kneeling by the side of a shallow stream* drying her face and her hands with her embroidered cloth* when she felt a presence behind her.

She didn't make any quick movements. She knew better than to jump up and run back to camp. If a wild boar or worse were close by* any sudden actions would only draw more attention to herself.

She pulled her dagger free and slowly turned as she stood up* bracing herself for what might be lurking in the dark underbrush.

There wasn't anything there. She waited several minutes for the threat to present itself* and still nothing moved. The only sound she heard was the loud thundering of her own heartbeat.

It had been foolish for her to walk so far away from where her father's men had made the nooning camp. If anything happened* she had no one to blame but herself* and if she hadn't been so desperate for a moment alone* she would have thought more about the possible consequences. She still would have gone in search of privacy* of course* but she would have taken the necessary precautions and carried her bow and arrows.

Had she left her instincts at home? She thought she must have because she still felt she was being watched* and that didn't make a bit of sense to her.

Brenna decided she was just being foolish. If someone or something was there* she would have heard him or it approaching long before now. Papa had often told her how exceptional her hearing was* and wasn't it a fact that he often boasted to his friends that she could hear the first leaf of autumn falling on a field of battle? Of course* this was an exaggeration. Still* there was some truth in what he said. She usually did hear every little sound.

But she didn't hear anything now. Brenna decided she was simply overwrought. The journey had been difficult for her* and she was tuckered out. Yes* that was it. Fatigue had to be the reason she was imagining threats that weren't there.

Laird MacNare. Heaven save her* every minute she had to spare* her mind turned to thoughts of her future husband. Then she usually threw up. She was thankful she hadn't eaten today* knowing she'd be doubled over now if she had. Granted* she had never met the man and could be jumping to all the wrong conclusions. He might be quite pleasant. All those horrible stories about him could be exaggerations. Lord* she fervently hoped so. She didn't want to be married to a cruel man* couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like* and* oh* how she'd tried to dissuade her father from making such a choice for her. He wouldn't listen to any of her arguments* but then he rarely did.

He'd been terribly cold in the way he'd told her* too. He shook her awake in the middle of the night* informed her of his decision* and then ordered her to help her mother and the maids prepare her baggage. She would leave for the Lowlands of Scotland at first light. The explanation he gave her on his way out the doorway wasn't comforting. The marriage would help her father extend his fingers into Scotland* and since the king had decided Rachel should marry one of his favored barons* Haynesworth would give Brenna to MacNare. What was implied but not said was more painful for her to bear: her father loved her* aye* but he loved power and influence more.

And gifts as well* she thought. MacNare had sweetened the kettle by adding more treasures. Granted* the king didn't know about the betrothal and was sure to be angry* but her father didn't seem overly concerned. Greed filled his heart* leaving little room for caution or fear.

Once she'd stopped crying* her mother had tried to give her advice. She suggested Brenna quit worrying. Everything was bound to turn out all right* providing her daughter learned to get along* and let go of her childish dreams.

Thinking about her parents was making her homesick. She couldn't understand why* given the fact that they had forced her into this unwelcome marriage. Yet* she wanted to go back home. She missed everyone* even her old* cranky nursemaid* who was still bossing everyone around.

Enough of this self-pity. She knew she'd be weeping like a baby if she didn't stop. Her future was determined* and only God would be able to change her fate.

Her father's soldiers were probably anxious to be on their way. She thought they might already be on MacNare land* but she knew they still had a good full day's ride ahead of them before they reached his fortress.

Brenna hastily tried to repair her braid. The thing had fallen apart while she was bending over the water washing her face. She started to refashion the braid* then changed her mind. What did she care what she looked like when she met the laird? She pulled the ribbon free* threaded her fingers through her hair* and* in the process* dropped both her dagger and her ribbon.

She had just picked up her dagger when she heard an abrupt shout from Harold* the soldier in charge of her escort.

She picked up her skirts and went running back toward the camp to find out what was wrong. Her lady's maid* Beatrice* intercepted her. The heavyset woman came barreling down the narrow path* grabbed hold of Brenna's arm* and tried to keep on going. The look of terror in Beatrice's eyes sent chills of dread down Brenna's spine.

"Run* mi'lady*" she screamed. "We've been attacked by demons. Hide yourself before it's too late. The savages are going to kill the soldiers* but it's you they're wanting most of all. You mustn't let them find you. Hurry now."

"Who are they?" Brenna demanded in a frightened whisper.

"Outcasts I'm thinking* so many I couldn't keep count* and all with blue faces and demon eyes. They're as big as Satan himself. One has already boasted to kill Harold first if he doesn't tell him where you hide."

"Harold won't tell."

"He did tell* he did*" she cried out* bobbing her head up and down for emphasis. "He threw his sword down and was giving them your whereabouts when I saw my chance to run. Your father's men will still die. The heathens only wait now for their leader to join them* and then the butchering is sure to begin. They'll drink their blood and eat their flesh."

Beatrice panted with her hysteria. In an attempt to get her mistress to move* she tightened her hold on Brenna's arm* drawing blood as her nails dug deep into skin.

Brenna struggled to get away from the woman. "The soldiers were still alive when you left?" she asked.

"Aye* but it's only a matter of time before they're killed. For the love of God* run."

"I can't leave the soldiers. Go* save yourself."

"Are you daft?"

"If they want me* perhaps they'll listen to my pleas and let Father's soldiers leave. It's a poor substitution* one life for twelve. I know it's foolhardy* but I must try."

"You'll die for your stupidity*" she muttered as she shoved Brenna out of her way and ran on into the forest.

Panic-stricken* Brenna wanted to follow her maid* but couldn't. It took all of her courage not to give in to the lure* because if the maid was telling the truth* Brenna knew she could well die in just a few minutes. Dear God* she was scared. Dying required bravery* a noble quality she suddenly feared she'd left at home* but she couldn't let Harold and the others die because of her own cowardice. Even though it was a remote possibility that she would be able to persuade the demons to let the soldiers leave* she had to try to save them* no matter how frightened she was.

She hurried toward the clearing and began her final prayer to God. She didn't waste precious time asking forgiveness for each transgression. It would have taken her a month to get them all remembered* categorized* and confessed* and so she lumped them all together and simply begged for absolution for the lot. She finished her supplication with the request that He please give her enough cunning to find a way to keep on living.

Then she started chanting. "Oh Lord* Oh Lord* Oh Lord."

By the time she reached the curve in the broken path just outside the campsite* she was trembling so fiercely* she could barely stand up straight. She remembered the dagger she still held in her right hand* hid it behind her back beneath a fold in her gown* and forced herself to take a deep breath.

It was going to be extremely difficult to get the savages to listen to a woman. If she stammered or looked afraid* any chance she might have would be lost. She had to be bold* she told herself. Fearless.

She was finally ready. She kept up her chant to God to please help her get out of this* and if He wasn't in the mood to let her live any longer* then couldn't He please make her death quick? She tucked in the word painless every other second* and all of her pleas were squeezed into "Oh Lord* Oh Lord* Oh Lord." In her heart she was certain God understood what she was asking.

They were waiting for her. She wanted to faint when she saw them. She heard several long* indrawn breaths* knew the heathens had made the sounds* and while the sight of her apparently stunned them—the looks on their faces indicated as much—such a reaction didn't make sense. They'd obviously been waiting for her to appear* because they were all facing her when she walked into their lair.

They weren't too many to count. Beatrice had exaggerated about their number. There were only five savages* standing in a half-circle behind her father's soldiers. Still* the five were enough to make her knees start quaking and her stomach lurch.

She barely spared the outcasts more than a glance* as her first concern was for her soldiers. Harold and the others were down on their knees in the center of the clearing. Their heads were bowed* and their hands were clasped behind their backs* yet when she moved closer* she could see none of them had been tied. She looked them over to ascertain the extent of their injuries and was surprised* and relieved* to see they looked as fit as ever.

She had to force herself to look up at the outcasts again. Lord* they were a sight for future nightmares. They weren't demons* though. No* no* they were just men* she thought a little frantically. Very large men. Beatrice had also called them savages* and Brenna was in full agreement with that assessment. 'Twas the truth it seemed to be the only thing the crazed woman had gotten right. Yes* savages. The description fit* given that they had blue paint smeared on their faces. Adorning themselves in such a strange fashion must have been part of some ancient ritual. She wondered if human sacrifice was another ritual they followed* and immediately she blocked the horrible thought.

Their garments were also primitive* yet familiar to her. They wore muted brown and yellow and green wool plaids. Their knees were bare* and their feet were covered in elk boots* laced together with leather strips above their calves.

They were Scots. Could they be enemies of Laird MacNare? They were trespassing on his land now. Were they going to kill her as some sort of repayment for the sins of her future husband?

She didn't like the idea of dying for a man she'd never met* but then she really didn't like the notion of dying in any case* she reminded herself. Did the reason really matter?

Why didn't they speak to her? She felt as though they'd been staring at her for at least an hour* yet knew probably just a minute or two had actually passed.

Fearless* she ordered herself. I must be fearless.

Oh Lord* Oh Lord* Oh Lord…

"I am Lady Brenna."

She waited for someone to attack her. No one moved. And then* just as she was about to demand that they tell her their intentions and be quick about it* the Scots surprised the breath right out of her. As one* they dropped to their knees* put their hands over their hearts* and bowed their heads to her. Their united show of respect stunned her. No* no* not respect* she thought. Weren't they mocking her? God's truth* she couldn't tell.

She waited until all of them had regained their feet before trying to locate the leader so she could address him. None of them was giving her hints. The blue paint made for more confusion. Their faces were like masks with their grim expressions.

She settled on the biggest of the lot* a dark-haired warrior with gray eyes. She stared directly at him* willing him to speak to her* but he didn't say a word.

Oh* Lord* Oh* Lord…

"Why won't you speak to me?"

The one she'd been staring at suddenly smiled at her. "We were waiting* mi'lady*" he explained in a deep* forceful voice.

She frowned over his half-given answer. Since he'd spoken in Gaelic* she decided to accommodate him. She and her sisters had conquered the language at her father's nagging insistence* and she was thankful he'd gotten his way. This outcast's dialect was certainly different from what she'd learned* but she was still able to catch enough to understand what he was saying to her.

"Waiting for what?" she asked in Gaelic.

The Scot looked surprised. He was quick to hide his reaction by staring into the distance.

"We were waiting for you to finish your prayer."

"My prayer?" she asked* thoroughly confused

"You seem to have gotten stuck on the beginning* lass. Couldn't you remember the rest of it?" another Scot asked her.

"Oh* Lord* Oh* Lord…"

"There she goes again*" yet another warrior whispered.

Good God Almighty* she'd been praying out loud.

"I was praying for patience*" she announced with as much dignity as she could summon. "Who are you?"

"MacAlister's men."

"The name means nothing to me. Should I know him?"

A warrior with a rather nasty-looking scar across his brow and down one side of his nose stepped forward.

"You know our laird very well* mi'lady."

"You are mistaken* sir."

"Please call me by my name* mi'lady. It's Owen* and I would be honored if you would."

She was having extreme difficulty understanding why the heathen was being so outrageously polite to her* given her horrific situation. Were they going to kill her or not?

"Very well* I shall call you Owen."

The warrior looked thrilled by her acquiescence* but she felt like throwing her hands up in despair. "Owen* are you going to kill me and my father's loyal soldiers?"

They all seemed taken aback by her question. The one with the gray eyes answered her. "Nay* Lady Brenna. We would never harm you. Each of us has just vowed to protect you until the day we die."

The other warriors quickly nodded agreement.

They were out of their minds* she decided then and there. "Why in heaven's name would you want to protect me?"

"Because of our laird*" Owen answered.

They were determined to talk about their leader* which was all well and good because she really wasn't able to pay attention to a word they said now. She was overcome by blissful relief. If Gray Eyes had told her the truth* no one was going to die* and all of her fears had been for naught. Thank you* God.

She wasn't about to celebrate just yet* however* because the intruders still hadn't explained why they had come here. They didn't look the sort to be paying a social call* and she knew she would have to find out their real motive before she could ever hope to figure out a way to get them to leave.

She'd best stay on her guard* while she tried to get some answers.

"I know you're Scots*" she began* surprised her own voice sounded so weak. "But exactly where in Scotland do you call home?"

Gray Eyes looked appalled. "My name is Quinlan* mi'lady* and we don't consider ourselves Scots. We're Highlanders."

The other men nodded their agreement.

She had just learned an interesting fact. Highlanders didn't want to let go of the old* dusty habits of their ancestors. The way these men were dressed* in such primitive attire* was an indication* and if she hadn't been so rattled* she would have realized how they felt before she'd tried to address them.

She couldn't imagine anyone having such a backward attitude* but she wasn't going to make them angry by telling them so. If they wanted to be savages* she certainly didn't care.

"You are Highlanders. Thank you* Quinlan* for taking the time to instruct me."

He inclined his head to her. "I would thank you* mi'lady* for seeking instruction from your humble follower."

She let out a loud sigh of frustration. "Please don't take offense* but I really don't want you to follow me anywhere."

He smiled at her.

"You aren't planning to leave anytime soon* are you?" She sounded pitiful.

His eyes sparkled devilishly. "Nay* mi'lady* we aren't."

"You really don't remember our laird?" Owen asked.

"Why would I remember him? I've never even met the man."

"You asked him to marry you."

"You are mistaken* Owen. I did no such thing."

"But* mi'lady* I was told you asked him three times."

"Three times? I asked him…"

She suddenly stopped. Three times. Good God* he couldn't be talking about… She shook her head in disbelief. No* no* that was years ago* and he couldn't possibly know what she'd foolishly done.

Only Joan knew about her plan to find a husband* and she would never have told anyone outside of the family. Brenna didn't have an actual recollection of proposing—she'd been too young at the time to remember it now—but her sister had told her the story so many times* she felt as though it had happened only yesterday. Like any sister* Joan had delighted in tormenting Brenna about her outrageous behavior. She especially loved to linger over the part about the piglet.

Why Brenna had wanted to catch her own husband or steal a pig to raise as her own pet she couldn't guess now* and the only excuse she could come up with was that she had been very* very young.

"It happened a long time ago* mi'lady*" Owen said.

They knew. How they'd found out was beyond her comprehension* but then she was so rattled* she could barely think straight at all.

"This man denied my request… didn't he?"

Quinlan shook his head. "Twice he sent back his refusal* but it's our understanding you're still waiting to hear his answer to your last proposal."

"I am not waiting to hear his answer." Her voice was emphatic.

"It would seem to us that you are*" Owen insisted.

Neither man appeared to be teasing her. Honest to God* they looked sincere.

What in thunder was she going to do?

"I keep waiting for you to laugh* but you aren't going to* are you* Quinlan?"

He didn't bother to answer her. In fact* all of them were quite content to stand there talking to her. Their behavior was most Peculiar. These warriors didn't seem the sort to want to linger anywhere* but they were lingering now. Were they waiting for something to happen* and if so* what?

Brenna didn't like having to be patient. She had the sinking feeling she wasn't going to find out their plans until they felt like explaining* though.

She refused to believe they had come all this way just to remind her of a proposal she'd made years ago* and they couldn't possibly expect her to honor it now. She didn't believe their nonsense about being her humble followers either.

Though it was probably foolhardy* she decided to catch them in their lie.

"You have said you are my humble followers. Were you telling the truth* Quinlan?"

The warrior looked over her head* into the forest* before he answered. He smiled too.

"I am here to protect you and serve you* mi'lady. We all are."

She smiled back. "Then you will do as I bid you to do?"

"Of course."

"All right* then. I bid you to leave."

He didn't move. She wasn't the least bit surprised.

"I cannot help but notice you're still here* Quinlan. Did you perchance misunderstand me?"

The giant looked as though he was about to laugh. He shook his head and said* "I cannot serve you if I leave you. Surely you understand."

She surely didn't understand. She was about to ask him if she could leave without worry he'd follow her* but Owen interrupted her with yet another reminder.

"Mi'lady* about your proposal…"

"Are we back to that?"

Owen nodded. "You did ask*" he stubbornly insisted.

"Yes* I did ask. I have since changed my mind. Is this man still alive? He must be terribly old by now. Did he send you to me?"

Quinlan answered. "He did."

"Where is he?"

Quinlan smiled at her again. The others were grinning too.

"He's standing right behind me* isn't he?" She thought her nervousness had kept her from hearing him.

[Dalyia]

Every one of the heathens nodded. "All the while?" she whispered.

"Only just now*" Quinlan answered.

And that was why they'd all been waiting. She should have realized. If she hadn't been so busy trying to figure out a way to get them to leave* she would have considered the possibility that their leader might come along.

She didn't want to turn around* of course* but pride prevented her from trying to run. Tightening her hold on her dagger* she braced herself for what she was going to see* and finally turned.

Oh* yes* he'd been right behind her* all right. How could she not have known? The warrior was as tall as a pine tree. If she reached out* she could pinch him. She stared at his massive chest* suddenly too worried to look up. His size was staggering. Why* the top of her head didn't even reach his chin. He stood just a foot or two away from her* and when she took an instinctive step back* he took a step forward.

She really was going to have to look at his face* she told herself. He'd see it as a sign of cowardice if she didn't. Trying to run away would probably give him a hint of how intimidating his size was to her* and why* oh* why* couldn't she find any gumption? She had some just a few minutes ago.

Connor was just running out of patience when she looked directly into his eyes. His own reaction surprised him. The force of her beauty made his breath catch in the back of his throat. He'd thought her pretty when he was watching her by the stream* muttering to herself while she tugged on her braid to get her ribbon undone* but he hadn't taken the time to observe how truly beautiful she was. He hadn't been close enough* or curious enough.

The woman really was exquisite. He couldn't seem to stop staring at her now. The power of her beauty captivated him* and he suddenly realized he wasn't any better than his men. He'd been furious when he'd seen how besotted they were* and now* he admitted* he was in much the same condition.

How could he not have noticed such perfection? Her skin was flawless; her eyes were a clear* sparkling color of blue* and her rosy* full mouth made him want to think about all the erotic doing* he turned his gaze to her forehead so that he could regain his concentration.

It took him a little longer to remember how to breathe again. His discipline finally came to his aid* and even though he knew she would be a tantalizing danger to his peace of mind* he was still extremely pleased with her. Her bonny looks would make the sting in his insult all the more painful for such a shallow pig as MacNare to endure. Beautiful women were hard to come by in England* or so he'd heard* and this rare treasure had all but fallen into his lap.

It really had been disgustingly easy. None of her soldiers offered the least resistance. He didn't even have to make a fist. He simply walked into their camp* commanded them to kneel* and* by all that was holy* they knelt. Meek as lambs they were* and just as cowardly. Several of the weaklings even tossed their weapons away.

Only one soldier had made an attempt* halfhearted as it was* to shout a warning to his mistress. Connor heard the sound while he was keeping watch over Lady Brenna to make certain no harm came to her while she lingered by the stream* but one of his own men—Quinlan* no doubt—silenced the soldier. Lady Brenna also heard the noise* and that was precisely when she dropped her ribbon and her cloth and started back to camp. Curiosity made her hurry* but after the other Englishwoman grabbed hold of her and filled her head with outrageous tales about demons* it took true courage for her to continue on.

He knew she believed she was running toward her own death. The look of fear on her face indicated as much. One life for twelve. Weren't those her exact words? Connor had been thoroughly confused by her behavior. She was Haynesworth's daughter* wasn't she? Yet* she wasn't like any of the English he'd ever known. In all his years of battles* he'd never witnessed a single act of true courage by any of the English… until today. He thought about mentioning that remarkable fact to her* then changed his mind. He didn't believe it would be a good idea to talk to her just yet. The woman was going to have to get past her fear of him silence was prudent now.

He clasped his hands behind his back and patiently waited for her to get hold of herself. He wondered if she still believed he was a demon. The look in her eyes suggested she might* and it took a good deal of restraint not to smile* so ludicrous was the notion.

She really was going to have to become accustomed to being around him. Hell* he planned to bed her that evening* but he wasn't going to tell her his plan now. She was going to be his wife* no matter how long it took him to get her to agree in front of the priest. If necessary* he would waste the rest of the day waiting for her to calm down enough to listen to him.

Brenna was determined to hide her fear and thought she'd been successful thus far. She couldn't tell if he was a handsome devil or an ugly-as-sin one. She couldn't quite get past the blue paint to notice. She certainly noticed his eyes* though* but only because they were the color of darkness and as warm and soothing as a fist coming her way. His bone structure appeared to be intact. He had a straight nose* high cheekbones* and a hard-looking mouth. His hair was overly long* almost shoulder length* and the color of night. Odd* but it appeared to be clean.

She didn't have any idea how long she'd been staring up at him* and she certainly didn't notice any movement on his part* yet suddenly his hand was on top of hers. She stupidly looked down as he pulled her hand out from behind her back* and watched him gently pry her dagger away from her fingers.

She assumed he'd either keep the weapon or toss it away to show her his obvious physical superiority* and she was* therefore* astonished when he replaced the dagger in the leather sheath she wore hooked to the ornate belt draped around the tilt of her hips.

"Thank you*" she whispered before she could stop herself.

What in thunder was the matter with her? Why was she thanking him? He'd just scared the curl out of her hair. Shouldn't she be giving him a blistering for the terror he'd caused her?

Lord* she was out of her mind if she thought she could give him a piece of her mind. How could she shout at him when she couldn't even find her voice? Besides* her little dagger wouldn't have done him any real harm. That was probably the reason he let her keep it. The strength radiating from the giant suggested he wouldn't even flinch if she tried to injure him.

But* the giant wasn't a god or a demon. He was just a man* very primitive and frightening* yet still just a man. Besides* anyone with a pinch of sense knew women were smarter than men. Her mother had shared that bit of wisdom with her daughters on many occasions* although never in the presence of their father. Mother was always honest* sometimes to a fault. She was also very kind and would* therefore* never say anything that would hurt any man's feelings.

Brenna wasn't going to follow her mother's example. She would try to be a little kind* but she wouldn't be completely honest. She'd never get out of this mess if she told the truth.

"I don't remember you."

He shrugged. He obviously didn't care if she remembered him or not.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding*" she began again. "I wasn't waiting for you to answer my proposal." Her voice sounded stronger now.

"I was just a child back then. Surely you haven't been considering my request all these many years." Didn't the man have anything better to think about? "Your men were jesting with me* weren't they?"

He shook his head. Her throat began to ache with her need to shout at him. Apparently he was as demented as his followers* though far less convivial. How was she ever going to get through to him?

Her father would kill her if he ever found out about her marriage proposals. The thought actually worried her for a second or two before she realized how ridiculous it was. Papa would have to get in line to do her in* behind the stone-silent warrior* his followers… and MacNare. Good God* she'd forgotten about him. MacNare was bound to be furious when he found out about his intended bride's audacity.

Brenna could see only one way out of her predicament. She had to find a way to make the barbarian understand.

"I have to leave now. Laird MacNare might not be understanding if I'm late. He's supposed to be sending an escort to meet me. I wouldn't want to see any of you harmed because of a little misunderstanding.''

The outcast suddenly reached out and took hold of her. His big hands settled on her shoulders in a firm grip* a silent message* she supposed* that she wasn't going anywhere until he was ready to let her. He wasn't hurting her though* and in fact* he was being extremely gentle.

She frowned up at him while she tried to make sense out of the madness surrounding her.

"Your arrival here has absolutely nothing to do with the proposals I sent* isn't that right? You have another motive in mind."

Nothing. Not a word* not a nod* not even a blink. Was she talking to a tree?

She could feel the heat building in her face* knew frustration was the reason for her blush* and let out a thoroughly loud* unladylike sigh that sounded very like a groan.

"All right* we will assume you're here because of my proposals. As I explained to you just a minute ago* I don't remember meeting you. One of my sisters knew all about my foolishness. She told me I'd been worrying about never finding a husband* though I doubt I even understood what husbands were for* and so to ease my worry* Joan told me what to do. She never supposed I'd go through with the plan; but now that I think about it* this is my father's fault because he told me he'd never be able to find any man who would put up with me* and it's your fault too* sir* because you smiled at me. I truly don't remember anything else about our meeting* just your smile. I'll always remember that. In England* you must understand* proper ladies do not ask gentlemen to marry them. It just isn't done*" she added in a near shout. "As God is my witness* I really don't have enough strength left in me to go through this explanation again."

"What did you say to the messenger* mi'lady? Do you remember the exact words of your last proposal?" She recognized Quinlan's voice behind her.

How in thunder could she possibly remember? Hadn't any of them been listening?

She couldn't turn to face Quinlan because their leader still had hold of her* and he didn't seem to be the least bit inclined to let go.

"I probably said* 'Will you marry me?'"

Connor smiled. He pulled her toward him* lowered his head* and kissed her just long enough to stun her.

He lifted his head then* looked into her eyes* and finally spoke to her.
"Yes* Brenna. I will marry you."

[Dalyia]

Chapter 3

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The man was clearly demented. He was determined to marry her. Her thoughts about marrying him seemed inconsequential to him. God only knew* she tried everything but physical force to get him to be reasonable. She argued* she pleaded* she prayed.

And all for naught. She had to resort to unladylike measures next. She stomped her foot down hard on top of his to get her point across. He didn't even flinch. She doubled over from the searing pain shooting up from her instep and had to take hold of his arm so she wouldn't completely disgrace herself and fall to the ground. Thankfully* it didn't take her more than a minute or two to regain what pitiful threads of dignity she had left and let go of him. Then she started all over again. She was quite proud of herself* really. She never once raised her voice as she calmly listed at least a hundred valid reasons why they couldn't possibly marry. She might as well have been talking to the wind. The barbarian didn't appear to be the least bit swayed. She wasn't even certain if he was still breathing. He simply listened to her with his arms folded across his chest and a you're-boring-me-into-a-trance look on his face* and when she ran out of dire consequences he would suffer as a result of his insanity* he calmly took hold of her hand and started dragging her behind him toward the horses.

Saints be enraged* she had to get out of this mess. She tried to think of a plan* pleading for God's help all the while* of course. Her thoughts and prayers were interrupted when Quinlan called out to him.

"What is it?"

Quinlan motioned to the English soldiers.

The Highlander didn't need time to mull the matter over. He didn't even bother to stop* but called the obscene order over his shoulder.

"Kill them."

"No." She screamed the denial in a voice that shook with terror.

He was astonished by her reaction. "No?"

"No*" she cried out again.

"Why not?"

Dear God* what kind of man would ask such a question?

He was finally giving her his full attention* however. He turned to her and patiently waited for her to answer him.

She noticed he didn't let go of her hand. "They're defenseless*" she began. "You took their weapons away."

"No* I didn't take their weapons away. They threw them down when we walked into camp. Tell me why they should live*" he said in a voice that sounded quite pleasant given the circumstances. "What is their primary duty? Their only duty? Their sacred duty?"

She could tell he was beginning to get angry. His voice had hardened with each question he asked. He was also squeezing her fingers so hard they hurt. "Their primary duty is to defend."

He relaxed his hold. "And who do they defend?" he demanded.

"The king first and always* then the baron to whom they've given their pledge of fealty."

"And?" he prodded.

Too late* she realized where he was headed. God help her* she couldn't come up with a quick way to change direction.

"Me."

"And did they?"

"What they did or didn't do isn't your concern."

"It is my concern*" he corrected. "Those men have no honor. They deserve to die."

"Such a decision isn't yours to make."

"Of course it is*" he replied. "You're going to be my wife."

"So you say."

"So I know*" he snapped* his voice as hard as sleet now. "I cannot allow such cowards to live."

"There is another reason you cannot kill them*" she stammered. Please* God* help me think of one* she thought. She bowed her head and stared down at the ground while she frantically tried to think of something clever to persuade him. "I'm waiting."

So was she* but God apparently wasn't in the mood to be helpful. "You won't understand*" she whispered. "What won't I understand?"

"If you kill my father's soldiers* I couldn't possibly marry you."

"Is that so?"

He sounded to her as if he wanted to laugh. She looked up to see whether he was smiling and was thankful she'd been wrong. He looked just as somber and mean as before.

"Yes* that is so. I told you you wouldn't understand. If you weren't a heathen…"

"I'm not a heathen."

She didn't believe him. The man was smeared with paint* after all. Only pagans would follow such ungodly rituals.

Connor had wasted enough of his time discussing the matter. He looked at Quinlan* fully intending to tell him to let the soldiers leave* though certainly not because of her weak protests. No* it was the fear he'd caused her that made him change his mind. Fear had its place* especially in the hearts of his enemies* but it would be wrong for a wife to fear her husband.

She wouldn't give him time to be magnanimous. "Wait*" she cried out. "Is it important for you to marry me?"

He shrugged. She translated the rude action to mean* yes* it was important. "And you are unwilling to explain your reasons?" 'I need not explain myself to you."

"I think perhaps I'd best explain my intentions to you* though." she replied. "And then I believe you'll understand. If you aren't a heathen* how are you going to get me to marry you? Will you simply announce to your family and friends that you have taken a wife? Or will there be a ceremony with a priest to hear our vows and bless our union?"

"There will be a priest."

She frowned. "A priest in good standing with the church?"

He smiled then. He simply couldn't stop himself. Lord* she was suspicious. "A priest in good standing*" he promised.

Victory was suddenly within her grasp. She said a quick prayer in thanksgiving to God for helping her* promised to get down on her knees later to beg His forgiveness because she'd believed He hadn't listened to her plea for assistance* and then said* "Exactly how do you plan to get me to repeat my vows in front of this man of God?"

"You will."

"Will I?"

She had him there. She couldn't possibly know how important it was for her to agree to marry him. He wasn't worried about the behavior of the priest or Brenna during the actual ceremony. He could be intimidating when he needed to be. It was Alec Kincaid who gave him pause. Connor was already standing on trembling ground with his brother* and if Brenna let Alec know she hadn't agreed* there would be hell to pay. He could deal with that* but if Alec wanted the pig MacNare to have her* Connor would have to go against him.

She was pleased to see his smile disappear. "Now I think you understand*" she said. "I would like you to let the soldiers leave unharmed. Let them go to Laird MacNare or back to my father."

The innocent woman actually thought she was saving their lives. Connor knew better. MacNare would surely torture the men before he disposed of them* and although her father probably wouldn't be as twisted with his punishment* Connor assumed he would still kill them because they had dishonored him.

"And if I agree to this difficult bargain?" he asked* trying to keep his amusement out of his voice. "You'll accept this marriage? I want your agreement and your acceptance."

"There's a difference?"

"There is*" he replied. "In time* you'll understand."

"Do you expect me to give you my promise without knowing exactly what it is I'm promising?"

"Do you expect me to let twelve cowards live when they poison the air I breathe?"

He was frowning at her now* and she couldn't help but worry he might be changing his mind. She decided not to press her good fortune. She had just won an important victory* hadn't she?

Still* she didn't feel like celebrating. "I'll agree and I'll accept."

"You have a kind heart."

She was astonished by his compliment. "Thank you."

"It wasn't praise*" he snapped. "I want you to rid yourself of such a weakness."

He'd rendered her speechless. How could she possibly argue with such opinions?

His followers were just as odd as their leader. When they were ordered to let the soldiers leave unharmed* they didn't even try to hide their disappointment. They pouted like babies. She glared at the Highlanders while she was being pulled along by their leader. Quinlan had the gall to smile back at her.

The man she had just promised to accept didn't speak to her again until they were well away from the others.

"Brenna?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not always going to be this pleasant."

She could tell he was serious* but still she wanted to laugh until she cried. She was fast losing her control and forced herself to calm down. She needed to stay clearheaded so she could figure a way to get out of this nightmare.

Oh* Lord* what had she gotten herself into?

Damn it all* none of this was her fault. She knew the truth* though she doubted anyone in her family would understand* especially her father. On her way out the door to go to MacNare* hadn't she threatened to do something rash? Papa was surely going to think she'd done just that.

"If my father blames me for this marriage* you're going to have to set him straight. I didn't plan this* and you're going to tell him so. Promise me you will."

He didn't answer her. She knew he'd heard every word* though* because she'd shamelessly raised her voice. "Promise me*" she demanded again.

He lifted her onto her horse* and while that was very thoughtful of him indeed* she didn't thank him.

She grabbed his hand as he let go of her waist. "Promise me?" she asked yet again.

"'Tis doubtful you'll ever see your family again. Your concern is foolish."

He thought he was very reasonable.

She thought he was deliberately cruel. Tears filled her eyes over the very idea that she might not see her family again.

She pushed his hand away. "I will see them again. You cannot expect me to… Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to walk away from someone when she's talking to you?"

Connor couldn't believe what he'd just heard. She had actually criticized him. No one had ever spoken to him with such open disapproval before* and a woman addressing him in such a fashion was simply beyond his comprehension.

Honest to God* he didn't know how to react. If she were a man* he knew exactly what he would do* of course* but she wasn't a man* and that made his dilemma confusing. Brenna certainly wasn't like any of the women he'd known. Most avoided him* and those who had more courage kept their heads lowered and their bearing humble in his presence.

His reaction to Brenna was bewildering. She made him feel like smiling* even when she was frowning at him. In truth* she was such a refreshing change from all of the others* he couldn't even begin to imagine her cowering before him* and though her bizarre behavior pleased him* he knew it would be a mistake to let her think she could always get away with such defiance. It would be a poor beginning at best. He was going to be her laird* and she needed to understand exactly what that meant. Appreciation would come later. He decided to be understanding now* so he put his hand on her thigh* gently squeezed* and stared into her eyes.

"You don't understand yet* and for that reason* I will be patient with you."

"Exactly what don't I understand?"

"Your position in my household. Soon you'll learn to value the great honor I've bestowed on you by marrying you."

Her eyes turned a deep violet blue. Lord* she was pretty when she was angry.

"I will?" she asked.

"You will."

She put her hand on top of his and began to squeeze. She wasn't at all gentle.

"Perhaps you should bestow this great honor on someone who does understand*" she suggested.

He ignored her remark and continued on with his explanation. "Until you learn to appreciate the gift I've given you* I expect you to voice your opinions only when you are asked to do so. I cannot tolerate insolence. Now give me your promise."

She was neither impressed nor intimidated by his gruff commands. A woman could only take so much* after all* and she'd just about reached her limit. Surely she would wake up from this nightmare any moment now.

"I may never voice my opinions?" she asked.

"When others who follow me are present* you may not*" he qualified. "When we are alone* you may do whatever you wish."

"I wish to go home."

"That isn't possible."

She let out a sigh. Home meant facing her father* and until someone explained the truth to him* she honestly didn't think she wanted to see him again.

"I'll give you my promise just as soon as you promise you'll explain to my father."

"I won't ever bend to you."

"Nor I* to you."

He ignored her outrageous boast. "However* because you're so obviously afraid of me and fear your future* I've decided to make this one exception. If I ever see your father* I'll explain what happened."

She wanted clarification. "But you won't go into detail about the proposals. Even though I was just a child* Father still might not understand."

"I won't mention your proposals."

Her smile was radiant. "Thank you."

He pointedly looked down at her hand resting on top of his. In her gratitude* she was now patting him.

He couldn't resist teasing her. "It isn't appropriate for you to show me your affection in front of the English soldiers."

She snatched her hand away. "I was not showing you affection."

"Aye* you were."

He liked having the last word. She saw him smile as he turned away from her. What a twisted sense of humor he had. Were all the people who lived in the Highlands as strange as this one? Brenna fervently hoped not. How in heaven's name was she ever going to get along with such peculiar people?

Good Lord* she was already thinking about a future with the barbarian. What was happening to her? She should be trying to think of a way to get away from him instead of wondering what it would be like to live with him.

Her reaction to him was most puzzling. She'd felt relief and true appreciation when he'd promised to speak to her father* and yet she had absolutely no reason to trust he would keep his word.

There was only one possible reason for her odd behavior* she decided. Her mind had snapped. "He's made me as addled as Beatrice… Good God* Beatrice…"

She'd forgotten all about her lady's maid. The poor woman was probably quivering with terror in the bushes somewhere.

Brenna dismounted and went running back to her father's soldiers. They were standing now* silently replacing their weapons. None of them would look at her when she called out to them* and so she moved closer.

Quinlan intercepted her by blocking her path. He didn't touch her* just stood in her way so she couldn't take another step. The other Highlanders had also moved forward to put themselves between her and her father's men.

If she hadn't known better* she would have believed they were actually trying to protect her from her very own escort. The idea was too ludicrous to consider* however* and she decided that they were simply being rude.

"I would like to speak to my father's soldiers."

Quinlan shook his head. "Your laird wouldn't like it."

He wasn't her laird; she was English* for the love of God and king* but she knew she wouldn't get what she wanted if she argued with him. She needed his cooperation* not his anger.

"I doubt your laird will mind at all*" she said. "I'll only take a minute. I promise."

Quinlan reluctantly gave in. He moved to her side* clasped his hands behind his back* and said* "You may speak to them from here."

She didn't waste any time. "Harold* please don't forget Beatrice. She's hiding near the stream. I would appreciate it if you would take her back home."

Although Harold wouldn't look at her* he did nod agreement.

"Will you tell my parents not to worry?"

Harold mumbled something under his breath she couldn't quite make out. She tried to move closer so she could hear his whisper* but Quinlan put his arm out to stop her.

She gave the Highlander a good frown to let him know what she thought of his high-handed behavior and then turned back to Harold once again.

"What did you say?" she asked. "I couldn't quite hear you."

The soldier finally looked at her. "Your father will go to war over this atrocity* mi'lady. That is what I said."

Her heart felt as though it had just dropped into her shoes.

"No* no* he mustn't go to war over me. Make him understand* Harold."

She stopped when she heard the panic in her voice* took a deep breath* and then whispered* "I won't have anyone fighting because of me. Tell my father I wanted this marriage. I asked the Highlander to come for me."

"You wanted to marry MacNare?" Harold asked* obviously misunderstanding.

"No* no* I never wanted MacNare. I wanted…"

Dear God* she was so flustered* she couldn't remember the laird's name. "I wanted…"

She gave Quinlan a frantic look. "What is the name of your laird?" she whispered.

"Connor MacAlister."

"MacAlister*" she called out. "I wanted MacAlister. Please remind my father he met my future husband a long time ago."

"It's time to leave* mi'lady*" Quinlan advised* for he'd just spotted Connor watching from the edge of the clearing. The laird didn't look at all pleased with what he was seeing.

"One last request*" she pleaded.

She didn't give Quinlan time to argue with her. "Harold* tell my father not to come after me. I want him to celebrate my…"

"Your what* mi'lady?"

She could barely get the words out without choking. "My happiness."

She ran back to her horse and was already settled in the saddle by the time Connor reached her side. He sat atop a huge black stallion that looked as mean as his master.

She made the mistake of looking up* and promptly dropped her reins in reaction to the anger she saw in his eyes. She quickly lowered her head and pretended to be terribly busy getting comfortable so he wouldn't know she was deliberately trying to shield herself from his temper.

He wasn't about to be ignored. Did she actually want him to believe she was trying to protect him from her father's wrath? The thought was both insulting and laughable.

He forced his mount closer until Brenna's leg was pressed tight against his* and then demanded her full attention by taking hold of her chin and forcing her to look at him.

"Why?"

She knew what he was asking and didn't even try to pretend she didn't. "War means death*" she answered.

He shrugged. "For some men it does*" he agreed.

"Even one man would be too many*" she explained. "I don't want anyone to fight because of me. Father has a large army* but it would be a hardship and a nuisance for him to come after me. He would insist on leading his soldiers* and I cannot help but worry you might…"

"I might what?"

"Kill him."

He was appeased. She wished she had the strength in her to push him off his horse. He was a proud and arrogant man* and she had used both flaws to her benefit by letting him assume she believed he would be the superior warrior on the battlefield. While it was true that he was physically superior—because he was younger* bigger* and obviously stronger—her father would make up for the differences by having staggering numbers on his side. It would be a slaughter* all right* and Connor MacAlister would probably end up on the bottom of the pile of wounded.

Why had she lied to Harold* then? Honest to heaven* she didn't know. She had just sealed her fate with her father* because she knew that as soon as his vassal gave him her message* he would go into a rage. He wouldn't be at all reasonable or bother to take the time to think it through and realize she couldn't possibly have planned this trickery. Not only did she not have the heart for it* she hadn't had the time.

Papa was going to blame her* and then he would turn his back on her and never acknowledge her as his daughter again. But he would stay alive to hate her. And no one would die.

"I will not inconvenience my father. However* upon reflection* I realize my own wishes won't matter. Laird MacNare is sending an escort to meet me* and I'm certain his men will kill the lot of you. I expect they should be here any moment now."

"No* they won't be coming after you."

He sounded terribly certain. It would take too much effort to argue* and she was simply too worn out to worry any longer. Her heartache for her family was so intense* she could barely keep herself from bursting into tears.

Unfortunately* she was given a long time to feel sorry for herself. They left the clearing a minute later* and no one spoke to her again until late that evening. She was squeezed in between two stone-faced warriors who didn't even glance her way. Gilly* her sweet-tempered mare* didn't like the closeness any more than she did.

Connor was nowhere to be seen. He'd disappeared ahead of the rest of them more than an hour before and still hadn't returned.

Conversation would have broken the monotony* but no one was in the mood to accommodate her. After observing them for a little while* she realized they were fully occupied seeing to their protection* constantly searching the forest for a possible threat.

As peculiar as it was to admit* she was eventually comforted by their vigilance. Her backside was taking quite a pounding* and she tried to do as her mother had often instructed and offer her misery up to heaven for all the poor lost souls bound for hell. She didn't understand how her pain would help them find their way* of course* but rules were rules* and so she decided to try to follow them.

[Dalyia]

Yes* she could suffer discomfort. Penance for past sins would do her soul good. Gilly shouldn't have to suffer* though. Her mare began to slow her gait the higher they climbed up the steep hills. The horse had been neither bred nor conditioned for such a vigorous journey. The poor thing was all worn out and was being pushed beyond her limits.

Brenna wasn't certain whom she should ask to stop. Connor would have been her first choice* of course* but he wasn't there* and she'd have to shout her demand in the hope he might hear her.

She didn't think it would be a good idea to make a sound now. The serious expressions on the soldiers' faces and their visible tension indicated they were traveling through hostile territory.

She found herself wondering if Connor had any friends. After thinking the matter over for several minutes* she concluded he didn't. He had only himself to blame* of course. The laird had all the winning ways of a wounded bear on the attack.

The comparison made her smile. Then she remembered poor Gilly. She decided to speak to Quinlan about her concern and reached over to touch his arm to gain his attention.

He reacted as though she'd pinched him. Jerking his arm away* he turned to frown at her for bothering him. Before she could whisper her worry* he motioned for her to keep silent by putting his hand to his mouth. She quickly pointed to Gilly.

The warrior wasn't blind. Surely he could see how lathered and labored her horse was.

Quinlan didn't acknowledge her concern. He simply nudged his horse into a gallop and rode ahead. She watched him until he disappeared into the trees.

She wasn't left unprotected* however. As soon as Quinlan left his position* another warrior moved forward to take his place.

And on they continued. She was wearing out. She assumed Quinlan had gone to get Connor* but the two men were taking forever to come back. She closed her eyes for what was surely just a minute or two* and when she next looked around* Connor was beside her* lifting her onto his lap. Too tired to push him away* her last thought before she fell asleep was that she would make certain she didn't lean back or press against him.

She awakened drooling all over the man. In her sleep she had turned toward him* wound her arms around his waist until her fingers were splayed against his warm skin* and somehow wiggled her way up higher onto his lap. Her face was pressed against the base of his throat. The heat radiating from him warmed her far more thoroughly than a dozen thick woolen blankets. It felt wonderful.

It was also humiliating. Her mouth was open against his skin* which made her behavior all the more disgusting. Thankfully* she remembered Gilly and was able to put her own embarrassment aside. How much longer could her horse go on before collapsing? Brenna tried to pull away from Connor and demand they stop before her mare injured herself* but he put his arm around her waist and forced her to stay where she was.

She pinched him to get his attention. He retaliated by squeezing the breath right out of her* a silent order to behave herself* no doubt* and if she'd been able to look up at his face* she was certain she would have seen him scowling. The man didn't do much of anything else.

She was mistaken. Connor was smiling* for he was vastly amused by her boldness. He knew he intimidated her; he'd seen the worry in her eyes* more than once he was sorry to admit* and yet she'd pinched him. What a contrary woman she was. If she feared him* why did she try to provoke him? He'd have to get around to asking her that very question someday* when he didn't have more important matters on his mind.

She had just made up her mind to start screaming like a demented woman* but was saved from disgracing herself in the nick of time. Connor finally decided to stop for the night. She was so thankful* she forgot to give him a piece of her mind because of the ordeal he'd put Gilly through. It was going to take the gentle mare a good week of pampering to recover.

Connor dismounted first before turning to assist her. He caught her as she was sliding down the stallion's side.

"You don't use a saddle."

"None of us use saddles."

She skirted her way around him and went running to her horse. Her legs screamed with each step she took* and she could only imagine Gilly's discomfort. She noticed her own saddle was missing* assumed one of his men had removed it for her* and was thankful for that much consideration.

Connor wouldn't let her see to Gilly's comforts. He assigned that duty to Owen* the soldier with the scarred face and a smile she thought was actually quite enchanting. She pestered him with instructions for her mare's care* thanked him for his help* and then watched like a worried mama while he led Gilly over to a spot where the moonlight wasn't barred by the trees. Her horse was cooperating* a sure sign she was up to mischief* for several times in the past she'd taken nips out of unsuspecting groomers. Brenna called out a warning and then went in search of her baggage.

The glen Connor had chosen for their respite was completely surrounded by thick forest. The ground cover and the trees were vibrant with hues of brown and green* and dabbled here and there were purple-tipped flowers just waking from winter's sleep. A canopy of thick golden green branches arched high above her. Streamers of fading light filtering down through the trees gave sufficient illumination for the short walk to the lake that* Quinlan had explained* cut through the southern tip.

Brenna was given sufficient privacy to see to her needs. After ten minutes had passed* Connor decided she'd had enough time alone and went to get her. He found her kneeling over her satchel* muttering to herself while she searched through her possessions. Several articles of clothing littered the ground around her.

She wasn't really paying attention to what she was doing. Her mind was on the problem of coming up with a plan to get out of this mess. Thankfully* time was on her side* she thought* and surely* once she'd gotten her wits about her* she'd figure something out.

Connor* towering over her* waited for her to notice him. He gave up after a few minutes and handed her the washcloth he'd picked up hours before.

"Were you searching for this?"

"Yes* thank you*" she answered almost absentmindedly. "I must have dropped it only a moment ago* or I would have noticed. I'm very observant."

He didn't correct her. He didn't give her the blue ribbon she'd also left by the stream hours ago* either. He decided to keep the thing a little longer* as a reminder that he had indeed taken a wife. He was bound to forget such an insignificant detail.

"Wash your face* Brenna. Your mouth is covered in paint."

She straightened up so quickly* she almost toppled over backward. "I don't paint my face." She was horrified by the very idea. Only women on their way to hell would do such a pagan thing. "It's my paint."

"How did I get paint…? I remember now. Just after you tricked me into asking you to marry me again* you said you would* and then you kissed me without asking permission."

"Yes*" he agreed* just to get her moving. In his opinion* the brief touch of his mouth against hers didn't qualify as a kiss* it had been a symbolic gesture* nothing more.

"The priest is waiting for us. Hurry and finish."

She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She bounded to her feet. "Now? The priest is waiting now? Why is he waiting?"

Connor was thoroughly puzzled by her behavior. She acted as though she'd just had the wind knocked out of her. "He's here to get it done*" he explained.

She demanded specifics. "Get what done?"

"You couldn't have forgotten so soon*" he replied in exasperation. "The wedding."

"Now?" she cried out again. "You want to marry me now?"

She ran her fingers through her hair* then started wringing her hands together* and* dear God* she knew she was shouting at him* but she couldn't seem to make herself stop. Connor was so chillingly calm about it all. He had to be out of his mind if he thought she could possibly marry him right now.

"What did you expect?"

She was too stunned to come up with an answer. "What did I expect? I expected time."

"Time for what?"

Time to come up with a way out of this nightmare* she wanted to scream.

"Time for you to… to take me to your home. Yes* that's what I expected. I need time to plan a proper wedding."

"Then I've saved you the trouble. You may thank me later."

"And time for you to come to your senses*" she blurted out.

"I know what I'm doing."

She suddenly felt light-headed and realized that* for the first time in her life* she was about to swoon. She turned around and went to the edge of the lake to sit down. Closing her eyes* she tried to think of a plan while the world spun out of control around her. Yes* she needed a plan. Any plan. She was in such a panic* her mind wouldn't cooperate. She would greet the priest* yes* of course she would greet him* and she would talk to him* explaining that she would be happy to share her meal with him tonight and let him get a good rest. He could marry her to the bear first thing in the morning. She would strongly suggest* even beg if she had to* that he wait a little longer* a month or two or ten* because the sacrament of marriage was a serious undertaking after all* and then if Connor still didn't realize his mistake* she'd begin work on her wedding gown.

Connor was quickly running out of patience. Now what was she doing? Honest to God* a man could take only so much* and her resistance was becoming downright bothersome. He decided to take matters* and Brenna* into his own hands. He took hold of her cloth* dipped it into the water* and squatted down in front of her. Before she could scoot away* he took hold of her chin and scrubbed her face for her.

He wasn't gentle. Her face was bright red when he finished* and he didn't know if he'd been too rough on her delicate skin or if she was blushing.

"Let's get it done*" he ordered.

He lifted her to her feet and literally pulled her along behind him.

"I finally understand. I'm dead* aren't I? I died of fright when I first saw you* and now I'm suffering for my sins. God* I wasn't that bad* was I?"

Connor pretended to ignore her rantings* and it took all he had to hide his smile. Lord* she was emotional. She wasn't crying* though. The priest would believe she'd been coerced into the marriage if she wept throughout the ceremony. Granted* she had been coerced* but he didn't want Father Sinclair to know it. There was also the fact that Connor didn't particularly like to be around women who wept all the time. They made him nervous* and given his choice* he'd take an angry wife over a weeping one any day of the week.

Brenna wasn't in the mood to cry. She felt like killing someone* and Connor was her first choice. And what kind of sinful attitude was that for her to take to her wedding? She was about to enter into holy matrimony* for the love of God.

Her wedding. It wasn't going to be at all like the wedding she'd planned in her daydreams during sewing lessons. She'd expected to be married in her father's chapel* surrounded by family and friends. What she was getting was a group of ill-mannered warriors and a priest who didn't look old enough to have finished his training.

Pride kept her from making a scene. Because everyone was watching her approach* she moved forward to walk by Connor's side* and as soon as she reached the priest* she lifted the hem of her skirts and made a formal curtsy.

"Shall we begin?" the priest said after casting a worried glance up at Connor's face.

"Now?" she cried out.

Connor let out a loud sigh. "Will you stop saying that?"

"Is something wrong with now?" the priest asked* his confusion obvious. He addressed his question to Connor and dared to frown up at him. "I must tell you* Laird* it displeases me to see you come to this sacrament dressed in war paint. I'll have to give my accounting to my superiors as well as Alec Kincaid. What will I say to them?"

"Say whatever you want to say* Father. My brother* at least* will understand."

The priest nodded. "Very well. Mi'lady* do you come here of your own free will? Do you agree to marry Laird Connor MacAlister?"

Everyone stared at her while she contemplated her answer. She had given her word* God help her* and her father's soldiers had all been breathing when they'd left her* which meant Connor had kept his part of the bargain. It was now her turn.

The priest wasn't at all concerned about the bride's confusion. He was used to nervous brides* of course* for he had already married a fair number of couples in his short while as an ordained priest and had learned to expect just about anything.

"The priest is waiting for your answer* Brenna*" Connor reminded her in a voice that held a threatening tone.

"Aye* he's waiting* lass*" Quinlan blurted out* though he deliberately kept his voice soothing in the hope of calming her down.

She finally gave in to the inevitable. "Yes* Father* of course* but…"

"You must say the words* mi'lady. The church requires that I hear you acknowledge that you marry Connor MacAlister of your own free will."

"Now?"

"Brenna* I swear to you that if I hear that word again…" Connor began.

Frantic* Brenna finally remembered the pitiful little plan she'd come up with.

"Father* we haven't been properly introduced. I don't even know your name. I should* shouldn't I? I thought we would share our evening meal together* and you and I could get to know each other* and then you could get a long rest* and tomorrow we would go to your chapel* and if you don't have a chapel* then we could keep on going until we found one* and you would instruct me so that I would be prepared for this joyful sacrament* and I…"

She suddenly went completely still. "War paint* Father? Did you say war paint? Connor MacAlister's wearing war paint to my wedding?"

She didn't mean to shout at the priest* but honest to God* her endurance was gone. She simply couldn't take anything more. She didn't care who lived and who died* even if she were the one slain. Only one thing mattered to her now. The war paint.

She turned her wrath on Connor. She was so furious with him* tears filled her eyes. "I won't have it."

The priest's mouth dropped open. He'd never heard anyone speak to Laird MacAlister in such a manner* except Alec Kincaid* of course—but he could speak to him any way he chose—and for a slip of a woman to show such open hostility was both astonishing and courageous. If he lived through this ordeal* he must remember every word he had just heard so he could repeat the tale to his friends.

Connor intended to put the fear of God into her to get her to calm down* but the tears swayed him. Why the war paint upset her was beyond his understanding* but upset she was* and he knew he wouldn't get the ceremony over and done with until he found a way to make her cooperate.

Lord* she was a nuisance.

"Brenna* you will not raise your voice to me." He deliberately tried to sound reasonable. Mean* but reasonable too.

"You will not wear war paint to our wedding."

Honest to God* she sounded as mean as he did. He couldn't help but be impressed. "I want to get this done."

She let go of his arm and crossed her arms in front of her. "We'll wait."

"If you think…"

"I won't ever ask anything more of you."

Damn it all* she looked as if she was about to start wailing. Didn't she realize she was about to become his wife? It was an honor* not a death sentence.

His bride didn't seen to understand* however. One of them was going to have to be reasonable* and he guessed it would have to be his duty.

"This really matters to you?"

She couldn't believe he needed to ask such a ridiculous question. The sacrament of matrimony was a blessed event* everyone knew that* and coming to a priest dressed for war insulted God* the church* the priest and her.

"It's very important to me."

"All right then* but this is the last time I'll ever concede to your demands."

Connor paused to glare at his followers when he noticed they were all nodding agreement. Then he turned back to his reluctant bride. "Have I made myself clear?"

"You have* and I am most appreciative."

She suddenly felt like smiling* but she maintained her somber expression until Connor walked away from her. He let out a sigh that sounded like a deep growl. She did smile then; she couldn't help herself. For the first time in a long* long while* she didn't feel afraid of her future* but then her mind had already snapped* she reminded herself* and she couldn't be reasonable about anything now. Connor was cooperating* which meant he wasn't a complete barbarian. It wasn't much to base a marriage on* but she was going to be stuck with the man for the rest of her life* and she was a desperate woman* after all. She would take what she could get* even if it was just a single thread of hope.

She kept on smiling until she remembered the blue-faced pagans who rode with the groom.

She was frowning with indignation by the time she turned to them. "Were you expecting to attend the wedding?"

She didn't have to say anything more. Quinlan and the others bowed to her before hurrying to catch up with their laird.

[Dalyia]

They didn't balk the way Connor had. Several* in fact* glanced back to smile. They seemed to want to accommodate her. She didn't dare trust any of them* of course* and she decided to follow along* just to make certain they didn't change their minds at the last minute. She believed they'd done just that when they all lined up along the edge of the bank and stood there procrastinating while they talked to one another.

Because she'd been so concerned about important matters* it hadn't occurred to her that the men would have to remove their clothes before entering the water. Admittedly* she'd been too occupied gloating over her insignificant little victory to think about anything else.

Their belts fell to the ground first. She came to a dead stop and closed her eyes. She still wasn't fast enough* for she saw every one of their naked backsides before they disappeared into the lake below.

Their laughter followed. She didn't mind* even though she was certain they had known all the while that she was there and were now laughing at her.

The priest came up behind her. "We haven't been introduced* mi'lady. My name is Father Kevin Sinclair* son of Angus Sinclair of the Neatherhills."

"It's a pleasure to meet you* Father. My name is Brenna. My father is Baron Haynesworth* though I doubt you've ever heard of him. I come from England."

"I had already surmised as much."

"My clothing and my speech are both sure indications* aren't they?"

"Yes* they are*" he agreed with a smile she thought was as charming as his brogue.

The priest radiated warmth and kindness* and for the first time in a long while* she began to relax.

"I must compliment you* Lady Brenna. Your command of our language is quite remarkable for a beginner."

"But* Father* I've been studying Gaelic for years."

Horrified* he stammered out a hasty apology. "Do forgive me. I meant to praise you* not insult you."

"I wasn't offended* just surprised*" she assured him.

His smile returned. "Did you know you alternate between both languages when you're angry?"

"No* I didn't know. When did you notice this peculiar behavior?"

"When the war paint irritated you. I was also irritated* but not for long. The way you stood up to Connor impressed me… and him* I would wager. I don't believe anyone has ever spoken to him before with such passion and fury. It was something to see* all right."

"I shouldn't have been difficult. It wasn't ladylike* and I do know better. My temper got the best of me and is a fault I must try to overcome. If there were time* I would beg you to hear my confession before I married."

"I would be happy to make the time* mi'lady."

"Then there is a chapel close-by?"

"We have few chapels here* but as long as we don't face each other while you confess* the rules of the church will be guarded."

The priest was already wearing the stole he used to hear confessions. The tasseled strip of material was draped around his shoulders. As soon as they reached the clearing* he pulled the ends loose from the rope belt he wore around the waist of his brown robe and turned to find a suitable spot.

He finally settled on a tree stump* sat down* and then instructed Brenna to kneel on the ground beside him.

She bowed her head and closed her eyes. He stared across the clearing* made the sign of the cross with a wide sweep of his hand* and told her to begin.

She quickly listed her transgressions* and when she was finished* she began to ask him questions in an attempt to stall the inevitable.

"Is it sinful for me to fear my future? I don't know Connor very well. He frightens me* Father. Am I being foolish?"

The priest wasn't about to admit that Connor terrified him. He wasn't ashamed of his reaction* as everyone he knew felt much the same way. Still* he was supposed to offer solace* and telling her the truth would only make her more fearful.

"I don't know him very well either* but I have heard enough about his background to understand why he's such a hard man. His father died when he was very young* and he was then raised by Alec Kincaid* who finished what his father had begun. The two men consider themselves to be brothers."

"I'm certain I shall like his brother*" she whispered* hoping to God she was right.

The priest was just as certain she'd be terrified of him. Lord knew* he was* though he didn't think it would do her any good to hear him admit it. "I have never felt the need to guard my words in his presence or walk twenty paces behind him. Age has taught Kincaid to listen before he retaliates—at least* that is what I've been told—and for that reason he doesn't intimidate me the way…"

"The way Connor does?"

"Now* lass* don't try to guess what I'm going to say. The way the men I was with reacted to Connor made me… catch their caution. Try to remember that God will look after you. His plans are often too complicated for us to understand."

Was she supposed to be comforted by his comments? If so* why did she want to weep?

"I will be all alone* Father*" she whispered.

"Nay* lass* you won't be alone. God will be with you* and I shall be close-by. I've been assigned to serve Laird Kincaid* for his confessor passed on three months ago* and there is a great need of my services in the region. I will never be too busy to serve you* mi'lady* and if you should ever need me* all you have to do is ask."

His promise comforted her* and she quickly assured him that she would welcome his friendship and his counsel.

Connor and his men watched from a short distance away. Quinlan paced throughout the wait. Connor leaned against a tree with his arms folded across his chest and a hard frown on his face.

"It doesn't appear they'll be finished anytime soon*" Quinlan remarked. "I think we should go ahead and eat. It's been a long day."

"We wait* no matter how long it takes. Honest to God* my patience is gone. No one can have that many sins. Hell* she hasn't lived long enough."

"Perhaps she's confessing some of your sins*" Quinlan suggested with a grin. "If that be true* we could be here a full month." me warrior was so amused over his own jest* he laughed out loud. The sound drew a frown of disapproval from Father Sinclair. "Laird* could your lady be having second thoughts?" Owen asked. "She might even be deliberately taking her time."

Quinlan rolled his eyes heavenward. "Of course she's taking her time."

After a few more minutes* Sinclair finished. He was about to give Brenna absolution when she stopped him. "May I ask one last question?"

She was wringing her hands together while she waited for his reply. Sinclair noticed the action and hurried to calm her. "You may have all the time you require. I'm in no hurry."

"Are they watching us? They are* aren't they?"

"Yes* they're watching."

"I've kept my eyes closed as you instructed* but I know Connor's frowning* isn't he?"

"Why* he's barely paying us any attention at all*" the priest lied. She let out a sigh. "I will make the best of it. I'm determined to be a good wife. Thank you* Father* for your instruction. I appreciate the time you've given me. I'm finished now."

Father Sinclair tucked the ends of the stole under his belt once again and finally stood up. He turned to assist Brenna* but he needn't have bothered. Connor was already by his bride's side* pulling her up toward him.

"Would you be wanting to confess your sins* Laird?"

"No."

His frown made Father Sinclair flinch. He hastily walked away* using the pretense of greeting the men.

Connor wasn't aware of how abrupt he'd sounded. He kept his attention directed on Brenna while he waited for her to look up at him. He thought he'd scare a little consideration into the woman. God only knew* he'd feel better once he'd given in to the childish urge* and he would have done just that* if she hadn't looked up at him with such a surprised expression on her face.

"Connor* you're not homely."

"Why do I need to hear this?"

"You don't* but I felt like telling you. It doesn't matter. Homely or not* I still would marry you. When I make a promise* I keep it. I'd like you to promise me something too."

"No."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "But you haven't even heard my request yet. How can you say no?"

"The priest's waiting."

She forced herself to be patient because there were more important concerns to address now. "Once the priest has blessed the marriage* will you please explain why you are determined to marry me and no other?"

He didn't see any harm in satisfying her curiosity* though he found it odd that she would be interested in knowing his reasons. "Yes*" he agreed. "Are you always going to be this stubborn and willful?"

"I didn't realize I was." She hurried to change the subject before he found something else about her to criticize. "Thank you for allowing Father Sinclair to hear my confession. He and I both appreciate your patience."

He looked surprised by her gratitude. "Our priests are the most powerful men in all the Highlands* lass. I would not dare to interrupt* even if I'd wanted to."

She noticed the priest was waving to them and put her hand on Connor's arm. "Father would like to get started. Are you ready? I confess I'm very nervous*" she added in a whisper.

"There isn't any need to be nervous. You will stop it at once."

"I will?" she asked* wondering how in heaven's name she could possibly manage that feat.

"Yes* you will* because you will finally realize you'll be much better served with me. No woman in her right mind would want to be married to the pig MacNare."

He sounded as though he knew what he was talking about. She decided to believe him for the simple reason that she really didn't have any other choice. She did wish she had some of his confidence* though* and wanted to lean into his side just to be close to his strength. She didn't give in to her urge* however* because she thought it would make her appear weak to him* and she wasn't weak at all. No* no* she was just nervous. That was all.

As soon as she realized everyone was staring at her* she forced a smile and straightened her shoulders. "I hope I don't make a mess of my vows. I haven't had time to think about what I should say to you. I was wondering…"

"No* we aren't going to wait. You'll do fine."

"But I…"

Responding to the worry he heard in her voice* he reassured her again before she could get even more worked up. "It will be over and done with before you know it."

She knew he thought she was talking about the ceremony* and she didn't correct him now. She had been concerned about making a muck of her vows* but she knew she'd get them said one way or another. It was the future that still made her apprehensive. It was all so irrevocable. Connor was an unknown. So was MacNare* she reminded herself. Wouldn't she have been apprehensive with him as well?

She stared straight ahead and stood where she was for a full minute without saying another word while she once again considered all the ramifications of what she was about to do.

In the end* she decided she would have to put her destiny in God's hands.

"There's no going back now* Connor MacAlister."

He nodded* for he'd heard the conviction in her voice and knew her mind was finally made up. "Nay* lass* there isn't."

She walked ahead of him now* her head high* her determination strong. "This had better be simple."

It would be simple* for he believed she had finally come to her senses and was going to be reasonable.

He should have known better.

[Dalyia]

Chapter 4

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Nothing was ever simple with the woman. They were eventually married* but honest to God* it took forever to get from the beginning of the ceremony to the end. His bride was entirely responsible* of course. She became so obviously distraught during the priest's long-winded dissertation on the merits of the holy sacrament of matrimony* she simply couldn't stand still. Connor forced himself to be patient and didn't get the least bit angry* or even disgruntled.

He did get dizzy* though. So did all the others. Two of his men had to close their eyes so they could maintain their balance. Sinclair was in much the same condition* and all because he made the mistake of trying to keep up with the bride.

It all started out simply enough. When the priest instructed the couple to stand side by side and face him* Brenna hurried to obey. She seemed eager to cooperate* and Connor naturally assumed she was in as much of a hurry as he was to get it done.

He really should have known better.

"Laird* if your followers would form a half-circle behind you* they may all be witnesses to this joyful event."

"There* now*" he said once the men were where he thought they should be. "Lady Brenna* are you ready to begin?"

"Yes* Father."

The priest smiled. "You look radiant* lass*" he whispered. He simply couldn't stop himself from blurting out a bit of praise* but he was quick to catch the men's frowns of disapproval* remembering then that Highlanders were known to be prickly about their women being given any attention by other men* and he realized too late that the peculiarity must also extend to men of the cloth.

He hurried to repair the damage he might have done. "Your bride realizes her good fortune* Laird* and that is why she looks radiant. I meant only to remark upon that fact."

Connor couldn't imagine why the priest had suddenly become so agitated. He nodded just to placate him so he would proceed with his duty of blessing the union.

Sinclair cleared his throat* made the sign of the cross* and then began his sermon on the responsibilities each would accept once they were truly husband and wife.

Brenna started out looking serene and somewhat relaxed with her hands down at her sides. Connor quickly tired of listening to the priest. She hung on to the man's every word. When she started shifting from foot to foot* Connor thought she was as bored as he was. Then she started wringing her hands together* a telltale indication that trouble was coming.

"Lady Brenna* please turn to your laird while you proclaim your vows."

She didn't hesitate in complying with the instruction* but Connor saw the panic in her eyes the second she looked up at him. The color had left her face* and he hoped to God she wouldn't faint before the priest finished.

He waited for her to speak* but after a long minute of silence* he decided he would. He made quick work of the duty with a brisk promise to protect and honor her.

Several of his men grunted their approval.

It didn't take him any time at all. It took her the rest of the evening.

"It's your turn now* lass*" the priest coaxed when she remained silent. "You must proclaim your vows. Your hesitation makes me think you might be changing your mind. Could that be true?"

She frantically shook her head. "I mean to marry him* Father. I am searching for just the right words*" she explained. "It's important that I get it right."

Those were the last coherent words she spoke for a long* long while. She started pacing while she worried over each and every word she would say. She circled the priest several times* then widened her circle to include all of them. No one was left guessing what she was thinking about* because she spoke each confusing thought out loud as she paced. Connor knew she wasn't aware of what she was doing* and as soon as he gave up watching her* he stopped being dizzy.

Around and around she went* until Sinclair was visibly reeling from turning so she would have his full attention. She explained she* too* meant to protect and honor Connor* just as he had promised her* but unlike the man she was marrying* she felt the need to expound at length upon those two vows with one qualification after another; yet she never quite finished any one thought.

It was apparent she wasn't going to stop until she had it all worked out* and Connor didn't even try to intervene. He relaxed his stance* folded his arms across his chest* and closed his eyes.

The priest thought the laird looked bored* but every once in a while a quick smile would appear on his face* and Sinclair knew Connor had found something amusing in what his bride was saying.

She finally stopped. Connor opened his eyes then* and honest to heaven* he almost laughed out loud. His gentle bride was now standing next to the priest looking quite pleased with herself.

Sinclair seized the opportunity. He latched on to her arm to keep from falling over* but even after the dizziness left him* he didn't let go of her. He meant to keep her from taking another evening stroll.

"Are you finished* lass?" he asked.

"Yes* Father."

Sinclair cast the laird a bewildered look. "Did she get her vows said* then?"

"Would you like me to repeat them* Father?" she asked.

Everyone but Connor shouted no at the same time. She was so startled by their enthusiastic reply* her eyes widened and she took a quick step back.

The priest was the only one who felt the need to apologize. "Do forgive me for raising my voice to you* dear lady. I can't imagine what came over me. I'm certain your laird will answer my question."

Connor wouldn't give her time to protest. He held her gaze steady while he summarized her promises.

"She will honor me* protect me* obey me only when she believes I'm being reasonable—but I shouldn't hold out hope that that day will ever come—try to love me before she's an old woman* and I'd better get it straight in my mind that she will respect me until or unless I do something to prove I'm not worthy* and God save me then. Have I left anything out* Brenna?"

"Nay* Connor*" she answered. "You made better sense out of my vows than I did."

The priest paused to mop the sweat from his brow* for the task of getting the couple married had already proven to be a most strenuous undertaking. He then tried to figure out how he could bless them with the bride standing a foot behind him and the groom a good distance ahead of him. He finally gave up on the dilemma* waved his hand about in a wide arc* and ended up blessing everyone.

"You are now man and wife*" he announced.

He waited for the resounding cheer to end before suggesting to the laird that he might wish to kiss his bride. He then wondered which one would go to the other. It was the bride's responsibility to go back to her husband's side* of course* but she was still looking quite dazed by it all* and Sinclair doubted she was capable of realizing her duty.

She surprised him* however. She seemed to come to her senses and hurried back to Connor.

The priest was so blissfully relieved the ordeal was finally over and the laird hadn't gotten angry enough to injure the sweet lass's feelings* he added a second blessing just for the two of them.

Connor leaned down to give her a proper kiss and put his hands on her waist to keep her from pulling away from him.

She didn't resist him. In fact* she put her arms around his neck and met him halfway. The look on her face made him think the angels must be smiling* for it was filled with such joy. Was she happy* then? Connor stared into her eyes while he tried to figure out this dramatic turnabout.

She was about to remind him of his duty when he kissed her. She felt the warmth of his mouth on top of hers for the barest of seconds before he lifted his head and told his men they could eat their supper.

The kiss was nice enough for her to want another* and since Connor was still holding on to her* she thought he might feel the same way.

She was mistaken* however. He gave her his full attention for an altogether different reason. "Now it's going to get simple. Isn't that so* Brenna?"

Though she wasn't at all certain what he was asking her* she agreed just to make him happy. "Yes* it will. I'm going to be a good wife* Connor."

He didn't look as if he believed her* but she wasn't offended by his attitude. In time he would realize how fortunate he was to have married her.

"There aren't going to be any more complications* are there?"

"No more complications*" she agreed. "Will you try to be a good husband?"

He shrugged an answer. She decided he meant he would and deliberately thanked him so he would know he had just agreed.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Then we eat."

He finally let go of her. She thanked the priest and invited him to dine with them. Sinclair declined the offer* explaining that because the moon was bright enough* he felt it was his duty to ride to his father's home and spend the night there.

She tried not to feel as though she'd just been abandoned by an old friend. She held her smile* thanked him again* and then stood where she was until he'd taken his leave.

Connor never left her side. She turned to him and* only then* realized she'd taken hold of his hand. She let go immediately and followed him across the clearing.

His men hadn't waited for them. So much for a proper wedding feast* she thought to herself. The Highlanders weren't even sitting down while they ate. They stood in a circle around a jagged boulder* laughing and talking while they enjoyed their food. One of them had placed the supper on a coarse cloth draped over the top of the stone.

It was a dismal affair at best. The second she joined them* a thick silence fell over the group. None of the men would look directly at her either* which only increased her awkwardness.

She felt like a leper. How she wished she could go back home for supper. She pictured her family seated at the great long table* smiling and jesting with one another while they shared their meal. There would be pigeon and fish and perhaps some leftover mutton stew too* and there were always fruit tarts.

Brenna knew she'd soon be wallowing in self-pity if she didn't stop thinking about people she loved and cherished and begin to concentrate on the present. She was hungry* she reminded herself* and if she didn't eat something now* she probably wouldn't get another chance until tomorrow.

Unfortunately* there wasn't much of a variety for her to choose from. There was yellowed cheese* brown bread* and oat cakes. The Highlanders hadn't left any room for her* so she squeezed in between Connor and Quinlan. Her husband hadn't bothered to introduce the rest of the men to her yet. Because she didn't know if it would be considered proper for her to ask their names* she followed their example and didn't speak to any of them. She kept her attention centered on the food and tried not to think about how miserable she felt.

The oat cakes tasted bitter. She wrinkled her nose and took a large drink of water to rid the taste from her mouth* and then* because it would have been unladylike for her to put the remainder back or throw it away* she made herself finish it.

She was so nervous* she took another one before she realized what she was doing. She had to eat the thing* of course* and odd* but the taste did improve considerably* especially when she added a piece of sweetened bread to it.

Brenna didn't notice when the others finished. She ate four large helpings before her hunger was appeased. When she looked up to find out what was going to happen next* she found she had an audience intently watching her.

She was taken aback by their attention… and their smiles. "Is something wrong?"

Quinlan answered with a quick shake of his head. "Would you like the rest of the bread? There's one last oat cake as well. You're welcome to it* mi'lady."

Brenna nodded. "If no one else wants it*" she agreed. She took the remaining bread and cake* broke both in half and offered some to Connor first* and after he refused* she offered it to the other soldiers.

Everyone declined. They continued to stare intently at her while she ate the food* and she found she didn't like being the center of attention any more than she appreciated being completely ignored.

"Whom should I thank for this food?" she asked when she'd finished.

No one answered her* but several of the men shrugged indifference. Their grins were beginning to bother her. She felt as though she were the only one not included in some jest.

She thought about telling the men it was damned rude to gawk* but quickly changed her mind. She shouldn't be using words like damn anyway* she reminded herself* or she'd end up with a day's fast as penance. She couldn't think of anything more atrocious.

"Please tell me why you're smiling*" she requested.

"You've impressed the men*" Connor answered.

"How have I impressed them?" she asked* pleased that Connor had finally spoken to her.

She straightened her shoulders and waited for the compliment. They'd probably noticed how she'd joined right in* and had been impressed with her because she'd tried to become one of them. Perhaps* too* they'd finally realized how polite she was being. Yes* they'd surely noticed her proper behavior.

"You ate more than Quinlan. In fact* you ate more than all the men."

It wasn't the answer she'd expected. Telling a lady she'd eaten more than a soldier wasn't a compliment; it was an insult. Didn't he understand that? "Quinlan and the others must not have been very hungry*" she argued in her defense. "Besides* how much I ate shouldn't be impressive… or noticed by anyone."

He smiled. Lord* he was really quite attractive when he wasn't glaring at her. "We think it is."

She could feel herself blushing. She considered lying so they wouldn't think she was a glutton or a pig* then decided to be honest instead. She was going to have to eat with the rude barbarians again and again* after all* and they'd surely notice if she lied now and then ate until she was full at the next meal.

"I didn't eat as much as usual*" she finally admitted.

"You sometimes eat more* mi'lady?" a soldier asked.

He looked incredulous. She gave him a reproving look to let him know what she thought of his behavior. " 'Tis the truth I do."

Quinlan was the first to laugh. The others quickly followed his sinful example. Her embarrassment intensified* of course* and she desperately tried to think of a way to turn their attention away from her eating habits.

None of them was ready to change the topic* however.

"Isn't it a fine* spring evening?" she asked.

"Do you eat more when you're nervous?" Quinlan asked.

What an odd question. "No*" she answered.

The rude men all laughed again. She waited for them to quiet down before once again trying to change the subject.

"Connor* will you introduce me to your soldiers?"

"They'll introduce themselves."

She already knew Owen and Quinlan by name* of course* and when she looked at the other three warriors* they each told her their names.

Aeden was the thinnest of the group* though he still wouldn't be considered puny by an Englishman's measure* she supposed* and Donald was the name of the soldier with the big brown eyes that reminded her of a doe's.

Giric was the shy one in the group. He could barely look directly at her when he told her his name.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you*" she announced once they'd finished.

"May I ask you a question* mi'lady?" Quinlan said.

"Yes*" she answered.

"When you first saw us* you were afraid. Some of us were wondering why."

"Did you think we were going to harm you?" Aeden asked. He added a smile* indicating he found the possibility amusing. "You were praying."

"Yes* I was praying* and yes* I did believe you were going to harm me."

"But after* mi'lady*" Owen said. "After you knew we meant you no harm* weren't you still afraid? I wondered why."

Hadn't any of them ever looked in a mirror? Or did they have such luxuries where they lived?

She decided it would be unkind to point out how peculiar they looked* and so she simply shrugged and didn't say anything at all.

None of them wanted to let it go. "Was it our war paint that put you on your guard?" Owen asked.

"I really don't care to answer* for I have no wish to hurt your feelings."

For some reason* her honesty made the men laugh again. She decided to be a bit more blunt then. "However* I will admit it was your war paint that put me on my guard. Yes* it was*" she emphasized with a nod. "And your size* and your dress* and your manners* and your intimidating frowns* and the way my father's twelve soldiers cowered to the five of you… Shall I go on?"

She could tell they'd taken her comments as compliments. She really should set them straight* she thought* and explain she hadn't been at all impressed with them—no proper English lady in her right mind would be—but then a fresh worry popped into her head* and she immediately looked at Connor.

"I'm not wearing war paint. You might as well understand that fact right this minute. It's barbaric* Connor* and you cannot expect me to…"

The men's laughter stopped her protest. Connor didn't laugh* of course; the man never laughed as far as she could tell* but he did smile. Her heart noticed by pounding a quick beat. He had beautiful white teeth* all of them did* and she wondered how they could put such ugly paint on their skin and take such good care of their teeth at the same time. They really were a peculiar lot* all right. Would she ever be able to understand them or find her place among them?

"Women aren't given the honor."

She didn't know what he was talking about. "What honor?"

"Paint*" he explained. "The tradition belongs to warriors alone."

Connor didn't look as though he was jesting* and so she didn't dare laugh. The effort cost her* though. Her throat ached considerably from the strain of being polite.

"Have you never seen a Highlander before* mi'lady? Do you know anything at all about us?" Giric asked in a whisper. He was blushing to the roots of his freckles and* in his shyness* had directed his question to the ground.

[Dalyia]

"When I was younger* I thought I knew all about you. I even knew where you lived."

"Where did you think we lived?" Donald asked* smiling over the sparkle he'd noticed in his mistress's eyes.

"Under my bed. You came out only at night* while I was sleeping. I'd always wake up screaming* of course* and run like lightning to my parents' chamber."

She expected the men to laugh over her jest* or at the very least* smile a little. Unfortunately* none of them seemed to understand she was teasing them. Three of them looked confused; the other two looked appalled.

"Did you just insult us?" Owen asked. He sounded as though he couldn't believe such an atrocity was possible.

"No* I was jesting. For heaven's sake* couldn't you tell the difference?"

They all shook their heads. Quinlan had the most difficulty hiding his smile. "It seems your bride has been dreaming about you for years* Laird*" he drawled out.

"It would seem so*" he agreed.

She didn't even try to hide her exasperation. The effort to have a decent conversation with them was making her head throb* and being polite was a wasted undertaking.

She gave up trying. "Connor* may I be excused?"

She bowed her head to the men and walked away. She had already headed for the lake with her hairbrush* fresh clothing* and her blanket in her arms before Connor got around to giving her permission. She reached the break in the pines* stopped* and then glanced back over her shoulder.

"Quinlan?"

"Yes* mi'lady?"

"They weren't dreams. They were nightmares."

They didn't laugh until she was well out of sight* but the sound of their amusement was loud enough to reach the other side of the lake. She didn't believe the soldiers had finally gotten her jest* though; they appeared to be too slow-witted for that. She assumed Connor had made an atrocious remark about something his men would find humorous* like murder and mayhem. They all seemed to have a twisted sense of humor. She'd come to her opinion when she saw them smiling like heathens after Connor had told them they could kill the English soldiers. And hadn't they pouted like boys when the order was rescinded?

Brenna was immediately nagged by guilt. She knew she shouldn't continue to judge Connor so harshly. Could he help it if he was a barbarian or that he had been raised like a wild animal? No* no* of course he couldn't. Besides* he was her husband now. She was going to be stuck with him for the rest of her life* and shouldn't she at least try to like him?

Did he expect to take her to his bed tonight? She tried to block the frightening possibility as soon as it entered her mind. That was easier said than done* however; Lord help her* she couldn't even think about Connor touching her without shaking in panic. She knew her reaction wasn't at all reasonable. She was a grown woman now* not a child* and* therefore* understood what was expected of her. Her mother had patiently explained that all husbands wanted to bed their wives as soon as the wedding festivities ended. She hadn't given her daughter any specifics though* and while Brenna understood the basics* or at least believed she did* she'd still been left guessing about the finer points. It all sounded horribly awkward and messy to her.

Brenna wouldn't worry about it. If Connor decided to bed her* perhaps God would take pity on her and let her sleep through the ordeal.

She smiled over this fanciful notion while she stripped out of her clothes. She ran into the water before she could change her mind* gritted her teeth against the chill* and hurriedly washed.

Just as she was getting out* she heard someone approach. She moved back into the water* until she was covered to her chin* and waited.

A minute or so later* Connor appeared. A plaid was draped over his arm.

"It's time to get out."

"I would have privacy when I do."

"Why?"

She couldn't believe he needed to ask. "Because I require it."

"You're going to freeze to death. Come out. Now." His hard command didn't leave room for argument.

"I will not get out. I'm not wearing anything. I really must have privacy now."

He pretended not to notice she'd shouted at him. "No one's here*" he said.

"You're here* and you're standing right in the moonlight. I cannot come out until you leave."

His bride had dared to shout at him again. He shook his head over her audacity. "Don't raise your voice to me."

He sounded as though he'd run out of patience. She reminded herself she'd vowed to get along and thought that perhaps if she gave him what he wanted* he would naturally reciprocate in kind.

Her lips were getting numb from the frigid water and her teeth were chattering so* she could barely speak at all now. "All right then. I won't shout. Will you please leave now?"

"No."

Her husband obviously didn't understand how to reciprocate. She'd have to explain it all to him later* but not now. Her skin was wrinkling like old prunes* and if she didn't get out soon* she really would freeze to death.

Pride was killing her. "I cannot possibly get out."

"Why? Are you embarrassed?"

He sounded surprised by the possibility. She closed her eyes* said a fast prayer for endurance* then answered* "Of course I'm embarrassed."

"Shyness has no place between us. Do you want me to come in after you?"

"I'll drown you if you do."

The ridiculous threat made him smile. "Will it help if I take my clothes off?"

"No."

She didn't realize he was teasing her* and honest to God* if she shouted at him once more* he thought he just might go in and get her.

"Connor* will you at least turn your back while I get dressed?"

His sigh was strong enough to push her under the water. "You're being very foolish."

She didn't mind his criticism. She got what she wanted* after all. He finally turned around. She hurried up the bank and dried herself with all possible haste. Fearing there wouldn't be enough time before her impatient husband turned around* she didn't bother putting on her chemise but slipped the white cotton gown over her head.

Pink ribbons secured the thin undergown from the bottom of her waist to the top of her chin. Her fingers felt as though they were being pricked by a thousand sharp pins now* making the task terribly awkward* and try as she did* she couldn't get the delicate ribbons properly tied.

She gave up on the task for the moment. The heavy tunic she planned to put over the undergown would sufficiently cover her bare chest. The problem was getting to the thing. She'd draped the garment on a low-hanging branch so it wouldn't get dirty* but she'd have to walk around Connor to get to it. She wasn't about to let him see her in such an indecent state and was forced to ask him to please hand it to her.

He turned around instead. She started backing away from him* thinking only to put a little distance between them* but then she felt herself slipping on the wet slope. She would have fallen flat on her face or plunged back into the water* but Connor saved her from disgracing herself by pulling her back to safety.

If he hadn't looked so disgruntled* she would have thanked him for his assistance.

She pulled her gown tight over her breasts and frowned with disapproval.

"I want you to understand you have nothing to fear from me. My duty is to take care of you* not harm you."

"I don't fear you."

"You just backed away from me*" he reminded her dryly. "You were obviously frightened a minute ago."

She shook her head. The ribbon holding her hair up in a lopsided knot near the top of her crown flew into the water* and the thick mass of curls dropped down around her shoulders.

Looking at her in such a disheveled state gave him a sudden rush of pleasure. She was the most provocative creature he'd ever met. A man could get lost in the magic of those big blue eyes of hers and forget all about his duties while he paused to admire the sensual grace in the way she moved.

What the hell was wrong with him? Brenna wasn't casting a spell on him* yet he was acting as though she were. He quickly became irritated. He wasn't about to let her rob him of his discipline* and damn* but she was a bother.

And a temptress. All he wanted to think about was kissing her frown away and making hard* hot love to her.

She would probably die of fright if she had any idea of his thoughts. She couldn't possibly know how alluring she was* or how his body was reacting to her near nakedness. She wouldn't be frowning up at him with such indignation if she realized how close she was to being tossed onto the nearest blanket.

"Stop shaking your head at me*" he ordered in a gruff voice.

"I was merely letting you know* most emphatically* that I wasn't frightened. It's just that I didn't expect you to turn around* and I was surprised. Your manners do give me grave concerns."

He smiled. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Manners aren't important to you?"

"No."

"No? But you should think they're important."

"Why?"

"Why?" she repeated. Her mind went blank. Heaven help her* she couldn't come up with a single reason. The way Connor was looking at her* with such warmth and tenderness in his eyes* made her forget even what they'd been talking about.

She took a step closer to him. "You are a very confusing man*" she whispered. "But if I am to keep my sanity* I guess I'll have to try to understand you. You'd better be worth the bother* Connor."

Almost as an afterthought* she said* "You may let go of me now."

He didn't feel like letting go of her* and because he was accustomed to doing exactly what he wanted to do* he ignored her wishes. Her soft skin* as smooth as an angel's and the color of pale gold in the moonlight* felt good against his rough* callused hands.

How had this treasure eluded other men?

"Haven't you ever been courted by other men?"

"I was betrothed to a baron* but he died before I was old enough to marry him. I never actually met the man* or many others for that matter. Father wouldn't allow any men around his daughters* especially Rachel*" she explained. "She's the pretty one."

"Did the baron to whom you were pledged die in battle?"

"In bed."

"He died in bed?"

"It was tragic*" she snapped. "Not amusing."

"Only an Englishman would die in his bed."

She thought his opinion too ignorant to argue about. "Will you stop squeezing my arms now?"

He lessened his hold. "Are you still feeling embarrassed?"

"Just a little."

"I don't want you to be embarrassed at all. You will stop it now."

She started to laugh before she realized he was perfectly serious. "Do you have any idea how arrogant you sound?"

She didn't wait for him to answer her. "I'm getting cold again. If you'll let go of me* I'll finish getting dressed."

"There isn't any need to dress. We're going to bed."

It wasn't what he said* but how he said it that made her panic.

He reeked with authority and looked as tense as a warrior about to go in for the kill.

She deliberately tried to misunderstand. "Together?"

"Of course."

"Now? You want to go to bed now?"

He really was beginning to hate that word. "Yes* now."

"I'd rather not."

"I'd rather so."

"You might as well know I'm dreading it* Connor. I don't want to hurt your feelings* but I must be honest with you. Surely you don't want to force your attentions on an unwilling… Now what are you doing?"

"Putting the MacAlister plaid around you. Will you stop backing away from me every time I reach for you? It's damned irritating. Lift your hair out of my way."

"I'd rather you left me alone."

"You're trying my patience."

Why wouldn't he understand? She tried once again to get through to him.

"Connor* I don't have any experience."

She was sure she didn't need to explain in more detail. Surely he could hear the worry in her voice* see it in her eyes* and feel it in the way she trembled. Any decent* caring man would immediately try to soothe her.

"I do."

"That's it?" she cried out. "I'm supposed to be comforted because you have experience?"

"You want me to comfort you?" He sounded appalled by the very idea.

His reaction didn't sit well with her. Her frustration mounted until she wanted to scream. She took a slow* deep breath* instead* to calm herself.

It didn't help. "Yes* I most certainly do want you to comfort me."

He was afraid she was going to say that. For the first time in a very long while* he was at a loss for words. No other woman had ever made such a strange request of him before. In the past* women had always come to him willingly and offered their bodies* and if he'd been in the mood to accommodate them—which* he had to admit* was most of the time—he'd accepted. He'd been mindful of his responsibility to be gentle with them* of course* and he'd always made certain their enjoyment matched his own. None of them had been virgins* though; he wouldn't have taken them to his bed if they had been* and now that he thought about it* damned near every one of them had been well-versed in the art of pleasuring a man. In fact* they'd usually had more experience than he had.

But they'd all left smiling.

This gentle lady standing before him wasn't at all like other women. She was his bride* the woman who would carry his name and bear his children. He should respect her by doing whatever was required of him to allay her fears. Admittedly* he was completely lacking in experience when it came to meeting the emotional needs of women* but he was certain that* if he put his mind to it* he could draw from past observations.

No* no* he was wrong about that* Connor realized after contemplating the dilemma for a moment. He guessed he'd never taken the time to notice what other men did with their women* not even his brother* Alec.

Now what? He wasn't about to tell her she was out of luck. She'd probably start crying then* and he wouldn't have any idea how to get her to stop. His brother always left the hall whenever his wife wept and returned only after she'd calmed down enough to listen to reason. He wasn't going to follow Alec's example now. He'd never get her bedded if he walked away from her. Hell* she'd think she'd been given a reprieve.

There seemed to be only one way out of this mire. He was going to have to help her get over this foolish worry of hers* no matter how long it took.

He prayed for the unthinkable—understanding. "I have decided to comfort you."

"You have?" She looked thrilled.

"Yes* I have. However* you're going to have to explain this duty to me first so I'll know how to proceed. You may begin."

"This isn't the time for jests."

"I wasn't jesting."

"You're really telling me the truth?"

The scowl on his face told her he didn't like being doubted. She hurried to calm him. "Yes* of course you're telling the truth. You're a laird* for heaven's sake. You wouldn't ever lie."

"Will you get on with it?"

She nodded* but didn't say another word.

"Brenna…"

"I'm thinking about it*" she cried. "Your impatience is making me nervous. How to give comfort is rather difficult to explain. I don't want to make a muck of it."

She lapsed into silence again for what seemed like an hour. He couldn't understand what was taking her so long. He hadn't asked her to solve an impossible riddle* for the love of God. Why was she acting as though he had? He honestly didn't know how much longer he was going to be able to stand there without touching her. Couldn't she see what she was doing to him? No* of course she couldn't. She was fully occupied thinking about comfort* of all things. She seemed to have forgotten how to speak. She'd forgotten she was half naked too* but he hadn't. The second she stopped holding her gown together over her chest* the gap in the material widened enough for him to see the gentle swell of her breasts.

It almost killed him to look away. He suddenly realized that if he didn't get her covered up at once* he was going to completely lose his sense of discipline. He would run his fingers down her smooth* enticing skin* gently* of course* and then rip the thin-as-air gown off her.

She sure as hell wouldn't be thinking about comfort then* would she?

Connor quickly wrapped the plaid around her. He draped one long end over her shoulder* spread the material wide to cover her breasts* and secured the wool with the roped belt he'd carried along. The back of his hands deliberately brushed across her bare skin* not once but twice* while he dressed her* and damned if he didn't feel as though he'd been struck by hot lightning.