The Wedding by Julie Garwood
“Will you leave her with the Kincaids?” Owen asked.
“No. I’m staying with her until Connor gets to her.”
“Do the three soldiers with Raen stay even if Euphemia leaves?”
“They leave with her.”
Donald finished binding her injury, nodded to Crispin, and went to the stables to get his commander’s horse. He called orders as he ran. He wanted a full contingent riding with his mistress, and everyone was ready to leave immediately.
“Leave the dagger in his shoulder,” Crispin ordered. He was so furious now, his voice shook with rage. “She told Connor’s wife to submit to her son. God help her when our laird finds out.”
“Do you want me to tell him?” Aeden asked.
“Tell him everything, but make sure he understands she won’t die. He has grown extremely fond of his wife.”
Crispin started across the courtyard, stopped, and then turned back toward Raen and spit on him.
Blessedly, Brenna didn’t awaken until they were dismounting in Kincaid’s courtyard. Alec and Jamie stood in the doorway. Alec blanched when he saw Brenna’s condition. Jamie began to weep. She put her hand to her mouth to keep herself from crying out.
Brenna asked Crispin to let her walk. She took hold of his arm and slowly made her way toward the steps. Crispin noticed the glazed look was still in her eyes and knew it was going to take her a long while to recover from the horror she’d endured.
Brenna stopped in front of Alec. “I killed Connor’s stepbrother.”
And then she turned to Jamie. In a bewildered voice, she said, “Now she’s never going to like me.”
Alec lifted her into his arms and carried her inside. “It’s all right, Brenna. Your husband likes you, and so do we.”
“Alec?”
“Yes?”
“I’m so sorry.”
Chapter 17
Quinlan returned from England empty-handed. Thoroughly frustrated and bewildered, he gave his accounting to his laird.
“MacNare had already dispatched troops to England. We followed their tracks from the Lowlands on, knew their number, and exactly that many returned from Baron Haynesworth’s fortress.”
“How many were they?”
“Twenty-six soldiers, all fully armed.”
“But they didn’t have Faith with them.”
“No.”
“You’re certain.”
“We watched them leave, Connor. Yes, I’m certain.”
“And what did you do to them?”
“What do you think we did?”
Connor nodded approval. “How many of my men engaged in this battle?”
“There were eleven of us.”
“A fair fight then. Were any of my men injured?”
“Donovan’s thigh was cut through, but his was the most serious of the injuries. The others suffered only paltry cuts. To be honest, I don’t think Donovan would have made it back if it weren’t for . . .”
“Weren’t for what?”
“This is where it becomes a little bizarre,” he said. “The baron’s soldiers watched the fight from their tower, and I had only just decided to go inside the fortress to find out where Faith was when the drawbridge was lowered and a procession came out. Your wife’s mother was leading the soldiers.”
Quinlan paused to smile before he continued. “Her Gaelic is worse than Lady Brenna’s,” he said. “Her soldiers were armed, of course, but it didn’t take long for me to realize they meant only to protect their mistress. I understand where your wife gets her courage. Her mother dismounted, demanded to know who was in charge, but before I could tell her, she spotted Donovan and went over to him. Needless to say, your soldier didn’t want her to touch him. It didn’t matter to her though. She had her supplies with her and cleaned and stitched his injury for him.”
“And what were you doing?”
“Answering her questions about your wife. I assumed she was worried about her, but she insisted she wasn’t worried at all. She explained that if Brenna had been in serious trouble, she would have sent her medallion to one of her sisters or brothers. Because she didn’t, her mother knew she was safe. She was worried about you, though, and sent a message to you.”
“What is it?”
“Treat her well or answer to her family. They had all heard what happened to Lady Brenna’s escort, of course, and she assured me the baron hadn’t realized what a monster the laird was. Oh, and you’re going to love this. You have his gratitude for rescuing his daughter.”
Connor shook his head. An Englishman’s gratitude? What in thunder was he supposed to make of that?
“What about Faith?”
“She has vanished. Her mother was worried until MacNare’s soldiers showed up. They had no advance warning, she explained, and they searched every corner of the keep looking for her. The mother believes someone came to her assistance. She thinks she knows who the savior is too.”
“Who is he?”
“You.”
“Didn’t she wonder then why you were there instead of me?”
“She didn’t seem to.”
“What am I going to tell my wife, Quinlan? I can’t continue to keep her in the dark about her sister. Eventually she’ll find out from someone else. Gossip travels like the wind in the Highlands.”
“You’d be right about that. In fact, it sounds as if someone heard about this situation and got to Faith before we did. I doubt it was one of her brothers. He wouldn’t let his mother worry so. He’d tell her, wouldn’t he?”
“I would assume so. There’s only one other man I can think of who would go to such trouble on Brenna’s behalf.”
“Who?”
“My brother. This sounds like something he would do, doesn’t it?”
“He hates England.”
“But he’s fond of my wife,” Connor said. “I must talk to him before I tell Brenna anything. God willing, Alec has her sister tucked away somewhere. Did you have anything else to report?”
He shrugged. “Mi’lady’s mother sent gifts for her daughter, and she . . .”
“And she what?” he asked, wondering over his hesitation.
“She kissed me on the cheek. I didn’t want to shove her away. She’s mi’lady’s mother, after all, but I . . . This isn’t funny, Connor. It was awkward. She told me the kiss was for her daughter and she expects me to . . . give it to her.”
“She wants you to kiss my wife?” Connor wasn’t laughing now.
“Yes.”
“You’re not going to.”
“No, of course not.”
The conversation ended then and there. The two warriors rode to the southwestern tip of the border where the latest attack had occurred.
Aeden arrived an hour later. Shouting at his laird, he dismounted and came running.
“Your wife is fine, Laird,” he blurted out. “But there was trouble.”
Connor stood perfectly still and didn’t say a word until Aeden had recounted everything that had happened. The soldier also repeated every word Brenna had said, and by the time he finished, Connor was in such a rage, he was shaking with it.
“Where is my wife now?”
“With the Kincaids. Crispin’s with her. He put Donald in charge of the keep.”
“Is Brenna all right?”
“Yes, she is.”
“You’re certain?”
“I’m certain.”
Connor tried to push his fear aside so he could concentrate. “And Euphemia?” he asked, his manner deadly calm now, for on the surface, he appeared to be in complete control.
“Crispin expects her to take her son’s body back north for burial.”
“Is Brenna . . .”
“She’s fine,” Aeden told him once again. “I wouldn’t lie to you. She’s needing stitches, and she was badly beaten, but she’s going to survive. The women wanted to go with her. Donald had his hands full making them stay inside the fortress.”
It took all of Connor’s strength not
“Laird, what would you like me to do?” Aeden asked.
Connor made himself think about the problems at hand. Aeden had to repeat his question a second time before his laird could answer him.
He called to Douglas, the senior of the soldiers guarding the border, and told him he was in charge. “Move the last of Hugh’s clan tonight. As soon as you’re finished, all of the MacAlisters are to return home. Aeden will assist you.”
“And you, Laird?” the soldier asked.
“I’m going to my wife. Quinlan, take over the watch at home until I get back.”
Quinlan stayed by Connor’s side while the other soldier ran to do his laird’s bidding.
Connor suddenly called out to Aeden. “She told my wife to submit to him?” he roared. He didn’t wait for a second confirmation but caught hold of his horse’s reins, swung up on his back, and took off at a full gallop.
Quinlan followed him. His plan was to protect his laird’s back until they reached the point where he would have to turn north for home, while Connor continued on to the Kincaids.
Connor took the fastest route, cutting up along the border, and when he was well away from his other soldiers, he let out a cry that sounded like a wounded animal.
Euphemia. He couldn’t even say her name without wanting to draw his sword. She would never call herself a MacAlister again, never wear the plaid she had violated, and never come near them again.
Quinlan expected his laird to turn to the east, as they were now parallel to his fortress, and was therefore taken by surprise when he stopped instead.
“Connor?” he asked as he pulled up beside him. “You’re going to have to shake off your anger until after you’ve seen your wife. I know you feel you’ve abandoned her, but she’ll understand you didn’t have any choice. She loves you,” he added with a nod. “Quit staring at the ground and look at me.”
“Look down,” Connor snapped.
He humored his laird and did just that. Then he let out a low expletive. “There are fresh tracks.”
“Four horses . . . no, five,” Connor altered. “They’re going slow, in a single line. Who . . .”
“How many did Aeden tell us came back with Raen?”
“Three,” Connor answered. He jerked upright then. “The bastard’s mother could be on her way home now. Pity, I would have liked to talk to her.”
“You’d end up killing her,” Quinlan said.
Connor shook his head. “No, death would be too kind. I want her to suffer for as many years as she has left.”
“If it’s Raen’s burial party, why would they take the opposite path? They have to know they’re going the wrong way.”
“I don’t know.”
“The tracks are fresh enough for us to catch up with them in little time at all. We should know where they’re headed, shouldn’t we?”
Connor nodded. “We’ll follow the tracks, but only for a few minutes. I need to get to Brenna.”
“I know you do. I’d start practicing,” he said as they once again goaded their mounts into a gallop.
“Practicing what?” Connor shouted.
“Telling her you love her.”
Connor rode on ahead and cut through a section of the forest to shorten the distance to the rise above the slope ahead so that he could see how far away Euphemia was. When he broke through the trees, he dismounted and ran ahead to watch the procession below.
Quinlan caught up with him a minute later.
A long, narrow meadow stretched out below. It was the funeral party all right, and Raen was draped over the last horse in the line as they moved forward.
Connor’s attention was drawn to the trees. Something had moved, he was sure of it. He waited, and a few minutes later, when the five reached the edge of the flat, a figure stepped out from his hiding place.
Both he and Quinlan recognized MacNare at once. Stunned and enraged, they watched Euphemia dismount and run forward to embrace her ally.
They knew who the traitor was.
He rode to the Kincaids’ at a neckbreaking pace, and when he reached the courtyard, he swung down from his horse and went tearing inside.
He took the stairs two at a time to get to the balcony, frantic now to see for himself that she was going to be all right. Crispin was standing sentry outside her room. Connor raced past him, threw the door open, and charged inside.
He knew he was acting like a madman; he couldn’t help it. He needed to tell her how sorry he was that he hadn’t been there to protect her. If she didn’t forgive him, he didn’t know how he would be able to go on.
He reached the center of the room before he saw her standing by the window with Jamie. And then he came to a dead stop.
No one could have prepared him for this. His gentle little wife had been beaten so severely, he couldn’t understand how she had survived. She looked as though she’d been cornered by a wild beast. Her face was blotched with purple bruises, one arm was bandaged from her shoulder to her fingers, and there were claw marks everywhere.
But she had survived. Connor repeated those words twice inside his mind in order to calm down enough to speak to her.
She wasn’t dead. She wouldn’t be standing if she were dead.
“No, I’m not dead,” Brenna said, and only then did he realize he’d spoken his thought aloud.
On her way out, Jamie paused to whisper to Connor. “She won’t stay awake long. I gave her something to make her sleep, but she’s fighting it. She seems to think she has to apologize to you first. Try to get her into bed.”
Connor walked closer to Brenna so he could catch her in time if she collapsed. He didn’t want to frighten her. He knew he looked god-awful. There was war paint on his face and arms and a burning fury in his eyes he was helpless to conceal.
He wanted her to come to him, yet couldn’t imagine why she would ever want to get near him again after what he had done to her. While he had been defending a useless piece of land, she had been left alone to defend herself against his predators.
“Do you want me to wash the war paint off? I know you don’t like it,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
“I don’t mind.”
“You don’t?”
“I have something to tell you, Connor.”
“Get into bed first.”
“Jamie put something in my drink to make me sleep. She told me I won’t wake up until tomorrow.”
“I know,” he answered.
“If I get into bed . . .”
“All right.”
She didn’t move. “Raen fell out the window.”
“I know he did, love.”
“I didn’t push him. I didn’t mean to stab him either. He fell back on his blade, and if he hadn’t been holding my wrist down to the floor, it wouldn’t have happened. I was trying to cut his hand so he would move it away from my mouth and I could scream for help. Please believe me. I didn’t mean for him to die. I just wanted him to get off me.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”
“What would you have done?”
“Thrown him out the window for you.”
Confused by what he’d just told her, she shook her head. The movement made her dizzy. “I have more to tell you before I sleep. I tried to honor and respect your mother, but I can’t any longer. It’s wrong for me to come between you and your family. She’s part of your past, and I know how important she is to you. She’ll never come back to see you again as long as I’m there. She’s going to hate me, Connor, when she finds out her son is dead. Crispin was going to hide him for me. Your mother told me to do whatever Raen wanted me to do. I wouldn’t, though, and I’m not sorry. It was wrong of her to think I would ever submit to him.”
“Yes, it was wrong. Let me carry you to bed.”
She acted as though she hadn’t heard him. “She’s never
“Brenna . . .”
“No, I have to explain,” she cried out. “I can see how angry you are, and I . . .”
She was struggling to stay awake, as the potion Jamie had given her was making her sway even now, and she could barely concentrate on what she was telling him.
The second her head fell forward, he gently lifted her into his arms and held her close. She had fallen asleep. He leaned down and kissed her forehead. He didn’t move for over an hour, content to feel her warmth against him.
Jamie returned to the room to sit with Brenna. The torment she saw in Connor’s face made her want to weep for him. “She needs her rest, Connor. Put her in bed now.”
He wouldn’t move. It took her a long while to convince him that his wife was going to be fine.
Yet still he hesitated to leave her side. “I don’t want her to be alone again.”
“She won’t be alone,” Jamie promised. “We just received word from your holding that Father Sinclair is on his way. Oh, Connor, he isn’t coming to administer the last rites. Brenna isn’t dying. He’s her friend. He’ll sit with her too.”
“You’ll get word to me if she needs me or if her condition changes.”
“Yes, of course I will.”
The fire burning inside him was raging now, and he knew that if he didn’t leave the chamber quickly, he would completely lose his control.
Jamie followed him to the door. “Where are you going?”
“To finish it.”
“What do I tell Brenna?”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to worry his wife, and he knew if she was told he was going to MacNare, she would become afraid for his safety; yet he didn’t want to lie either.
And so he simply told the truth. “I’m going to my stepmother.”
His mask of composure vanished the second he stepped into the hall. Gone was the loving husband, and in its stead the savage warrior was revealed. He removed his sword from his sheath, handed it to Crispin, and went downstairs. His stride was long, purposeful; his expression cold, deadly now with his intent.