Julie Garwood: The Wedding

"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.

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.