The Wedding

Chapter 3

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.

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.

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.