The Wedding (45 page)

He watched her closely, frowning with concern over the tears he saw in her eyes. “Mind telling me why you're crying?”

“It happened too soon,” she stammered out. “I knew better, Connor, honestly I did.”

“Brenna, what are you talking about? What happened too soon?”

She finally came to her senses. She wasn't about to admit she loved him and thought she'd rather stand naked in front of a church full of strangers than admit her mistake. Being vulnerable was bad enough, boasting of it would be horrible.

He wouldn't understand if she tried to explain it to him anyway. She doubted he could ever love her. So caught up was he in the past, he simply didn't have room in his heart for anything else.

“Will you answer me?” he demanded.

“I missed you,” she blurted out. “I didn't want to, but I did anyway. You were gone a long time.”

Her answer seemed to satisfy him. He kissed her once again, briefly yet with just as much passion, and then followed her inside and up the stairs to the main floor.

“While you were away, I gathered all the bits and pieces of information from the older men and women here and was finally able to put it all together.”

“What did you put together?”

“Your past,” she answered. “I know what happened to your father. I just wanted to tell you I understand why the ruins are still standing. You intend to keep them there until you've gained justice in your father's name.”

“I would have explained if you'd asked.”

“Then I will ask you my questions in future. Don't frown, Connor. I want you to be in a good mood when you see my surprise.”

He braced himself for what he was about to see, gave her an abrupt nod to let her know he would try to be pleased, and then said, “Quinlan assures me you haven't done anything . . . damaging.”

“Damaging? For heaven's sake, why would you think such a thing?” she asked before she remembered his reaction to the holes in his courtyard. “I plan to cover the mess made outside,” she explained then. “After the soldiers put the posts down inside to brace the structure I thought to have constructed, and I . . .”

“Brenna?”

The warning was there in his eyes and in his voice. “Yes?”

“We aren't going to talk about it now.”

“No, of course not. Smile, Connor. This is your homecoming. Besides, Euphemia may be inside, and I won't have her thinking we aren't happily wed.”

His laughter surprised her. “Why does it matter what she thinks?”

How could he be so dense? “I must make her like me because she's your stepmother. You did tell me to honor her.”

“I did?”

“Yes, or maybe I told you I would. It doesn't matter. She deserves our respect.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

Connor pulled the door open and waited for her to go ahead of him. She didn't budge. “I have one favor to ask you. Tonight, when we sit at the table together . . .”

“Yes?” he prodded.

She blushed while she blurted out the instruction to him. “Please look at me often, and don't frown at me. Try to hang on my every word, all right?”

Fortunately, she didn't require an answer, for she hurried on ahead into the entrance. A crowd of soldiers waiting for their laird bowed to her as soon as they saw her. She greeted each one by name, which surprised and pleased her husband, until he realized he was already looking at her and smiling and surely appeared to be hanging on her every word.

“Brenna, wait for me in the hall while I settle a few matters.”

She bowed to him for the benefit of his followers and hurried inside. Her thought was to stand in front of the hearth so that she could see his immediate reaction to her additions.

She was halfway across the chamber before she realized everything was all wrong. She stared in disbelief, for the chamber was once again as stark and foreboding as when she'd first seen it. Even the rushes were missing from the floors.

What in heaven's name had happened? Where was the lovely cloth she'd worked so hard to finish before Connor returned?

“Mi'lady?” Netta whispered from the archway leading to the back door.

Brenna gave the entrance a quick glance, saw that Connor was still fully occupied listening to the petitions of his soldiers, and then hurried over to the servant.

“What happened, Netta? Where are all the cushions?”

“Lady Euphemia had a fit when she sat down on one. She declared it was far too uncomfortable for anyone to suffer, and after trying out each one, she ordered them removed at once. She told me to burn them, mi'lady, so you wouldn't be embarrassed in front of your husband.”

“The cloth . . . what about the cloth we put on the table.”

Netta shook her head. “‘Twas an accident,” she whispered. “At least that is what Lady Euphemia told me. She insisted on having wine with her nooning meal. The color's red, if you'll remember, mi'lady, but she misjudged her reach for her goblet and she spilled it everywhere. She insisted the goblet knocked the pitcher over. Oh, mi‘lady, it's ruined now. I know you stayed up half of every night our laird was away so you could finish the stitches, and it looked so lovely too, mi'lady. Why, even Quinlan remarked that it was.”

Trying to hide her own disappointment, she patted Netta and tried to console her.

“Accidents will happen,” she said. “I hadn't realized the cushions were uncomfortable, though. I tried them all and thought they were . . . all right, but if Lady Euphemia . . .”

“She said they were lumpy.”

“I see. Well, then, I will try to do better next time. What about the rushes? They were all right, weren't they? And they certainly gave the room a pleasing scent. So did the flowers,” she added. “They're gone too, aren't they?”

“Lady Euphemia also thought the rushes were nice, but she tripped as she tried to walk to the table and almost fell to the floor. She explained her eyesight isn't what it used to be and bid me to remove the rushes as soon as possible. She was certain you would understand, mi'lady.”

“Yes, of course.”

“The flowers she admitted she didn't like at all.”

“Did she explain why?”

“She said they reminded her of death because mourners always carry them to the graves.”

Brenna's shoulders slumped. What must Euphemia think of her now? “It was thoughtless of me to put flowers on the mantel. I wasn't thinking, Netta. I never once considered she would have such a reaction. I must find a way to make up for my mistake,” she added with a nod.

“Mi'lady, you couldn't have known. The chair Lothar gave you has been sent back to him. I wish now he hadn't spent half the day rubbing a shine in the wood.”

“Why was it sent back?”

“Lady Euphemia confessed she was afraid to sit in it because it was so wobbly. I tried to assure her it was perfectly sound, but I couldn't sway her. She seemed to be terrified of falling. I think it's because she's getting on in years and knows her bones won't heal if she breaks one. I couldn't help but wonder if she worried about such things when she was younger. No one's bones heal well, young or old,” she added with a nod to let her mistress know she spoke with authority.

“Age must make her more cautious, and we must respect that.”

“There's one last thing. I hate to mention it now, after the disappointment you've suffered.”

Brenna was afraid to find out what else Euphemia had found unsatisfactory, but forced herself to ask anyway. “Yes?”

“She asked me if there was anything else you meant to add to the chamber. I mentioned that you were working on a banner to hang on the wall. I boasted about how fine it was,” she thought to add. “Lady Euphemia wanted to see it, of course. She seemed pleased when I told her how clever you were with your needle and thread, and how you'd labored over your task such long hours.”

“Did you show it to her?”

Netta nodded. “Oh, mi'lady, she looked so disappointed in your efforts. She clucked her tongue like a chicken would and shook her head.”

Brenna could feel her face burning with embarrassment. “And what did she say to you?”

“She said the stitches were all lopsided, but she assured me she understood you didn't know any better.”

“Where is my tapestry now?”

“Lady Euphemia didn't want you to be humiliated in front of your husband and his followers.” Tears of sympathy had gathered in Netta's eyes, which only made Brenna's embarrassment all the more horrible.

She felt like such a failure, and yet, at the same time, she felt guilty because she was angry. Hearing that she didn't know any better each and every time she tried to please Euphemia made Brenna feel as though her mother was being attacked for failing to properly educate her daughter.

“It's gone, isn't it?” she whispered, her voice flat with defeat.

“Yes, mi'lady. Euphemia started taking the stitches out at noon, and by the time she went up to her room to wash before dining tonight, only threads were left on the floor.”

Connor called her name as he strode into the hall and looked around him with interest.

Brenna let out a weary sigh and turned to go to him. Netta caught hold of her hand. “I thought everything looked lovely, mi'lady,” she whispered.

The last thing Brenna needed now was pity. She smiled so that Netta's feelings wouldn't be injured, and then said, “I'll do much better with my next attempt.”

The servant bowed to her mistress and then left to tell the servants that the food should be readied to be carried to the table.

“Have you finished your discussion with your soldiers?”

His wife's question made him smile. Every one of his men wanted to ask him if they could have their things returned. Connor hadn't understood what they were talking about until one of them pointed to the stack of items on the chest with the hint that one of the daggers looked very like the one his wife often used. They didn't dare accuse their mistress of deliberately stealing from them, for they knew she tended to be forgetful when she was in a hurry or having a fine time. Each soldier had actually defended Brenna to him, and for that reason he hadn't laughed.

Emmett had explained it to his laird. “When she's carefree, she forgets to pay attention,” he explained. “She makes our wives feel as important as you do, Laird. They've all taken a fancy to her, of course, and would be very upset if they heard you were to sanction her because of this wee problem she seems to have in forgetting to bring things back. She leaves as many of her own things as she takes,” he thought to add in Brenna's defense.

Connor promised not to criticize his wife and suggested that in future, whenever something was missing, they or their wives were simply to come inside the keep and look through the stack on the chest. They needn't ask his permission again.

“I can see from your smile that your meeting went well,” Brenna remarked.

“It did,” he assured her. “I solved the problem, but not the cause.”

“You'll accomplish that soon enough,” she replied.

His laughter echoed around the chamber. “I doubt that, but now I find I really don't want to anyway.”

“Why don't you want to?”

“Because I like the cause. Don't ask me to explain. Show me your surprise instead. I've made you wait long enough.”

“I can't.”

“You can't wait?”

“Show you your surprise.”

“Why can't you? Have you changed your mind?”

“Yes, that's it,” she said. “I've changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Her mind raced for an excuse so he wouldn't know all her efforts had been found lacking. He was bound to think she was incompetent then, and she wasn't incompetent at all. She'd just been in too much of a hurry.

Fortunately, she remembered the medallion she'd had made for him. She'd meant to leave it for last anyway to give it importance.

“It's up in the bedroom. Would you like to see it now? I could go . . .”

“What would you like to do?”

“Wait,” she decided.

“Then I'll wait.”

“Thank you,” she answered before asking him if he'd seen his stepmother yet.

“No.”

“She should be coming downstairs any minute now. Have you spoken to Raen yet?”

“No, but he should be back in another hour or two according to Quinlan, and then he'll stay only one more night before he leaves for good,” Connor said.

“He's leaving?”

She didn't mean to sound so blissfully happy about Raen's departure, but she couldn't help it.

He raised an eyebrow to her reaction. “He returns to his laird tomorrow.”

“And where might that be?” she casually asked, hoping the man lived on the other side of England.

“A long way from here. I doubt we'll see him again for another five or ten years, Brenna, is something wrong?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“Then why are you holding on to me?”

She seemed surprised, which made him shake his head in confusion. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, but she quickly moved away from him. The mere mention of his stepbrother had made her instinctively move closer to her husband. She didn't explain, of course, and ended up reminding him how much she'd missed him.

“You mentioned you did.”

“Yes, but I wanted to mention it again. Will you excuse me now while I run to the kitchens and speak to the cook?”