The Bride Says Maybe (15 page)

Breccan walked to the door and opened it.

His cousin reached for his hat, a silly, satin-covered thing, off the dining table and moved toward the door.

But before Owen left, he stopped in front of Breccan. In a voice intended for Breccan’s ears alone, he said, “You attack me for your own failings? You think because she has a pretty face she’s not a whore? You were cuckolded before you were married.”

Breccan doubled his fists but Owen swiftly glided out the door. Outside, he made a mock bow. “Good day to you, cousin. Oh, and there is one bit of news that you may not have heard yet. Jamerson is back in Aberfeldy. Had you heard?” He raised his voice as if he were speaking to Tara. “His marriage is unhappy. Imagine that? The man was only married a month at the most. So unhappy. You should see him, Breccan. He’s lonely.” He drew out the syllables of the last word, then laughed.

Going out on the step, Breccan reached down and picked up a small rock.

Owen was climbing into his phaeton. The smug look had returned to his face. As Owen reached to pick up the reins, Breccan tossed the rock at the gray’s rear. With a cry, the horse shot off down the road, ripping the reins out of Owen’s hands. The tiger shouted and ran after the vehicle. Owen could do nothing but hold on and pray he wasn’t killed.

Breccan hoped the horse ran him all the way into Loch Tay—

“What did you do?” Tara demanded. She had come out of the house and witnessed him throw the rock. “He could be killed.”

“I wouldn’t be that lucky.” Breccan walked into the house, going straight for the tankard on the table. He did not look at his “wife.” He couldn’t.

Since he married her, he’d thought maidenly modesty had kept her from consummating their marriage. He’d not wanted to press her. He’d believed she was afraid.

And now?

Well, now, he realized he’d been the brunt of a cruel joke. He should have been more clever. He should have seen what was happening. Tay hadn’t haggled much over his daughter. In fact, he’d appeared relieved with Breccan’s offer.

If Breccan had asked a few questions, if he’d taken his time to consider marriage, well, he would not be in this place.

But her beauty had blinded him—no, it wasn’t just the fact that she was lovely.

He downed the ale, trying to take ahold of himself.

There was more to his attraction to Tara than just her physical looks. The moment he’d set eyes on her, he’d felt a connection, a pull, something magnetic between them.

Of course, she hadn’t felt it. He knew that then. He knew it now.

He remembered the day that they’d met; she had come looking for Ruary Jamerson. He’d believed she had been sent by her father. Jamerson worked for the earl of Tay, just as he had for a number of other stables in the area. He was the best trainer available and well trusted.

Jamerson was also a very handsome man. Many a lass had chased him. If he and Tara had married, there would be no doubt that their bairn would be as physically perfect as their parents.

Jealousy turned Breccan inside out. The world that had moments ago been perfect now seemed a sham. He started to wonder why she would play such a trick on him.

Worse, what if she was carrying Jamerson’s child? What if her being sweet to him today was a ruse. Many a woman had passed another’s off in this manner.

Of course, he’d played the monk while lying beside her in his bed.

The insanity of jealousy is the tricks it played on the mind. Breccan could see her with Jamerson. He wondered if the reason Jamerson had returned was to claim her.

He took a step away. He wanted more ale, but he knew drinking wouldn’t bring him peace.

Tara was watching him closely. “Breccan, have you taken sick? Here, let me help you up to bed.”

He groaned aloud. Bed was the last place he should be with her. Because even knowing she’d been playing him for a fool, he wanted her. God save him, he wanted her, and if they did consummate this damnable marriage, then he would be lost. He’d be like any poor bastard led around by a woman.

“I’m fine.” He moved to the door. “I need to see to the cottages.”

“But the work is going well,” she said, following him in confusion.

“I must see for myself.” Work would give him time to think on this matter. Work helped him concentrate. It gave him pride, a purpose.

He walked out the door and didn’t look back.

Of course, he took teasing when he appeared to help with the dismantling of the cottage walls. Jonas was the worst offender. He amused all with his jests about Breccan finally using what God gifted him with.

Breccan let him go on. To toss Jonas in the stable pond a second time would cause comment.

Instead, he wanted it to all fade away. Even himself. He wanted to disappear.

Chapter Fifteen

S
omething was wrong with Breccan, and Tara didn’t know what to do.

It was as if he had been transformed into a different person.

She was puzzled when, after his cousin left, he had returned to the cottages. She had been eager to consummate their marriage. Yes, there was fear, but there was excitement as well. She trusted him. She now understood that Breccan would not do anything to hurt her. She was ready.

When he had abruptly announced that he was returning to work, she’d been disappointed but not worried. He was the sort of man who put his responsibilities ahead of his own desires. She was willing to practice those qualities as well. Breccan’s example was helping her to become a better person and to think of others’ needs before her own.

However, he did not return to join her for dinner.

And then, that night, he did not come to their bed.

She waited for him. After watching the candle burn down, she decided to go in search of him, thinking he might be at the stables. Perhaps something else was wrong with Taurus. He had staked too much on the race against his cousin. She sensed he thought himself a fool to have made the bet.

And yes, her sense of Breccan was just that strong. In a short time, she’d come to know him in a way she’d never known anyone else in her life. What concerned him, concerned her. What pleased him, pleased her.

Tara rose from the bed and took her cape off a peg in the wall. She picked up the candle, determined to find her husband.

However, when she opened the bedroom door, she discovered the dogs were not on the landing.

That was curious. They had taken up station there every night, waiting for Breccan to return. That must mean the dogs were with him, wherever he was—and then she noticed that the door to the sitting room was open a crack.

Timidly, she pushed the door open and looked inside. Moonlight streamed in the bank of windows. She’d added furniture to this room. The desk now had a side table, and she’d found a very uncomfortable horsehair settee to go with the leather chair before the hearth.

No fire burned in the hearth, but there in the silver light Tara could see Breccan’s big frame. He lay at an angle on the settee, his booted feet propped up on the seat of another chair. He didn’t have a blanket or pillow. He appeared as if a moment’s lapse of balance would tumble him to the floor.

The dogs wagged their tails in greeting, well, save for Daphne. She appeared miffed with Tara. Her eyes were shiny in the darkness.

Tara walked past Daphne, ignoring her low, “ruff.” She stopped by the settee. “Breccan,” she said, gently shaking his shoulder.

He came awake with the abruptness of a warrior who was always aware of duty. He glanced up at her and winced at the candle flame.

“Breccan, why did you not come to bed?” she asked, worried. Perhaps he had been afraid to wake her.

He stretched, frowned at her, and said, “I’m fine here.” He lay back down, turning his head as if studying the floor.

“Fine here?” she repeated. “You appear so uncomfortable.” She stepped closer, dropping her voice, coaxing him. She wore her hair loose from its braid, the way he liked it. “Come to bed, Breccan.”

His frown deepened. “I can see your toes.”

“That is because my feet are bare,” she said, then, feeling bold, promised, “There is more of me that is bare as well.”

If she thought that would entice him, she was wrong.

There was a beat of heavy silence, and then he said, “I don’t want to look at your toes.” He flipped onto his back and made a point of staring at the ceiling.

“Why not?”

“It is intimate,” he grumbled.

Tara straightened. For the first time, she considered he was in this room because he was angry at her. But she didn’t know why. She’d done nothing to deserve his scorn. She wanted him in her bed. Could he not understand that?

“Is this coming from the man who wanted to rip off my clothes?” she said.

He grunted like a sullen bear and gave her his back. He had trouble fitting his body on the settee that way. He had to be uncomfortable, but he would not admit it.

“Breccan, what is wrong? Why are you angry with me?”

“I don’t want to see your toes.”

That was it?

Tara took a step, feeling her temper start to rise. She had an easy disposition, but she’d never liked being given the Turkish treatment. If someone wished to discuss a perceived slight that she’d paid him, that was good. But she’d never appreciated being treated with silence or having her caring concern ignored.

“This is ridiculous,” she said to his back. “What have I done to you? Tell me, and I will make it right. Breccan, I—” She caught herself. She’d been about to confess her love for him. She had almost blurted out the words that would lay bare her heart.

But such an action would call for a level of trust Tara had never experienced before. What if she didn’t know him as well as she believed?

And what if this moodiness was a defect in
his
character? Here she was, ready to offer that which she’d never given to another man, leaving herself wholly vulnerable, and he acted as if he could not abide her.

This sort of vacillating behavior made her uncomfortable because that was the way her father behaved. Tara never knew what to expect from the earl.

At the same time, she was surprised how edgy she felt. It was as if she had an itch that needed to be scratched and could not satisfy it. She wanted her husband in bed with her. She was
ready
for him. And she wanted him to be the man she’d come to think he was.

“Breccan,
please
join me in bed.
Please.
” She used her sweetest, most cajoling voice.

He didn’t budge.

The temptress role had never sat well with Tara. She threw it aside for direct conversation. “Come to bed, Breccan.”

Nothing.

She stood a moment. The dogs watched her, tails wagging.

“You don’t like my toes,” she repeated, the words themselves like tiny hammers on what control she could boast over herself. “You don’t want to see them?”

No response.

“Well then here—” She raised the hem of her nightdress so that she could lift her leg and place her toes against the back of his neck. She wiggled them. “Do you feel that? Those are my toes.” She lifted her foot so she could set it on his ear. She tried to trace the outline of his ear with her big toe. “Guess where my toes are now?” she dared him.

He had to respond to her now. If he hadn’t, she probably would have climbed up onto the settee and stood on him.

As he started to rise, her foot was on his jaw. He batted it out of the way and fell back against the settee, appearing tired and irritable.

Tara put her foot on the ground, pleased she had commandeered his attention although he appeared as if he held himself back from mauling her, and not in a good way. His fists were clenched and his jaw hard.

“What have I done, Breccan? Why are you upset with me?”

For a long moment, he studied her. He was tired. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders stooped as if he carried a heavy weight. She wished to help relieve his burden.

She saw his dedication to his people. He was a true “noble” man, one who placed others before self.

“Please, Breccan, return to bed with me. How are we going to have children if we don’t start doing what we must?”

For some reason, those words were the wrong ones to use. “Take yourself off, Tara. I’m tired. Leave me be.” He settled back on the furniture, this time in the way most comfortable to him.

Disappointment churned in her stomach.

She toyed with asking him one more time why he was angry, then decided she would not. He was in a tiff. She had them herself from time to time.

Perhaps it would be best for both her and Breccan to be apart. Certainly, she didn’t feel like cuddling with him, no matter how many stories he told.

She left the room. The dogs stayed with him. Of course.

It was a long time before she fell asleep, and her last thought was a promise to herself that if he ever wanted to see her toes again, she’d make him beg on his knees.

B
reccan’s odd mood did not change the next day, or the next. Tara was glad he spent his time with his different projects around Wolfstone, because when he was around the castle, she found his presence disturbing.

He barely looked at her. He rarely talked to her.

After two nights of this, she tried to sleep in the main room with him. She’d made a bed on the floor and offered to tell him a story. She have one in mind about brownies and a bridge that couldn’t be crossed without paying respect to the brownie who owned it . . . but Breccan fell asleep. He did not want to hear her story. He no longer wished to share.

She attempted to act as if nothing were wrong. She doubted if anyone beyond the dogs—who had also taken to following Breccan around the estate, they, too, giving her the cold shoulder, the ungrateful creatures—knew of the rift between husband and wife.

She was wrong.

Lachlan noticed.

They had finished dinner on the second night. Jonas had gone on to whatever diversions took his fancy. Usually, he rode into Kenmore and shared a drink with friends at the inn.

Tara had wrapped herself in a shawl and thought to pretend to read a book to while away the hours. Breccan was not home. She wasn’t certain he had come home the night before because she had refused to check.

She sat at the table, sipping a glass of wine, wondering what to do, when Lachlan took the chair beside her.

“Are you all right, lass?”

She forced a smile. “I am.” Since she didn’t sound certain, she repeated, “
I am.
”

He seemed to think on this a moment. A weight formed in her chest. When she thought about the estrangement, she could become so angry she would shake. Earlier, she had wondered why and realized it was because she’d grown to trust Breccan. She’d opened to him in a way she hadn’t with anyone else—

“I believe you are miserable,” Lachlan said, interrupting the whirlwind of her thoughts. “I know my nephew is.”

“Is he?” she challenged. “Has he said anything to you? He won’t say a word to me.”

Lachlan hummed his thoughts. “I hate silence.”

“I do as well.” The words rushed out of her, propelled by anger and fear.

“I admit it was an effective trick to pull on my wife. We men don’t have as many words as you women do, so it comes natural to us.”

“You did this to your wife?”

Lachlan actually laughed, the sound bitter. “Aye, a time or two. Apparently this is a method common to the Campbells.”

“And then you stopped?”

“We Campbells have a stubborn pride. Time with my family, with her, was precious.”

Tears stung Tara’s eyes, both for her anger at the way Breccan was treating her, but also because of the pain she sensed in Lachlan’s gently spoken words. “I’m sorry you lost everyone.”

He nodded, growing silent himself. A moment later, he said, “I wasn’t certain about you, lass. I’m male. I could see why Breccan wanted you . . . or I thought I did. But I feared you were spoiled and would make his life difficult. However, now, I believe there is more to you than meets the eye. My nephew is the man to bring it out in you.”

“Why do you say that?”

He studied her a moment, assessing her. “You’ll know. When the time is right, you’ll know.”

“How am I to know anything if he banishes me from his life?”

“Don’t let him,” Lachlan said.

“He refuses to come close to me,” Tara protested. “Even his dogs ignore me.”

“Then put yourself in his path.”

“Chase him? I don’t chase men,” she said. She could have told him about the other night, how she had gone to Breccan. It wounded her pride that she had done so.

“He isn’t just any other man. He is your husband. And I think you know as I do that he is a very special person. Not many are like Breccan.” He stood, a sign that his offering of advice was over. “His mother did a good job with him. I can’t say my bother was worth dung heap. However, together, they created an exceptional man.”

Tara nodded agreement. Breccan was special. She’d recognized that fact. “How can I force him to pay attention to me?”

Lachlan grinned. “You don’t have to force him, Tara. Just be a woman.” He patted her shoulder and left the room.

She sat for a long time, thinking.
Be a woman
. All she’d had to do in the past was dress in pretty clothes and smile. When she wanted a kiss, she presented herself and received kisses. But Lachlan was suggesting something more.

More.
The word beat like a drum through her being.

Yes, she wanted more from Breccan. She had finally been ready to offer herself freely, and now Breccan had created the wall between them.

Of course, Lachlan was implying that she had power over Breccan. She didn’t know if he was correct. Her husband was a disciplined man, and yet, Tara could not continue this way much longer.

She thought of their earlier bargain, her desire to return to London. The city seemed far away now, and she felt as if she had become a different person.

Instead, she could see herself building a life here. She enjoyed making the rooms of Wolfstone more hospitable. She wanted to see the weavers’ cottages finished and was interested in how the new machines would work. She admired Breccan’s vision of a future and yearned to be part of it.

Thoughtfully, Tara rose from the table. Placing herself in Breccan’s path as Lachlan suggested might be outside where Tara felt comfortable, but wasn’t that what a true marriage was?

In her mind, she examined the question. She’d never witnessed a marriage up close. Her father spent his time womanizing. There were couples in the
ton
whom people referred to as being very devoted to their spouses. They were treated as an oddity.

And yet, Tara found herself wishing for that sort of devotion—someone who accepted her, flaws and all.

She had thought Breccan was that caliber of man, that he was someone beyond those who only saw her face and figure.