The Wedding (43 page)

She could start by leaving his damned courtyard alone.

Lord, it was good to be home.

T
he surprises just kept on coming. Connor knew that somewhere in his wife's convoluted thoughts lurked an innocent plan to please him, yet how she ever could have imagined he would be happy to find a chapel sitting in his courtyard was beyond his ability to comprehend. He thought she might have another reason for doing such a monstrous thing, but if that was true, he would probably go to his grave still trying to figure out what it could be.

Only one truth comforted him now. It couldn't get any worse. No matter what other surprises she had ready for him, nothing could surpass the chapel.

He really should have known better.

He didn't go inside to speak to Euphemia, as he had planned, when he first arrived home, because he would have had to walk across the courtyard in order to get to her, which meant he would have to sidestep his way around the holes. Quinlan had assured him they were deep enough to cover a tall man's head, providing he was fortunate enough to fall in feet first. Getting that close to the destruction would definitely have sent his temper right over the edge. He could have gone in through the back door, of course. He didn't, though, because he needed to get away until he calmed down. His plan was to avoid the courtyard until that evening, for surely the holes would be filled by then, and he would have had enough time to get over this god-awful surprise.

After he had washed away the filth he'd accumulated over the past two weeks, he rode to the northern section of the wall to look over the progress made in fortifying the wooden posts with stone. The discovery of one problem led to another and another, and he didn't return to the keep until late that afternoon.

The sun was setting by the time he reached the stables, and as soon as he went inside, he noticed two peculiar things. The first was the fact that the black's stall was empty; the second was that Davis appeared to be sneaking out the back door.

His command stopped him cold. “Where's the black, Davis?”

“Outside, Laird.”

It wasn't a satisfactory answer. He ordered the stablemaster to come forward, and then asked, “Were you trying to run out the back door?”

“I was.”

“For what reason?”

“To get away from you before you noticed the black was missing.”

“I see,” Connor replied, his voice mild, controlled. “Exactly where is my stallion now?”

“He's getting a dose of fresh air.”

“By whose order?”

Davis looked afraid to tell him. He took a hasty step back, quickly braced himself, and then said, “Your wife.”

“She ordered you to take my horse out of the stall?” he asked, trying to understand what was going on and why Davis was acting so nervous.

“Well, now, she didn't exactly order me.”

“Did she ask Quinlan or Crispin to take the stallion out?”

“No, she surely didn't ask either one of them. Fact is, she didn't ask me either.”

Connor had to remind himself to be patient. “Help me understand, Davis, and stand still. You aren't going anywhere until I have all my questions answered. Is someone with my wife, or did she try to walk the horse on her own?”

“Quinlan's probably caught up with mi'lady by now. He usually does. I'm not understanding what you mean by walk, though. Could you explain it to me? I don't think anyone's doing any walking, least of all your black.”

A sudden possibility made Connor's heart start pounding. “Is someone riding him?”

“Yes.”

“Quinlan?” He resisted the urge to grab Davis by the scruff of his scrawny neck and shake the answers out of him. “Then who is riding him?”

Davis grimaced over the anger he heard in his laird's voice before answering. “Well, now, your wife might be. Then again, she might not.”

He had had a feeling Davis was going to say that. If Davis hadn't already assured him that Quinlan was with her, Connor would have lost his control. As it was, he was holding on to it by threads.

What in God's name could Quinlan be thinking to let Brenna take such a risk? The high-strung stallion was difficult for most men to handle, and Connor couldn't even picture his gentle little wife trying to manage him.

“If the beast gets away from Quinlan, my wife will get trampled. Where are they?”

“Laird, I don't think you grasp what it is I'm telling you. The black can't get away from Quinlan because he isn't standing that close to him at all. He's just watching out for mi'lady.”

“Dear God . . . she could be . . .”

“No harm's come to her. I know it for a fact.”

Connor was nearly to the door when Davis's words stopped him. “How would you know if she's safe or not?” he asked.

“Someone in the crowd would have come looking for you if anything had happened to your dear wife.”

“The crowd? What crowd?”

“The crowd watching your wife. They started gathering one at a time about six or seven days ago. No one bothers mi‘lady, though; so you can rest your mind about that. And Quinlan's always standing by, looking out for her. I don't have to watch to know what's going on. All I've got to do is walk outside and listen to the sound the crowd makes, and I know right away how mi'lady's doing. When she takes a spill, they groan real loud, and when she stays upright, well then, they cheer her on, of course. Lately I've been noticing more cheering than not, which tells me mi'lady's finally catching on to how it's done.”

“Where are they?”

“On the opposite side of the slope behind the kitchens. Just follow the noise,” he called out when his laird took off running. “Hear that moan? Well, now, that can only mean . . .” Davis didn't see any point in continuing his explanation; his laird had already vanished over the top of the hill.

By the time Connor strode past the kitchens, he could hear the crowd's thunderous cheer, indicating his wife was safe . . . for the moment. He started breathing again, but he was so shaken that he was a little amazed he could remember how.

A moment later, he spotted the MacAlisters gathered on the side of the hill. Mothers sat on the ground with their babies perched on their laps, while fathers stood behind, talking to one another. The older women had carried along their sewing work, but they, like everyone, were too busy watching Lady MacAlister to pay any attention to anything else. All of them, from the youngest to the oldest in the crowd, were thoroughly enjoying themselves as they watched, transfixed.

Every one of them was clearly demented.

Connor finally reached the crest, a good distance away from his enraptured clan, then came to an abrupt stop and stared down in amazement at the sight before him.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he was witnessing. Not only was his wife riding the black, she was also riding bareback, and saints be praised, she seemed to be doing a fair job of it. No, no, not fair, he realized, she was actually quite remarkable. Her back and shoulders were as straight as a staff; her head was held high, and she was riding with the skill and expertise of a MacAlister warrior, yet with the grace and elegance of a deity at the same time. Her golden hair flew out behind her as she and the beast glided over the landscape, and when he heard the sound of her laughter, his heart swelled with pride over her amazing accomplishment. He knew the truth then; he was just as demented as everyone else.

He noticed the piles of hay strewn about, knew Quinlan had tried to avert disaster by putting down the cushions to ease her falls, and though Connor thought that was clever of him, he was still going to tear him limb from limb. The crowd was cheering her now, urging her on, and it wasn't until he noticed Quinlan frantically waving his hands at Brenna and vehemently shaking his head that Connor was able to pull himself out of his stupor and put an end to this madness before disaster struck.

He didn't understand, or even suspect, what she was going to do until it was too late. Connor started down the hill just as the black jumped the first mound of hay. Brenna didn't even appear to be jarred by the first leap, but she nearly went crashing to the ground with the stallion's second jump.

Connor simply couldn't take any more. He stopped, braced his legs apart, and let out a piercing whistle. The black's head immediately came up. He'd heard the command above the roar of approval from the crowd and swiftly changed directions.

Brenna couldn't understand what had come over Willie. No matter how she tried, she couldn't get the horse to turn back. He raced across the hill, turned, and began to climb.

She understood why a moment later. Connor was standing near the crest, his hands on his hips, his legs spread apart, wearing an expression that didn't leave any doubt at all as to what he thought about her performance. She immediately redoubled her efforts to go the opposite way. Heaven help her, she even begged Willie to take mercy on her.

The stubborn horse refused to obey her no matter how much she pleaded with him and pulled on his reins. He came to a rather jolting stop directly in front of his master just as she was leaning down close to the horse's ear to let him know what she thought about his behavior. “Traitor.”

Connor heard. He knew better than to say a word to her now, because in his present condition, once he got started, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from crushing her feelings.

Brenna knew from the stark look in her husband's eyes, she'd given him quite a scare. She wanted to tell him everything was all right. She didn't dare. There was something in his expression that suggested she'd better not try to calm him down just yet.

She decided to pretend she didn't notice his anger. It was a bad plan, but then, she couldn't think of a better one now.

She straightened up and tried to look cheerful.

“Are you pleased with my surprise?” she asked, knowing full well he wasn't pleased at all; he was furious, and that was that. Still, there was always a hope, faint though it was, that she could bluff her way through the storm brewing inside her husband.

She expected him to pull her off Willie or start shouting. He didn't even touch the reins. He simply turned around and started walking back toward the stables.

Willie meekly followed him. Crispin suddenly appeared on her right side, looking very pale, as though he'd just seen a frightening vision; if he'd spared her a glance, she would have asked him what had happened. Then Quinlan appeared on her left side, panting from his run, but looking very, very smug. He wouldn't glance up at her either, so she couldn't ask him why in heaven's name he was so complacent.

It wasn't until they reached the stables that Connor finally spoke. He ordered Crispin to remove his wife from his stallion's back and wait by her side while he had a word with Quinlan inside.

The second the doors were closed behind them, Connor shouted to Davis. “Stay right where you are,” he ordered.

“Would you like me to take your stallion off your hands?” Davis asked. “He seems a might agitated by your tone of voice.”

He allowed Davis to take the reins before turning to Quinlan. “Start explaining.”

“Nothing I can say can possibly justify my conduct. You have only one recourse open to you, Laird. You must remove me from this position with all possible haste.”

“I'm angry, not stupid,” Connor snapped. “Can't you control one woman? You damn well better learn how, because you're staying in charge when it's your turn. Now tell me, were you out of your mind to let my wife take such a risk? Everyone else seems to be. How could you let this happen?”

“Let it happen, Connor? You've got to be jesting. I would have had more success getting the rain to stop than making your wife cooperate. I've done nothing but second-guess her and try to outwit her for the last two weeks, and all my efforts were wasted.”

Connor raised his hand to get Quinlan to stop when he noticed Davis was trying to stroll out the back door yet again.

“Davis,” he roared. “If you go out that door, you won't die happy. Come here.”

The stablemaster quickly obeyed. “I was just giving you some privacy, Laird, that was all. Did you want something more?”

“I do. I want you to answer some questions for me.”

“I wouldn't ask him anything if I were you,” Quinlan suggested. “You'll only end up more angry than you already are.”

“That isn't possible. Now, Davis, as you know, I listen before I act.”

“I do know it for a certainty,” he agreed.

“Did my wife go inside the black's stall and put the bridle on him?”

“No, she didn't.”

“Who did?”

“I did.”

Connor's eyelid began to droop. “I see. Did you know my wife planned to take him out?”

“I did,” he answered. “She's the reason I went inside with the bridle in the first place.”

Connor happened to notice Quinlan's grin, shot him a hard look to let him know what he thought about that, and then directed his attention on Davis again.

Quinlan couldn't possibly stop smiling, for he knew what was coming.

“Explain why you would do such a thing so that I won't continue to believe you're demented.”

“Her smile, Laird, and that's the sorry truth of it.”

Connor blinked. “Her smile?”

Davis nodded. “Her smile was my reason from start to finish. It's plain trickery, I'm thinking, but I'll never say it out loud because it would sound disloyal, and I'm not at all disloyal, only honest. And her heart,” he thought to add with a nod.