Julie Garwood - The Wedding

"I'm not frowning."

"You were thinking about it."

He laughed. "I wasn't. It's all right for you to talk about your relatives now. It wasn't before."

"Why?"

Because your heart and your loyalty belong to me now, he thought. "I'll explain later," he said. "Continue with your story now."

"My father told me I was the reason for a new tradition in our family. We were on our way to an uncle's holding when we stopped for the nooning meal. Everyone wanted to stretch their legs, and when it was time to leave, my father forgot to count."

"Count?"

"There were eight children, Connor. He always counted to make certain he had all of us."

"But this time he didn't count."

"No, he didn't. He thought I was with my oldest brother, Gillian, and Gillian thought I was with Arthur, another brother," she explained. "I wasn't though. As was my habit at the time, I wandered off, got lost, and the family didn't realize they'd left me behind until they were well on their way."

Connor was frowning now. He pictured his wife around Grace's age and couldn't even begin to understand what terror she must have experienced.

"Gillian found me before the others, although I was told my wails were loud enough for the king of England to hear if he'd leaned out the window, and that very night, my father began his new tradition."

"The medallion."

She nodded. "The older brothers and sisters embraced the idea and promised to keep their medallions close at all times. Mother worried the baby and I would choke ourselves with the leather necklaces around our necks, and so I was only allowed to wear the medallion whenever we left the holding."

She held his gaze for a long minute and then took hold of his hand and turned it so that his palm was facing her. Her fingers lightly brushed across the scars puckering his skin, but he saw only sadness in her eyes now, not repulsion or pity.

"You must have been frightened," he said in an attempt to get her to look up at him instead of the marks from his past. She tightened her hold on his wrist when he started to pull back. He conceded to her wishes for the moment and waited for her to continue.

"I recovered," she whispered. "But you haven't, have you, Connor?" The sadness had moved into her voice now.

"Because it isn't finished yet," he explained. "You want me to tell you how I got the scars, don't you?"

"No."

He felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment.

Brenna ached for the pain he had suffered and tried to think of something to say to make him realize she wasn't trying to console him now, but simply acknowledging the terrible injustices of the past so that he would know she understood.

"These scars mark your past," she whispered as she slowly lifted his hand.

Again he tried to pull away, and she resisted him a second time. "Yes," he said, angry now.

Brenna leaned down and kissed each one of the marks.

He felt the caress all the way inside his heart and his soul. Stunned by what she was doing, he closed his eyes. Her touch shattered him, yet filled him with warmth at the same time. And he was renewed. He couldn't understand how it had happened, or why, but the empty gnawing ache was gone, and only her love remained.

She didn't stop until she had kissed each palm, and then she reached down beside her and put the medallion into his hand.

He opened his eyes again and stared down at the etching carved into the wood.

"A long, long time ago, there lived a boy named David," Brenna began, quietly. "The land he and his family and friends lived in was plagued by a terrible giant named Goliath. It came to pass that David had to fight this enemy. He was too young to use a sword. He could have carried his father's sword, the way you did, but unlike you, he didn't have to crawl across burning embers. You both had tremendous courage, though, and I think he too would have dragged others to safety the way you did, because he was just as noble as you were, Connor."

Overwhelmed by what she was saying to him, he couldn't speak. She knew everything and still felt he was courageous and noble. She didn't understand, of course. He wasn't worthy of such praise yet, because he hadn't found justice in all the years he had searched.

He shook his head at her. She nodded. And then she began to trace the outline of the figure of David with her fingertips.

"The boy only had a sling to use for his weapon, and so, when the time came for him to face Goliath, he reached for a stone," she said, pausing to trace the little circle at the bottom of David's feet. "You believe your father's sword is your strength, don't you, Connor?"

He didn't answer her. She stared into his eyes, waited no more than a few seconds, and then said, "It isn't. Your strength comes from within. It's your determination, your patience, your skill, but most of all, it's you thirst for justice. David slayed the giant and saved his people. You have already saved your followers."

"But I have still to slay the enemy."

"Look around you and see what you have accomplished. David will always represent what you were, and what you have become. You are worthy."

She lifted the medallion up so he could see it more clearly. "This is your past and your present." And then she turned it over. "And this is your future."

He recognized the symbol, for it was the same as the one on his wife's medallion. "The sun."

She was offering him her love and prayed he would give her his love in return.

He didn't say a word, or give her any other indication that he would, or could, give her what she wanted. He seemed to withdraw then, looking aloof, distant, and yet she could see the moisture in his eyes and knew that the words she longed to hear were there, inside him, locked away with his feelings.

"You have only to open your heart to accept this."

She placed the medallion in his hand again and then leaned close and kissed him.

She tried to pull back. He wouldn't let her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her over and over again, desperate now as he ravaged her mouth. He didn't understand or know if he was kissing her to show her how much he cared, or if he was deliberately keeping his mouth on top of hers so that she couldn't beg him to give her what he knew he couldn't.

Their lovemaking was wild, uncontrolled, savage, and it was only after he had satisfied her twice more and she had collapsed into sleep on top of him that he acknowledged his greatest weakness.

She terrified him.

Connor was gone. Brenna awakened late that morning when Netta knocked on the door. She called out to her to please wait a moment, then sat up in bed and reached for her robe.

Her husband's medallion was underneath it. She felt a moment's disappointment before common sense told her he hadn't wanted to disturb her sleep searching for it, so he had simply left it behind when he'd gone downstairs. She put the medallion on the chest next to the bed and hurried to the door while she put on her robe.

Netta didn't come inside. "Father Sinclair has arrived, but you needn't hurry to greet him. He's busy hearing confession in the lower bailey now and won't make his way up here for another hour or so."

"You're certain?" Brenna asked. "I wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

"If Fionna goes through with her promise to give her confession, I'm certain. She has enough sins to keep Father busy for the rest of the day."

"Talk like that will get you a long penance, Netta," she replied with a laugh.

"I'm only telling the truth, so it can't be a sin. Would you like my help getting dressed, mi'lady?"

"No, thank you."

Netta looked disappointed. "I'll go on down to the hall then. I'm dreading it though, because you-know-who is sitting at the table, acting like a queen."

"Are you referring to Lady MacAlister?"

Netta nodded. Brenna immediately scolded her. "You must honor and respect her," she said. "She's your laird's stepmother, if you'll remember."

"As you wish, mi'lady."

"I do wish. Please try, Netta. I know she can be difficult."

"Aye, it is difficult, especially since she took away all your nice improvements. The cushions weren't lumpy, mi'lady. They were perfect."

Brenna thanked her for her kind opinion and sent her away so she could get dressed. While she washed, she made her list of things she must do today. First and most important, she would take her husband aside and tell him about Raen. Yes, that was the most imperative duty she had, but if there was time and opportunity, she was also going to try to find out exactly how long Lady Euphemia would be staying.

As was her custom each and every morning before she left her bedroom, she said a quick prayer for assistance in getting Euphemia to like her.

God willing, today would be the day.

Talking to Connor came first, however, and even though she would have died of embarrassment if she'd been caught, she sneaked out so that she wouldn't be delayed listening to Euphemia complain. Luck was on her side; the elder woman faced the entrance and didn't see her.

Brenna wasn't particularly worried she would run into Raen, however, because he went riding every day and stayed away from the holding until nightfall.

By tonight, he would be gone… forever.

Where was Connor? She searched high and low for her husband. He had promised her he wouldn't leave, and she knew he would never break his word to her. He had gone either to the lake or the ruins, she decided, and she meant to find out which from Crispin. Fortunately, she located him in the lower bailey.

She waited by the side of the path for the commander to finish his conversation with two other soldiers, and then called out to him. "May I interrupt for just a moment, Crispin?"

"Certainly, mi'lady," he answered. He hurried over to her and bowed his head.

"I've looked everywhere for my husband. Do you know where he is?"

"He's gone, mi'lady. I'm not certain when he'll be back."

"Gone to the lake?"

"He went to Laird Hugh's holding. He should be away at least three or four days, perhaps more."

Her reaction thoroughly puzzled him. She looked as though she were going to faint dead away, and when she grabbed hold of his arm and gripped him so fiercely, he realized she was actually afraid.

"Where's Raen?" she asked. She frantically looked around her.

"He left early this morning, mi'lady. Three soldiers from Laird Finley's holding rode with him. They also were on their way back north. The higher their number, the better their protection," he added in the event she didn't understand.

She felt like weeping with relief. "Raen won't be back then, will he?"

"No, mi'lady, he won't."

"Thank God. I wanted to tell Connor, but he left, Crispin, before I could, and now I… Why did he leave? He told me he wouldn't."

Crispin patted her hand in an attempt to get her to let go of him. "Hugh died last night. It was important for your laird to pay his respects. Laird Kincaid will surely do the same."

It was suddenly all right again. Connor hadn't lied to her. He simply hadn't anticipated his friend's death.

"I'm sorry for Hugh's family. I hope he died peacefully."

"We were told he died in his sleep. Does this news please you, mi'lady? You're smiling."

She felt like a fool. "I'm pleased because my husband had to leave. He didn't lie to me. I'm not at all happy to hear about Hugh. I shall go and find Father and ask him to pray for his departed soul."

"Sinclair's hearing confessions. I'll send him to you as soon as he's finished."

She finally let go of the soldier. "I don't know what came over me. I was…"

"Afraid."

She slowly nodded. "Yes, I was. I'm not now."

She bowed to Crispin and started back up the hill. "Mi'lady? You were afraid of Raen, weren't you?"

She pretended not to hear him, but he followed her and repeated the question to her again. She turned around, smiled, and said, "I wasn't afraid."

He felt a stab of disappointment that she didn't trust him enough to tell him the truth.

"I was terrified."

He blinked. "Why, mi'lady?"

"I feel I should explain to Connor first when he returns, but I assure you, Crispin, if there was any possibility at all that Raen would be coming back before then, I would tell you everything. Do you understand?"