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?"