"She kissed me on the cheek. I didn't want to shove her away. She's mi'lady's mother, after all, but I… This isn't funny, Connor. It was awkward. She told me the kiss was for her daughter and she expects me to… give it to her."
"She wants you to kiss my wife?" Connor wasn't laughing now.
"Yes."
"You're not going to."
"No, of course not."
The conversation ended then and there. The two warriors rode to the southwestern tip of the border where the latest attack had occurred.
Aeden arrived an hour later. Shouting at his laird, he dismounted and came running.
"Your wife is fine, Laird," he blurted out. "But there was trouble."
Connor stood perfectly still and didn't say a word until Aeden had recounted everything that had happened. The soldier also repeated every word Brenna had said, and by the time he finished, Connor was in such a rage, he was shaking with it.
"Where is my wife now?"
"With the Kincaids. Crispin's with her. He put Donald in charge of the keep."
"Is Brenna all right?"
"Yes, she is."
"You're certain?"
"I'm certain."
Connor tried to push his fear aside so he could concentrate. "And Euphemia?" he asked, his manner deadly calm now, for on the surface, he appeared to be in complete control.
"Crispin expects her to take her son's body back north for burial."
"Is Brenna…"
"She's fine," Aeden told him once again. "I wouldn't lie to you. She's needing stitches, and she was badly beaten, but she's going to survive. The women wanted to go with her. Donald had his hands full making them stay inside the fortress."
It took all of Connor's strength not to double over and let out a roar of anguish. He should have been with her. He should have known what was happening. The bastard. He dared to touch her.
"Laird, what would you like me to do?" Aeden asked.
Connor made himself think about the problems at hand. Aeden had to repeat his question a second time before his laird could answer him.
He called to Douglas, the senior of the soldiers guarding the border and told him he was in charge. "Move the last of Hugh's clan tonight. As soon as you're finished, all of the MacAlisters are to return home. Aeden will assist you."
"And you, Laird?" the soldier asked.
"I'm going to my wife. Quinlan, take over the watch at home until I get back."
Quinlan stayed by Connor's side while the other soldier ran to do his laird's bidding.
Connor suddenly called out to Aeden. "She told my wife to submit to him?" he roared. He didn't wait for a second confirmation but caught hold of his horse's reins, swung up on his back, and took off at a full gallop.
Quinlan followed him. His plan was to protect his laird's back until they reached the point where he would have to turn north for home, while Connor continued on to the Kincaids.
Connor took the fastest route, cutting up along the border, and when he was well away from his other soldiers, he let out a cry that sounded like a wounded animal.
Euphemia. He couldn't even say her name without wanting to draw his sword. She would never call herself a MacAlister again, never wear the plaid she had violated, and never come near them again.
Quinlan expected his laird to turn to the east, as they were now parallel to his fortress, and was therefore taken by surprise when he stopped instead.
"Connor?" he asked as he pulled up beside him. "You're going to have to shake off your anger until after you've seen your wife. I know you feel you've abandoned her, but she'll understand you didn't have any choice. She loves you," he added with a nod. "Quit staring at the ground and look at me."
"Look down," Connor snapped.
He humored his laird and did just that. Then he let out a low expletive. "There are fresh tracks."
"Four horses… no, five," Connor altered. "They're going slow, in a single line. Who…"
"How many did Aeden tell us came back with Raen?"
"Three," Connor answered. He jerked upright then. "The bastard's mother could be on her way home now. Pity, I would have liked to talk to her."
"You'd end up killing her," Quinlan said.
Connor shook his head. "No, death would be too kind. I want her to suffer for as many years as she has left."
"If it's Raen's burial party, why would they take the opposite path? They have to know they're going the wrong way."
"I don't know."
"The tracks are fresh enough for us to catch up with them in little time at all. We should know where they're headed, shouldn't we?"
Connor nodded. "We'll follow the tracks, but only for a few minutes. I need to get to Brenna."
"I know you do. I'd start practicing," he said as they once again goaded their mounts into a gallop.
"Practicing what?" Connor shouted.
"Telling her you love her."
Connor rode on ahead and cut through a section of the forest to shorten the distance to the rise above the slope ahead so that he could see how far away Euphemia was. When he broke through the trees, he dismounted and ran ahead to watch the procession below.
Quinlan caught up with him a minute later.
A long, narrow meadow stretched out below. It was the funeral party all right, and Raen was draped over the last horse in the line as they moved forward.
Connor's attention was drawn to the trees. Something had moved, he was sure of it. He waited, and a few minutes later, when the five reached the edge of the flat, a figure stepped out from his hiding place.
Both he and Quinlan recognized MacNare at once. Stunned and enraged, they watched Euphemia dismount and run forward to embrace her ally.
They knew who the traitor was.
He rode to the Kincaids' at a neckbreaking pace, and when he reached the courtyard, he swung down from his horse and went tearing inside.
He took the stairs two at a time to get to the balcony, frantic now to see for himself that she was going to be all right. Crispin was standing sentry outside her room. Connor raced past him, threw the door open, and charged inside.
He knew he was acting like a madman; he couldn't help it. He needed to tell her how sorry he was that he hadn't been there to protect her. If she didn't forgive him, he didn't know how he would be able to go on.
He reached the center of the room before he saw her standing by the window with Jamie. And then he came to a dead stop.
No one could have prepared him for this. His gentle little wife had been beaten so severely, he couldn't understand how she had survived. She looked as though she'd been cornered by a wild beast. Her face was blotched with purple bruises, one arm was bandaged from her shoulder to her fingers, and there were claw marks everywhere.
But she had survived. Connor repeated those words twice inside his mind in order to calm down enough to speak to her.
She wasn't dead. She wouldn't be standing if she were dead.
"No, I'm not dead," Brenna said, and only then did he realize he'd spoken his thought aloud.
On her way out, Jamie paused to whisper to Connor. "She won't stay awake long. I gave her something to make her sleep, but she's fighting it. She seems to think she has to apologize to you first. Try to get her into bed."
Connor walked closer to Brenna so he could catch her in time if she collapsed. He didn't want to frighten her. He knew he looked god-awful. There was war paint on his face and arms and a burning fury in his eyes he was helpless to conceal.
He wanted her to come to him, yet couldn't imagine why she would ever want to get near him again after what he had done to her. While he had been defending a useless piece of land, she had been left alone to defend herself against his predators.
"Do you want me to wash the war paint off? I know you don't like it," he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
"I don't mind."
"You don't?"