The Bride Says Maybe by Cathy Maxwell Page B

true.
    Her comment elicited a giggle from the maids and gave Tara a bit of her spirit back. “Myra, fetch some linens for my new life. Bring them here so I can have a look at them. Ellen, help me dress.” The details she had to consider were overwhelming. “I’ll wear my riding habit; that way, I’m prepared for anything.”
    Soon, Tara was in her marine blue habit trimmed with gold buttons. She had Ellen braid her hair so it could be pinned neatly at the nape of her neck.
    As Tara set the hat, a feminine version of a gentleman’s curled-brim beaver, she said, “Remember to put my tooth powder in the valise. Where is Myra? She should have been back by now. Go see what she is doing. Also,” Tara thought to add, “see if we have a fresh cake of that lavender soap I like. You know where Mrs. Watson keeps it.”
    “Yes, my lady.” Ellen left the room.
    Tara took a deep breath to steady her nerves and relieve the apprehension in her stomach. Her room overlooked the back of the house, so she couldn’t see if Laird Breccan still waited for her or not. She assumed someone would come running for her if he decided to have another of his tantrums—and that is how she thought of his storming out on her earlier, a tantrum. She recognized it because she’d thrown a few of her own over the years. It was probably wise she was planning on living in London while he stayed in Scotland.
    Still, one shouldn’t pull on the wolf’s tail, and it was past time for her to make her appearance downstairs.
    Since Myra and Ellen hadn’t returned, she tucked her tooth powder into her valise herself, closed it, and picked it up from the bed. She left the room, but wanted to tell Ellen she was leaving. She walked down the hall to the small room at the end of the hall by the servants’ stairs that Mrs. Watson used as an office and where she kept the linen press.
    The door was slightly ajar and she could hear Ellen’s and Myra’s hushed whispers.
    “How do you know Laird Breccan is big down there?” Ellen was asking.
    Tara had been about to let her presence be known. She now shut her mouth, listening and curious about what Ellen meant when she said, “down there.”
    “Annie Carr has seen enough to know he is. She says the man is a monster. She has to cut extra material.” Annie Carr was the local seamstress.
    “And,” Myra continued, “there has been a lass or two that has had a go at him. They sing his praises.” She dropped her voice a notch lower to confide, “They say he is a beast.”
    “But what of my lady?” Ellen worried.
    “I’m thinking she’ll have the time of her life.”
    “Or he could hurt her. If he is that big, why this night will be painful for her.”
    “Oh, yes,” Myra readily agreed. “If he is as big as they say he is and her being such a petite thing, he could split her in half. Although I wouldn’t mind having a go at him—”
    Tara had stared backing away from the door, not wanting to be discovered eavesdropping, and shocked by what she’d heard.
    Images of stallions mounting mares shot through her memory.
    Mrs. Watson had been dissembling. Tara had asked her directly if the marriage act was such as that, and the housekeeper had assured her it was not.
    No, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t answered the question at all. She had been deliberately vague.
    As Tara went down the stairs, she knew she must behave as if all is well.
    But it wasn’t.
    And she had a sinking feeling it never would be again.
    “Just twice,” she whispered, reminding herself of their bargain. “I have to lie with him twice.”
    Two bairns and she would be free.

Chapter Five
    H e’d been afraid to kiss her , especially with an audience.
    Breccan stood in the night. The earlier gloom had dissipated, leaving a half-moon in a cloudless sky. The light would make traveling the way home easier.
    The cold October air felt good on his heated skin. He didn’t pace but rooted himself to the ground by his horse, waiting for her