fault. She was also very kind and would, therefore, never say anything that would hurt any manâs feelings.
Brenna wasnât going to follow her motherâs example. She would try to be a little kind, but she wouldnât be completely honest. Sheâd never get out of this mess if she told the truth.
âI donât remember you.â
He shrugged. He obviously didnât care if she remembered him or not.
âThere seems to be a misunderstanding,â she began again. âI wasnât waiting for you to answer my proposal.â Her voice sounded stronger now.
âI was just a child back then. Surely you havenât been considering my request all these many years.â Didnât the man have anything better to think about? âYour men were jesting with me, werenât they?â
He shook his head. Her throat began to ache with her need to shout at him. Apparently he was as demented as his followers, though far less convivial. How was she ever going to get through to him?
Her father would kill her if he ever found out about her marriage proposals. The thought actually worried her for a second or two before she realized how ridiculous it was. Papa would have to get in line to do her in, behind the stone-silent warrior, his followers . . . and MacNare. Good God, sheâd forgotten about him. MacNare was bound to be furious when he found out about his intended brideâs audacity.
Brenna could see only one way out of her predicament. She had to find a way to make the barbarian understand.
âI have to leave now. Laird MacNare might not be understanding if Iâm late. Heâs supposed to be sending an escort to meet me. I wouldnât want to see any of you harmed because of a little misunderstanding.â
The outcast suddenly reached out and took hold of her. His big hands settled on her shoulders in a firm grip, a silent message, she supposed, that she wasnât going anywhere until he was ready to let her. He wasnât hurting her though, and in fact, he was being extremely gentle.
She frowned up at him while she tried to make sense out of the madness surrounding her.
âYour arrival here has absolutely nothing to do with the proposals I sent, isnât that right? You have another motive in mind.â
Nothing. Not a word, not a nod, not even a blink. Was she talking to a tree?
She could feel the heat building in her face, knew frustration was the reason for her blush, and let out a thoroughly loud, unladylike sigh that sounded very like a groan.
âAll right, we will assume youâre here because of my proposals. As I explained to you just a minute ago, I donât remember meeting you. One of my sisters knew all about my foolishness. She told me Iâd been worrying about never finding a husband, though I doubt I even understood what husbands were for, and so to ease my worry, Joan told me what to do. She never supposed Iâd go through with the plan; but now that I think about it, this is my fatherâs fault because he told me heâd never be able to find any man who would put up with me, and itâs your fault too, sir, because you smiled at me. I truly donât remember anything else about our meeting, just your smile. Iâll always remember that. In England, you must understand, proper ladies do not ask gentlemen to marry them. It just isnât done,â she added in a near shout. âAs God is my witness, I really donât have enough strength left in me to go through this explanation again.â
âWhat did you say to the messenger, miâlady? Do you remember the exact words of your last proposal?â She recognized Quinlanâs voice behind her.
How in thunder could she possibly remember? Hadnât any of them been listening?
She couldnât turn to face Quinlan because their leader still had hold of her, and he didnât seem to be the least bit inclined to let go.
âI probably said,