Free The Bride Says Maybe by Cathy Maxwell

and it helped harden her resolve against him.
    He might be her husband, but he was the enemy. He was a Campbell, and she was a Davidson. She’d grown up on stories of the atrocities committed by the Campbells against their fellow clans—although at one time the Campbells and the Davidsons had been allies. And, yes, it had been centuries ago, but people still whispered that the Black Campbells were the worst, and here she’d been “sold” by her father to them.
    Focusing on the drama of her circumstances helped her wrestle with her very real fear. Tara had never been one for pain. She did not wish to be “split in half.” The horror of it unnerved her, and it didn’t help that she was tired, hungry, and feeling very much alone.
    Twice. She only had to let him have his way with her twice, the promise becoming her own little chant.
    All too soon, they turned up a drive that led to Wolfstone Castle. It was located at the shadow of Schiehallion, the mountain that was also known as The Constant Storm.
    The moonlight turned the castle’s stone walls to silver. The building had to be hundreds of years old and a fitting lair for wolf.
    The pace of Laird Breccan and his uncle’s horses had picked up. The men seemed to lean forward, anxious to return home.
    She toyed with spinning Dirk around and racing back to Annefield. But that would be cowardly.
    A door opened, and a servant came out with a torch. Two more men followed him out. They moved forward to take the reins of the laird’s horses.
    Tara could feel that they watched her with great speculation. Ordinarily, this would not bother her. She was accustomed to people’s staring at her, but this occasion was different than any other. She was their new mistress.
    From hence forward, she would be known as the Lady of Wolfstone.
    She didn’t know if she liked the thought.
    “My lady?”
    The laird’s deep voice surprised her. He’d already dismounted and reached up to help her off Dirk. She had no choice but to let him.
    His hands seemed to encircle her waist. The contact was actually minimal. He lifted her out of the saddle and placed her on the ground, setting her on her feet as if she were a piece of porcelain he feared breaking.
    She stepped away.
    He did as well.
    And for the first time, she considered that perhaps he found circumstances between them awkward as well.
    He was not a bad sort. Indeed, he’d been gallant to her. It was just that he was so intimidating . . . and his reputation—
    A herd of dogs came running out of the house. There were four of them in all shapes and sizes. She remembered the dogs. When she had gone to his stables in search of Ruary Jamerson, his dogs had surrounded him.
    She took a step back, but the beasts weren’t interested in her. One was shaggy and gray and the size of a small pony. Two others were hounds; and then there was a black terrier who thought she was as big as the others. They playfully jumped on the laird, even the giant dog, anxious for his attention.
    He laughed his enjoyment at such a happy greeting, rubbing the heads of his hounds and, finally, he picked up the smallest, a black terrier, and rubbed her head. She seemed the most territorial where he was concerned. She growled at the other dogs.
    “Whoosh, Daphne, stop that,” the laird ordered, and the dog obeyed.
    Tara was not fond of dogs running loose. She was not accustomed to them and thought them quite wild.
    Her father raised hunting dogs, but they were kept contained until there was a hunt. And she was even more unimpressed when she walked into the house and almost stumbled over a forgotten bone right inside the front door.
    A serving girl in an apron with her blonde hair pulled back had been lighting a branch of candles. She heard Tara’s soft gasp over stepping on the bone.
    “ Och, I’m so sorry, my lady. Those naughty dogs. They have no manners.” She carried the candles over to Tara and handed it to her while she bent to pick up the bone, and the