Free The Bride Says Maybe by Cathy Maxwell Page A

three others that were there.
    It was cold in the house. The entry was all stone, without a rug or a small table to give it the feeling of a home. The room where the girl had been lighting her candles had a cold hearth and a table with several chairs around it. Again, Tara was struck by the hard bareness of the room, and there was definitely the smell of dog in the air.
    The laird came up behind her. She realized she blocked the doorway and forced herself to move inside. His dogs followed him in, their tails still threatening to wag their rear ends off their bodies.
    “This is Flora,” the laird said, introducing the serving girl to her. He paused, then added, “You must be tired, my lady.”
    “I am a little,” Tara admitted without thinking.
    Jonas brought her back to her circumstances by saying as he entered the house, “Well, don’t worry. Breccan will see you to bed.” He grinned and winked his true meaning, and Tara felt her stomach turn inside out.
    The irrepressible Jonas didn’t stop in the hall but walked straight into the other room and threw his hat upon the table. Lachlan had entered, and he now joined his brother. He glanced at Tara and the laird, and said, “You two have sweet dreams. I’ll keep this rowdy ape away from you in case he decides to try any wedding foolhardiness.”
    “Come now, Lachlan,” Jonas said, as he threw himself down in one of the chairs and leaned back, setting his booted heels on the table. “He is our only nephew. Are you saying we shouldn’t give him a blackening?” He referred to the country tradition of capturing the bridegroom and covering him with soot and whatever else could be found.
    Flora giggled, Lachlan grinned and shook his head and Tara wanted to run.
    She needed for this night to be done and over before her nerves caused her to embarrass herself. Tears had become her ever-present companions.
    To his credit, the laird appeared equally ill at ease. “Do you need a private moment?” he asked.
    Tara felt her heart lurch, uncertain what he was asking until she realized he wondered if she needed to use a water closet. “Aye,” she answered gratefully.
    “This way,” he murmured. He carried her valise and led her through the sitting room, where Flora was lighting more candles for his uncles, and into another back room, and finally outside through a back entrance. “Here it is,” he said, stopping in front of a stone building a few feet from the back door.
    Tara was not eager to go inside. She’d been to places like this before, and she did not like them. Then again, she could use a private moment. Who knew when she’d have such an opportunity again?
    She drew a deep breath and went in, closing the door behind her. To her surprise, the room was well kept and not a terrible experience at all. They had always said Wolfstone needed modernizing, and she now understood exactly what they meant. She almost feared what she would find in the rest of the house.
    The laird waited respectfully for her outside. His dogs were not with him. Seeing she had noticed their absence, he said, “They heard a deer. They took off running. Even Daphne, although with her wee legs, she can never keep up.”
    “Oh.” She had nothing else to say.
    He seemed equally awkward. “We will take these back stairs,” he said, directing her back into the house. She lifted the heavy skirts of her habit and started climbing.
    The stairs were not as narrow and winding as the front staircase. A draft of cold wind seemed to swirl around her. She realized that she had not thought to bring her cloak. Hopefully, Ellen would see that it was packed in the trunk. There were doors off the staircase. They were closed, probably to keep out the cold air.
    “Here is my room,” the laird said, and reached in front of her to open a door to Tara’s right. The room was dark save for the moonlight flowing through two large windows. There were no draperies around them, and no welcoming fire had been lit in