Connor usually didn't notice how a woman was groomed, but he couldn't seem to stop staring at his wife's hair now. He couldn't imagine what she'd tried to accomplish. Honest to God, he'd never seen anything quite like it.
He considered himself to be an astute man, however, and knew Brenna had extremely tender feelings, so he was careful to sound only mildly curious and not critical when he asked her to explain what she'd done. 'What the hell have you done to your hair, wife? Did you mean to tie it in knots all over your head?'
She couldn't believe he wanted to talk about her appearance. 'My braid? You want to discuss my braid?'
'Ah, so it's a braid,' he said. 'I hadn't realized.'
She started backing away from him. She shook her head several times, and every time she moved, one of the knots came undone. 'Can't you see how worried I am?' she cried out.
He couldn't imagine why she was worried, unless she hadn't been paying attention to him when he'd told her not to be concerned. Or had she heard and chosen not to believe him?
He wasn't going to lecture her, no matter how much she provoked him. No, he would simply help her reason it all out in her mind. She was an intelligent woman; it wouldn't take her any time at all.
'Exactly why are you worried?'
She was overwhelmed by his incomprehension and was, for the moment, rendered speechless. No one could be this obtuse, not even warlords.
Quinlan couldn't keep silent a moment longer. He felt he was far more astute than his laird in matters concerning women, and so he naturally sought to lend his counsel before his laird put his foot in his mouth and injured his lady's delicate feelings. 'I believe your wife is still upset about the men she heard approaching. She might have thought we were in jeopardy.'
Brenna was vigorously nodding her head in agreement when Connor denied the possibility. 'No, my wife wouldn't dare insult me that way,' he replied, keeping his gaze directed on her all the while. 'She knows I'll protect her from harm. Isn't that so, Brenna?'
No, it wasn't so. How would she know if he was capable of protecting anyone or not? Just because he looked like a warlord from hell didn't mean he could fight like one. She didn't think it would be a good idea to tell him her thoughts, though. The way he stared at her made caution a much wiser choice, and she found herself nodding just to placate him.
The remaining knots came apart then, and her hair was once again where Connor wanted it to be, in soft curls down about her shoulders.
Brenna was just about to leave when the truth dawned on her. 'You knew those men were there.'
Connor looked at her, but said nothing.
'How long have you known?' she demanded.
'Since they joined us.'
'They aren't your enemies.'
'Of course not.'
'Why didn't you tell me?' she demanded. 'You should have.'
'I should?'
'You're supposed to tell your wife important news.'
He shook his head. Where in God's name did she come by these ideas? 'I think not.'
'I think so.'
Connor couldn't believe she'd contradicted him. He gave her a hard stare and folded his arms across his chest.
Quinlan knew what that meant. His laird was getting angry. It was only a matter of time now before Connor said something he would later regret. Because he was Connor's friend, Quinlan couldn't let that happen. 'Mi'lady, may I suggest you put your plaid on?' he asked. 'Your husband wouldn't want you to catch a chill.'
She looked as though she hadn't heard him and her attention remained focused on her husband. The tension between the two continued to build, for their gazes were locked on each other. Connor's was challenging, Brenna's was defiant, and neither one of them appeared willing to back down.
'The air's damp tonight,' Quinlan interjected in yet another attempt to get his mistress's attention. 'We're in for a fierce thunderstorm.' His last comment did the trick. Quinlan felt like sighing with relief when Lady Brenna finally looked at him.
'Of course it's going to rain, she said. It's a fitting end to a hellishly long day. Have you seen my trunk, Quinlan? I'm in need of my heavy cloak.'
'You'll wear my plaid,' Connor told her.
He hadn't raised his voice to her, but she acted as though he had by backing farther away from him. 'My trunk, Quinlan?' she reminded the soldier.
'We left it behind with your saddle, mi'lady.'
'Please go and get it for me.'
Quinlan turned to Connor to judge his reaction to her request before answering.
His laird shook his head but remained stubbornly silent, much to Quinlan's consternation, leaving him to fend for himself. 'It isn't possible for me to go and get it for you. We left it behind several hours ago, and we've traveled a fair distance since then, over rough terrain, if you'll remember. We had to leave it, mi'lady,' he quickly added when he noticed the look in her eyes. 'The wagon wouldn't have made it up the narrow climb.'
'Why did you leave it behind without asking my permission first?'
'By your laird's command,' he explained, thinking that important fact would end the discussion once and for all. He was mistaken. Lady Brenna wasn't ready to let it go.
'Didn't it occur to either one of you that there might be some important reason why I wanted to keep the trunk?'
If she'd given him time to think of a reply, Quinlan was sure he would have thought of something appropriate to say to her, but she didn't give him time. His mistress's outrage seemed to be gathering momentum as she continued. 'My sister Joan gave me the trunk and I had planned to put my children's clothes inside. I treasure it.'
Quinlan suddenly felt about as low and inadequate as an Englishman must feel every time he looked in a mirror. He turned to his laird again, willing him with his hard stare and a slight nudge to take over the battle. Damn it all, Quinlan wasn't married to the distraught woman. Connor was. Let him suffer her disappointment.
Connor continued to stay stonily silent, however. 'Mi'lady, it was necessary,' Quinlan said. 'Isn't that right, Laird?'
Brenna didn't particularly care what her husband had to say about it. She was too disheartened to listen to anyone any longer. The injustices done to her in the past several days were taking their toll now, and she thought that if she didn't get away from her husband for a few minutes, she'd start screaming.
She didn't bother to excuse herself; she simply walked away. A sudden thought made her stop. 'My saddle, Quinlan? Did you say you also left the saddle my dear sister Rachel loaned to me?'
'Did you have another one, Brenna?' Connor asked dryly.
Lord, how she hated his condescending, be-reasonable tone. 'No, I didn't.' she answered.
'Mi'lady, it was also necessary to leave your sister's saddle behind,' Quinlan blurted out.
'I treasured it too,' she whispered.
Quinlan's shoulders slumped. He had known she would say that.
'I cannot help but wonder why you didn't ask my permission first, though.'
Quinlan vowed not to say another word. He stared at his laird, imitated his threatening stance by folding his arms across his chest, and simply waited.
Connor didn't take the hint fast enough to please his friend. 'Wouldn't you like to answer your wife?' Quinlan sounded downright desperate.
Connor let his friend see his exasperation before turning to Brenna. 'I wouldn't be laird if I asked permission before I made decisions, especially insignificant ones. You were merely curious, weren't you? You wouldn't show disapproval of your husband's actions in front of his followers. Isn't that right?'
She surprised him by agreeing. 'Yes, I was simply curious, and no, I would never criticize you in front of your followers. Do you have the patience to endure one more question, husband?'
