Her father even put in an appearance. Tara was shocked at the condition of his clothing, and the man had obviously been tippling even though it was ten in the morning. Word had gone round that he had put a sizeable amount on Owen Campbell’s horse.
She knew that Breccan was nervous. He had too much riding on this race.
Her prayer was a fervent one—please, God, let Taurus win. It would be good for the Black Campbells if they claimed victory. It would give a bit of their pride back.
Besides, as Breccan had said the night before, no one wanted to lose to Owen Campbell. Tara could sense Breccan had a personal vendetta to beat Owen. She didn’t know what it was, but she suspected it involved her.
Breccan parked the curricle in a spot with a clear view of the finish line. He was eager to see to his horse and his rider, a lad by the name of Willy. Jonas and Lachlan quickly decided to walk to the starting line where the horses and riders were gathered with him.
“You’ll be all right here alone?” Breccan asked.
“I will be fine. My cousin Sabrina might come along. All will be well. Go see to Taurus.”
The men walked off. Tara watched them, admiring her husband. He was such a fine and bonnie man. She felt herself lucky—
“Hello, my lady.”
Tara recognized the voice immediately. She turned, and there was Ruary Jamerson, standing beside the coach.
He was a handsome man, but she found herself preferring Breccan’s strong features to Ruary’s perfection.
“You seem well,” he said, and she sensed he was not.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Jamerson?” she asked, trying to keep her interest formal. A crowd was growing around them. One never knew who could be listening.
“Well enough.”
“I’m surprised you returned to the valley,” she said. “I thought once you reached Newmarket, you would stay.”
“My wife missed her family.”
His wife. Jane. The woman with whom he’d eloped. The woman he had chosen over Tara.
“Well,” she said, “it is good of you to think of her wishes. I’m certain you’ve been welcomed back to the valley.”
He frowned, searched her face. They had been so close at one time. She knew there was something he wanted to say.
Tara kept her attention on her husband, talking to his rider and Mr. Ricks. But she was also aware of Ruary. She did not want him to be unhappy.
At the same time, she did want him to say, “I miss you. I should never have left you. I love you, Tara. I love you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tara experienced a moment of panic. What if people overheard him? And then she realized she had nothing to fear. Breccan knew she loved him.
In the distance, she could see her husband with his horse and his uncles . . . she adored Breccan with every breath of her being.
She looked to Ruary. “You made the right decision with me, and I thank you for it. I thought I ran away from marrying a man I had no feelings for because I loved you. And I do care for you, Ruary, but with the affection of a friend. You were kind to me at a time in my life when I needed it. And do you know, if we were both committed to each other, well, then you wouldn’t have ever had Jane.”
“I was confused—” he started, but Tara held up a hand to stop him.
“You were not confused. What we had was good at one time, but I love my husband.”
“Breccan Campbell? The two of you are an odd couple,” Ruary said in an incredulous voice.
“We are a troll and selkie,” Tara agreed happily.
Ruary looked at her as if she were spouting gibberish. Her response was to let all the love she felt for Breccan shine in her smile.
Ruary took a step back and viewed her as if with new eyes. “He is a good man. I just thought he would not appeal to you.”
“Perhaps he wouldn’t to the woman I was in London, but then, I didn’t know what I wanted. I’m happy, Ruary. Breccan and I are making a wonderful home.”
At that moment, Breccan came striding back. He noticed Ruary but didn’t acknowledge him. He climbed up on the curricle seat beside Tara. “Willy has Taurus in line with the others. Lachlan will stay with him. Jonas will be here on the finish line but on the other side.”
“Good luck, Laird,” Ruary said. “Taurus is a good horse.”
“I wish you good luck working for Owen,” Breccan said candidly. “You will need it.”
Ruary nodded and backed off.
“He has been training Owen’s horse?” Tara asked.
Breccan nodded.
“Owen will stoop at nothing,” Tara said. “He probably believes Ruary knows all your tricks.”
“He does. But I pray we beat the bastard’s horse.”
“I do as well,” Tara said, slipping her glove hand in the crook of his arm.
Breccan nodded to two men passing by. “Do you feel anything for him?”
The question was not unexpected. He hadn’t mentioned Ruary by name but Tara knew whom he meant. “Ruary was an important part of my life. Are you asking if I would run away to marry him again?”
“The answer is no,” Breccan said. “He’s a fine-looking man, but a woman such as yourself needs someone with character in your bed.”
“You are right,” Tara agreed. “You’ve spoiled me.” She kissed him, right there in Aberfeldy, where all could see.
Breccan grinned his appreciation before admitting, “At one time, I believed that what was mine I kept. I would have fought any man for you. But now, I don’t believe love is something you can cage and hold. I love you, my wife, too much to deny something you truly wanted.”
“So you are not jealous?”
“I’m mad with it,” he admitted. “But I trust you. Completely.”
She leaned against him, savoring the spiciness of his shaving soap. He shaved regularly now, and someday, she would talk him into hiring a valet. But for now, she happily performed those services and more for him. They usually led to interesting outcomes.
“And I trust you,” she whispered. “I always will.” She sat up. “But I can’t believe Ruary threw in his lot with your cousin. I’ve never heard anyone say a good word about him—”
A shout went up, a sign that the race was about to start. Owen Campbell’s horse was a handsome dark bay. Tara was certain the horse could run.
Owen’s men were also at the finish line, but a team of judges had been chosen. One of them was Tara’s uncle Richard, who was also the local magistrate. He was an incorruptible man, even when family was involved—not that he approved of Tara. He’d made it clear on several occasions he thought his titled brother’s daughters unruly, the worst label he could use on anyone.
There was a roar of encouragement from up the road. The race was on.
Breccan stood. The curricle rocked under his weight, and Tara said, “Go ahead. Go to the finish line.”
She didn’t have to suggest it twice. Like a child full of ambition, Breccan leaped out of the curricle and hurried to join Jonas.
The horses came into view. Willy and Taurus moved as one. Tara held her breath until she could see that Taurus was ahead. She stood and started yelling. She wasn’t the only one. The noise was deafening.
Taurus pulled ahead even farther.
Tara had never been to a horse race before other than the early-morning exercise ones at Annefield. This was one of the most exciting events in her life. She shouted encouragement, expecting Taurus to win. He was a length ahead. What a mighty beast—!
And then he pulled up, tossing his head. He stumbled. Willy almost came off.
Owen Campbell’s bay went sailing past, straight for the finish line.
Taurus limped, favoring the hoof that had suffered the injury from the hot nail.
They had pushed him too soon. Breccan had worried, and
he had been right.
Tara looked for her husband in the crowd. There was much celebration. Many had won money on the race.
Breccan had run to Willy and Taurus. He was consoling the lad, who was unabashedly sobbing after losing. Even Taurus hung his head in shame.
Tara gave a boy a coin to watch the curricle, then climbed down and hurried to her husband’s side.
“Willy, you rode a magnificent race,” Tara said.
The lad nodded. “He was good and solid. I don’t know what happened.”
“It was that hot nail,” Breccan said. “I knew I shouldn’t have pushed him. It has thrown him off.”
There was a noise by the finish line. Jonas was in a tussle with one of Owen Campbell’s supporters. Lachlan had just come down the road to join them. He now sighed and moved past them to rescue Jonas from his own hot temper.
“Well,” Breccan said, “let’s take Taurus home.” The defeat appeared to weigh heavy on his shoulders. A win would have meant a great deal to him. Tara knew that. It would have given her husband a touch of renown and acceptance he longed to have.
But something about Taurus’s sudden injury didn’t seem right to Tara. She’d seen the horse yesterday. He’d appeared sound. If his injury hadn’t been healed, Breccan wouldn’t have raced him.
“Breccan, remove the shoe.”
Her husband looked at her. “I had someone other than Ricks shoe him,” he said. “It is not the shoe.”
“Then there is no harm in taking it off. Two hot nails, well that would mean someone deliberately sabotaged our horse. He had been running fine until he reached this point, even in practice. What happened in that race was sudden. A nail can do that.”
“He started pulling shortly after the race began,” Willy said. “He was running on heart most of the way.”
Jonas and Lachlan approached. Jonas was muttering about “filthy Campbells.” Lachlan kept a strong hand on Jonas’s collar in case he decided to turn back and take up the fight again.
“Are we ready to leave?” Lachlan asked.
“Not yet,” Breccan said. “Willy, run over to Sawyer the blacksmith. Ask him for a pair of shoe pullers.”
The lad took off running.
People had noticed Breccan just standing with his horse. Some offered sympathy. Taurus had clearly been the better horse. Others had a few taunts to toss out, but they ran faster than Taurus when Breccan brought his icy gaze in their direction.
Willy returned. Sawyer the blacksmith came as well. He was the father of Jane, the woman who had married Ruary.
Sawyer gave a quick nod of respect to Tara, then addressed Breccan. “That was strange the way your horse pulled up hard that way. Thinking there is a problem?”
“I know he is lame,” Breccan said. “I want the shoe removed.”
The smithy was happy to oblige.
With the shoe off, Taurus was immediately more comfortable. “Here is your problem,” Sawyer said, pointing to a nail hole in the hoof. “The nail is in wrong.”
“These shoes were put on two days ago,” Breccan said, “and I was there myself to watch it done.”
“This nail is a new one.” Sawyer held up the bent nail. It was shiny. “I’d say this nail went in today.”
“But how—?” Breccan started, confused.
“Och, it doesn’t take a moment to drive in a nail,” Sawyer answered. “Someone played you dirty, Laird.”
At that moment, Tara’s uncle Richard Davidson, the magistrate, came walking up. He was accompanied by a party of people that included the other judges, Ruary, and a very smug Owen Campbell.
People in the crowd who had noticed the shoe being removed had sensed something was up. They moved close so that they could hear what was being said.
“Laird Breccan,” Uncle Richard said. “We have a concern.”
Breccan took the shoe from Sawyer and held it up. “I have a concern as well.”
“Yes,” Uncle Richard drawled, “but you’d be wise to hear from us first.” He turned to Ruary. “We have both men here. Say your piece.”
Ruary shot a glance at Owen. He frowned with distaste. “I was hired by Campbell to train his horse Bombay for this race. The horse is a good one. I have no quibble with the horse.”
“Tell us with whom you do have a quibble,” Uncle Richard said in his customary bored, judicial tone.
“After the race, I went to find my employer. He was over there by the Widow Bossley’s house, away from everyone, with William Ricks, Laird Breccan’s trainer. As I walked up, I heard Mr. Campbell tell Mr. Ricks he’d done a fine job. Ricks said he knew he had, and he wanted his payment. I saw Mr. Campbell give him money.”
“I owed him money that had nothing to do with the race,” Owen said. He started to walk away.
“Wait a minute,” Uncle Richard ordered. “I am not done.”
“I am,” Owen replied belligerently, but before he could take another step, Breccan took hold of his arm. Breccan was so strong, he could have swung his cousin to the moon and Owen had no choice but to halt.
“Take your hands off me,” Owen snapped.
“Not until you hear what the magistrate has to say, cos,” Breccan answered. “You see, I believe you conspired with Ricks to have me default on the race.”
His accusation set off an angry murmur through the crowd. The Scots enjoyed good sport, but cheaters were not to be tolerated.
“Talk to Ricks then,” Mr. Campbell said. “Of course, he has left. He assumed you would give him the sack for losing the race. I saw him ride off.”
“He hasn’t left,” Jonas said. “He’s over there.”
Everyone turned to see Mr. Ricks by the block, preparing to mount his horse. He hadn’t noticed what was happening, but he did now. For whatever reason, he had lingered, and it would cost him dearly.
Both Jonas and Lachlan went running to stop him. However, it was Ian, the tenant who had been felled by the beam in the cottage who was close enough to grab Ricks’s horse. The trainer could no longer escape.
Rough hands pulled the horse master from his mount. They practically carried him to stand before Uncle Richard.
“What is happening here?” Mr. Ricks asked.
“Breccan is a sorry loser,” Owen bit out.
The blacksmith held up Taurus’s shoe for all to see. “This shoe was tampered with. A bad nail was driven into the horse’s hoof. He ran well because he has a good heart, but even the best of them would have to give up with this sort of pain.”
Jonas whooped for joy. “What do you say now, Owen?” he demanded. “You rigged the race in your favor.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” Owen answered.
Uncle Richard addressed Sawyer. “Can you prove that nail was put in there today? Or that Mr. Ricks had a hand in mischief?”
“I can’t,” Sawyer said.
Uncle Richard spoke to Ruary. “Can you testify with complete certainty that the money you saw pass hands was because of any deed on Mr. Ricks’s part?”
“No, sir.”
A smile spread across Owen’s face. “Then I win. I’ll take my money.”
“Not so quickly,” Uncle Richard said. “We are the judges of this race. Give us a moment.” He turned to confer with the other judges.
Owen proceeded to complain loudly about the unfairness of these accusations. Breccan stood quiet. Even Jonas kept his mouth shut.
Tara could have warned Owen that one did not push her uncle Richard.
At last, the judges reached a decision.
There was a huge crowd around them now. The fate of the wager rested on this decision.
“We have decided,” Uncle Richard said, “that there is good cause to believe someone tampered with Laird Breccan’s horse. The race is declared void. All money returns to the original owners.”
Owen practically stamped his feet in fury. “This is unfair.”
Uncle Richard was unmoved. “Then run the race again, but you’ll need to wait until Laird Breccan’s horse heals.”
“And you will need another trainer,” Ruary said. “I’ll not work with the likes of you.”
“Perhaps Mr. Ricks will work with you,” Breccan suggested.
“I believe I’m going to leave,” Mr. Ricks said, and marched purposefully to his waiting horse.
“I won the race,” Owen Campbell said.
Breccan took his money, which one of the judges offered him, and said, “I don’t care about the race any longer, Owen.” He hooked his arm in Tara’s. “If you have the better horse, fine. If you don’t, that is fine as well. My sense of purpose is no longer wrapped around this nonsense.” He started to lead Tara away, but then noticed Jamerson. “You are a good man. Do you want to work with me again, Jamerson?”
“I would like that,” Ruary answered.
“See me on the morrow.” Breccan guided Tara back to their vehicle, and, once there, they had to hug each other in relief. “It would have been nice to have taken Owen’s money,” he confessed, “but this is as good.”
Tara laughingly agreed.
He helped her into the curricle and climbed in after her. With a snap of the reins, they started for home.
Home. The word filled her with warmth.
Tara placed her hand on her husband’s thigh.
This was the life she wanted. One life; one love.
She’d never felt so at peace or complete . . . except for a still debated matter—
“You know, Breccan, if we did knock out that wall between our bedroom and the sitting room, we could have a nice nursery.”
There was a beat of silence while laughter filled his eyes.
“Aye,” he agreed. “Anything for you, love. Anything for you.”
Don’t miss the next book in the
Brides of Wishmore
series by New York Times bestselling author
CATHY MAXWELL!
Read on for a sneak peek at
The Bride Says Maybe Page 22
