Read Online DARE THE WILD WIND by Kaye Wilson Klem - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kaye Wilson Klem
Ads: Link
lead her into the first steps. It was a simple country air, to a slower measure than the last, but it would offer Brenna the excuse she sought. As her partner swept her into a wide turn of the dance, she stumbled and caught her heel in the hem of her billowing skirt. With satisfaction, she heard the sound of ripping silk.
Her partner's hand steadied her, and Brenna twisted to look, letting out a small vexed cry. "I've torn my dress."
Gratified, she saw above the hem the stitching of her skirt had wrenched free from the gown's tightly nipped waist. Immediately the other couples around them halted, the women ignoring the music and clustering around Brenna to examine the destruction.
"Forgive me," Brenna apologized, "but I can't finish the dance in this state. I'll have to find my maid to make repairs."
Her partner bent over her hand. "I'll only be consoled if I can exact your promise for another dance."
She gathered her skirts, careful to display the gape of silk and the exposed petticoat beneath.
"The first dance when I return," Brenna said, though she never intended to set foot in this once loved room again.
Chapter 6
"The man is daft," Morag hissed as she swung the door of Brenna's bedchamber wider to admit her. "Cameron MacCavan was always a wild young fool."
"Wild, I'll grant." Brenna laughed and whirled to shut the door quickly behind her. "But name me another man who could lock a troop of dragoons in Malcolm's dungeons without firing a shot."
Morag's answer was a glare. Then her gaze fell on the rent in Brenna's skirt. "Is there fighting?"
Brenna shook her head. "Only the politest of talk." Exhilarated, she caught the startled Morag in a swift, heartfelt embrace. "He's here, Morag. He's alive and well."
Morag sputtered awkwardly. Then she recovered her fierce dignity. "No thanks to his good sense. And what's become of yours, ripping your finest gown?"
"My dress doesn't matter," Brenna told her. "Quick, Morag, help me out of it."
She frowned down at the torn silk. "No need for that. Only stand still, and I can stitch it back in place."
Brenna caught the older woman's hands in hers. "Morag, forgive me. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I couldn't risk Malcolm questioning you."
Under her high bridged nose, Morag's pinched mouth tightened with injury and indignation. "When have I ever betrayed you?"
Brenna felt a pang of guilt. "Never. But it was safer not to force you to hide anything from Malcolm."
She paused, tryi ng to find the words to say goobye.
"I'm leaving with Cam." Brenna saw Morag's stricken look. "When Malcolm asks you, you can truthfully tell him I kept it a secret from you."
For a second, Morag struggled to find her voice. "My lady, you're mad. And Cameron MacCavan is the devil's own whelp. How can he carry you off with him in the middle of a war?"
Brenna kicked her silver buckled slippers from her feet, and flung open the tall wardrobe by her canopied, high posted bed.
" Cam isn't to blame. I was the one to insist."
Morag pursued her. "You've never seen an army camp. It's mud and fever and pox. It's men who'd use you ill the minute they saw the chance."
Brenna turned back to face her. "Cam will protect me. And what choice do I have? After today, Malcolm will never give his consent to our marriage."
Morag's eyes reluctantly granted the truth of what she said.
"If I don't go now, I may never have the chance again."
Slowly the last lines of resistance dissolved in Morag's face. She folded Brenna briefly into her bony arms.
"Then, child, if you must, I won't hinder you." She put Brenna firmly away from her. "Best let me unhook you."
The hyacinth silk slid to a bright heap on the cold stone floor. Casting aside panniers and her foam of petticoats, Brenna pulled on boots and a simple gown suitable for riding.
Brenna had gathered the last precious reminders of her
Her partner's hand steadied her, and Brenna twisted to look, letting out a small vexed cry. "I've torn my dress."
Gratified, she saw above the hem the stitching of her skirt had wrenched free from the gown's tightly nipped waist. Immediately the other couples around them halted, the women ignoring the music and clustering around Brenna to examine the destruction.
"Forgive me," Brenna apologized, "but I can't finish the dance in this state. I'll have to find my maid to make repairs."
Her partner bent over her hand. "I'll only be consoled if I can exact your promise for another dance."
She gathered her skirts, careful to display the gape of silk and the exposed petticoat beneath.
"The first dance when I return," Brenna said, though she never intended to set foot in this once loved room again.
Chapter 6
"The man is daft," Morag hissed as she swung the door of Brenna's bedchamber wider to admit her. "Cameron MacCavan was always a wild young fool."
"Wild, I'll grant." Brenna laughed and whirled to shut the door quickly behind her. "But name me another man who could lock a troop of dragoons in Malcolm's dungeons without firing a shot."
Morag's answer was a glare. Then her gaze fell on the rent in Brenna's skirt. "Is there fighting?"
Brenna shook her head. "Only the politest of talk." Exhilarated, she caught the startled Morag in a swift, heartfelt embrace. "He's here, Morag. He's alive and well."
Morag sputtered awkwardly. Then she recovered her fierce dignity. "No thanks to his good sense. And what's become of yours, ripping your finest gown?"
"My dress doesn't matter," Brenna told her. "Quick, Morag, help me out of it."
She frowned down at the torn silk. "No need for that. Only stand still, and I can stitch it back in place."
Brenna caught the older woman's hands in hers. "Morag, forgive me. I wanted to tell you yesterday, but I couldn't risk Malcolm questioning you."
Under her high bridged nose, Morag's pinched mouth tightened with injury and indignation. "When have I ever betrayed you?"
Brenna felt a pang of guilt. "Never. But it was safer not to force you to hide anything from Malcolm."
She paused, tryi ng to find the words to say goobye.
"I'm leaving with Cam." Brenna saw Morag's stricken look. "When Malcolm asks you, you can truthfully tell him I kept it a secret from you."
For a second, Morag struggled to find her voice. "My lady, you're mad. And Cameron MacCavan is the devil's own whelp. How can he carry you off with him in the middle of a war?"
Brenna kicked her silver buckled slippers from her feet, and flung open the tall wardrobe by her canopied, high posted bed.
" Cam isn't to blame. I was the one to insist."
Morag pursued her. "You've never seen an army camp. It's mud and fever and pox. It's men who'd use you ill the minute they saw the chance."
Brenna turned back to face her. "Cam will protect me. And what choice do I have? After today, Malcolm will never give his consent to our marriage."
Morag's eyes reluctantly granted the truth of what she said.
"If I don't go now, I may never have the chance again."
Slowly the last lines of resistance dissolved in Morag's face. She folded Brenna briefly into her bony arms.
"Then, child, if you must, I won't hinder you." She put Brenna firmly away from her. "Best let me unhook you."
The hyacinth silk slid to a bright heap on the cold stone floor. Casting aside panniers and her foam of petticoats, Brenna pulled on boots and a simple gown suitable for riding.
Brenna had gathered the last precious reminders of her
Similar Books
