“Did he tell you he and Ramsey went to England a long time ago to find brides?” Judith asked.
Gillian’s eyes widened and she glanced at Brodick. “No, he didn’t tell me. When did he and his friend go to England?”
“It was at least six or seven years ago.”
“More like eight,” Frances Catherine told her friend.
“What happened?” Gillian asked.
“They were both in love with Judith,” Frances Catherine said.
“They were not,” Judith argued.
“Yes, they were,” she insisted. “But of course Judith was already married to Iain, so they decided they would find brides in England just like her.”
Gillian smiled. “They were very young then, weren’t they?”
“With foolish expectations,” Frances Catherine added. “None of the ladies they met measured up to their Judith—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Frances Catherine. You needn’t make me sound like a saint. They weren’t looking for ladies like me. They were just restless and hadn’t found mates here. They soon came to their senses, however, and came back home. Both vowed to Iain that they would marry Highlanders.”
“And that was that,” Frances Catherine said.
“Until you came along,” Judith remarked with a smile.
“Brodick has been very kind to me,” Gillian said. “But that is all there is to it. He’s a very kind man,” she added in a stammer.
“No, he isn’t,” Frances Catherine bluntly replied.
Judith laughed. “Do you have feelings for this kind man?”
“You shouldn’t ask her such a question,” Frances Catherine said. “But do you, Gillian?”
“Of course I care for him. He came to my aid and helped me get Alec home. I shall be forever indebted to him. However,” she hastily added when both ladies looked as though they were going to interrupt, “I must return to England as soon as my duty here is finished. I cannot entertain foolish . . . dreams.”
“There are complications you aren’t aware of, Frances Catherine,” Judith explained.
“Love is complicated,” her friend replied. “Answer one last question for me, Gillian, and I promise I’ll stop hounding you. Have you given your heart to Brodick?”
She was saved from having to answer the question when Frances Catherine’s husband interrupted them. Patrick Maitland resembled his brother, Iain, in coloring, but he was sparsely built in comparison. He was just as protective of his wife, however, and Gillian noticed that both brothers didn’t have any trouble letting others see how they felt about their wives. Their love was apparent, heartwarming, enviable.
Frances Catherine introduced her to Patrick and then proudly pointed out their children, six in all, twin girls who looked like their mother and four handsome sons. The baby couldn’t have been more than a year old and was diligently trying to wiggle out of his father’s arms. When the baby smiled, two shiny teeth were visible.
Alec tugged on Gillian’s hand to get her attention then and presented his brother, Graham, to her. The firstborn Maitland was quite shy. He wouldn’t look at Gillian, but he bowed formally all the way to his waist, then ran away to rejoin his friends.
“Our son Graham was named after a valiant soldier who trained my husband,” Judith explained. “Graham’s been gone almost eight years now, but we still mourn his passing. He was a wonderful man and like a grandfather to me. Ah, there’s Helen waving to us. The food must be ready. Come, Gillian, you and Brodick must sit with Iain and me. Frances Catherine, fetch your husband and join us.”
Darkness descended and additional candles were placed about the gigantic hall. All the women helped carry in platters of food. Though Gillian offered, she wasn’t allowed to lift a finger. She was astonished that such a grand feast could be so quickly prepared. There were pigeon pies and pheasant, salmon and salted trout, thick crusty bread (black and brown), sugared cakes, and sweet apple tarts, and to wash it all down were glistening pitchers of wine and ale and icy cold water, fresh from a mountain stream. There was also goat’s milk, and Gillian drank a full goblet of the creamy liquid.
During the meal, Alec was passed around from soldier to soldier. He was too excited to eat and was talking so fast, he stammered.
“My son has dark circles under his eyes,” Iain said. “And so do you, Gillian. You will both have to catch up on your sleep.”
“They both have nightmares.” Brodick made the comment in a low voice so that only Iain would hear. “Where will Gillian sleep tonight?”
“In Graham’s old room,” Iain replied. “You needn’t worry about her. Judith and I will make certain she isn’t disturbed.”
The music started again and Patrick immediately stood up. He put the baby in Judith’s lap, then pulled his wife to her feet. Frances Catherine’s face was flushed with excitement as she followed her husband to the center of the room. Other couples quickly joined them. They danced to the accompaniment of men stomping their feet and clapping their hands to the lively rhythm of the tune.
Several bold young soldiers came forward to ask Gillian to dance, but one dark look from Brodick sent them scurrying away.
He was getting angrier by the second. By all that was holy, couldn’t they see she was wearing his plaid? And couldn’t they leave her alone for one damned night? The lass was clearly all worn out. Why even Iain had remarked about the dark circles under her eyes. Brodick shook his head in disgust. What in thunder did he have to do to make certain that Gillian got a little peace and quiet?
And what right did he have to be so possessive? She didn’t belong to him. They had simply been thrown together for Alec’s sake.
“Hell,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?” Gillian’s arm rubbed against his when she leaned toward him. “Did you say something, Brodick?”
He didn’t answer her. “He said, ‘hell,’” Iain cheerfully informed her. “Didn’t he, Judith?”
“Yes, he most certainly did,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she patted her nephew. “He said, ‘hell.’”
“But why?” Gillian asked. “What’s wrong with him?”
Iain laughed. “You,” he answered. “You’re what’s wrong with him.”
Brodick scowled. “Iain, let it alone.”
“Milady, could I have a dance with you?”
Alec stood right behind Gillian, poking her between her shoulders to get her attention. When she turned around and smiled at him, he bowed low. Lord, he was adorable, and she had to resist the urge to scoop him up in her arms and hug him tight.
While Brodick was patiently explaining to the child that Gillian was too tired to dance, she stood up, curtsied as though the King of Scotland himself had honored her, and then put her hand out for Alec to clasp.
Alec thought that dancing meant circling until he was dizzy. Brodick moved to the side of the hall and leaned against a pillar with his arms folded across his chest while he watched. He noticed how Gillian’s dark curls shimmered red from the light of the fire blazing in the hearth behind her, and he noticed her smile too. It was filled with such sweet joy.
Then he noticed he wasn’t the only man noticing. As soon as the dance ended, soldiers, like vultures, came swooping in. At least eight men surrounded her, begging for her attention.
All of them wanted to dance with her, but she politely declined their requests. She found Brodick in the crowd, and without even thinking about what she was doing, she walked over to him and stood by his side. Neither looked at the other and neither spoke, yet when she moved closer to him, he moved toward her, until their bodies touched.
He stared straight ahead when he asked, “Do you miss England?”
“I miss my Uncle Morgan.”
“But do you miss England?”
“It’s home.”
Several minutes passed in silence as they watched the dancers, and then she asked, “Tell me about your home.”
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“Wh
y not?”
He shrugged. “The Buchanans aren’t like the Maitlands.”
“And what does that mean?”
“We’re . . . harder. They call us Spartans, and in some ways I think perhaps we are. You’re too soft for our way of life.”
“There are other women living on the Buchanan land, aren’t there?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m not certain what you meant when you said I was too soft, but I have a feeling it wasn’t flattery. Still, I’m not going to take offense. Besides, I’d wager that the Buchanan women aren’t any different than I am. If I’m soft, then so are they.”
He smiled as he glanced down at her. “They’d have you for their supper.”
“Meaning?”
“Your feelings would be destroyed in a matter of minutes.”
She laughed, and heads turned in response to the joyful sound.
“Tell me about these women,” she asked. “You’ve made me very curious.”
“There isn’t much to tell,” he replied. “They’re strong,” he added. “And they can certainly take care of themselves. They can protect themselves against attack, and they can kill as easily and as quickly as any man.” With another glance at her he added, “They’re warriors, and they sure as certain aren’t soft.”
“Are you criticizing them or praising them?” she wanted to know.
“Praising them, of course.”
She moved so that she stood directly in front of him. “What was your purpose in telling me about the women in your clan?”
“You asked.”
She shook her head. “You started this conversation. Now finish it.”
He sighed. “I just wanted you to know that it could never work.”
“What couldn’t work?”
“You and me.”
She didn’t try to pretend she was outraged by his impudence or insulted by his arrogance. “You’re a very blunt man, aren’t you?”
“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”
He knew he’d pricked her temper with his last comment—her eyes had turned the color of an angry sea—but he wasn’t going to take the words back or soften the truth.
He dealt in reality, not fantasy, yet the thought of walking away from her was becoming more and more unacceptable to him. What the hell was the matter with him? And what was happening to his discipline? It fairly deserted him now, for though he tried, he found it impossible to make himself look away from her. He focused on her mouth, remembering all too well how wonderfully soft her lips had been pressed against his. Damn, but he wanted to kiss her again.
His eyes narrowed, and he looked as though he were about to start growling at her any moment.
“You probably feel you’re being very noble by telling me you could never love me . . .”
Surprised by her interpretation, he replied gruffly, “I didn’t say I couldn’t love you.”
“You most certainly did,” she argued. “You just told me that a life together is out of the question.”
“It is out of the question. You’d be miserable.”
She closed her eyes and prayed for tolerance. She was riled and trying not to let it show. “Let me get this straight. You could love me, but you could never live with me. Have I got it right, now?”
“Just about,” he drawled out.
“Since you’ve felt compelled to make your position clear, I believe I shall do the same. Even if I should suffer the misfortune of falling in love with an arrogant, opinionated, obstinate Spartan like you—which, I might add, is about as likely as being able to fly like a bird—I couldn’t possibly marry you. So you see it doesn’t matter a twit that you believe a life together is out of the question.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why can’t you marry me?”
She blinked. The man was making her crazy.
“I must return to England . . .”
“So that the bastard who beat you near to death can have another opportunity to kill you?”
“I will protect my Uncle Morgan at all costs.”
He didn’t like hearing that. He clenched his jaw, causing the muscle to flex, his frustration more than apparent.
“And when you find your sister, will you ask her to give up her life as well?”
“No, I won’t,” she whispered. “If I can find Arianna’s treasure . . . that will have to be enough to placate my uncle’s captor.”
“I find it curious that in all the time we’ve been together, you’ve never once said his name.”
“We haven’t been together all that long.”
“Why haven’t you spoken his name? You don’t want me to know who he is, do you, Gillian?”
She refused to answer him. “I would like to sit down. Would you excuse me please?”
“In other words, you’re through discussing the matter?”
She started to nod, then changed her mind. “As a matter of fact, I do have one more thing to say to you.”
“Then say it,” he ordered when she hesitated.
“I could never love a man who finds me so lacking.”
She tried to walk away, but he caught her by her shoulders and pulled her back.
“Ah, Gillian, you’re not lacking.” His head slowly bent toward her. “You’re . . . just . . . so . . . damned . . . sweet.”
His arms went around her and he roughly pulled her against him. His mouth brushed against hers. The mere touch of her sweet lips was so intoxicating that what happened next was surely inevitable and meant to be.
Brodick stopped running.
His mouth covered hers with absolute possession. Yet there was an urgency there as well to make her feel the way he was feeling. He knew she cared about him, but he wanted and needed much more. The music and the crowd and the noise were completely forgotten in that suspended moment of time as Brodick kissed her long and thoroughly. He felt her tremble when his tongue swept inside her sweet mouth with blatant ownership, and he tightened his hold around her waist, thinking that he never wanted to let go. Then he felt her twine her arms around his neck and lean into him until their thighs were pressed against each other. She met his kiss with an equal fervor that was so honest and giving he actually shuddered with raw desire.
He was thinking hard about throwing her over his shoulder and finding the closest bed when someone shouted and he came to his senses in a flash. He ended the kiss so abruptly, her arms were still around his neck when he stepped back.
It took her several seconds to realize where she was and what had happened, and when her head finally cleared, she was promptly horrified by her own shameful behavior. Dear God, there were at least sixty strangers watching, and what would her Uncle Morgan say about her sinful exhibition of lust?
She was so confused she didn’t know what to do. She wanted to tell Brodick never to kiss her like that again, yet at the same time she wanted to demand that he do exactly that, and right this minute. What was happening to her? She didn’t know her own thoughts anymore. Angry and frustrated, she lashed out at him.
“You will not kiss me like that ever again.” The command shook with emotion.
“Yes, I will.”
He sounded gratingly cheerful, and she wasn’t about to stand there arguing with him. She turned around and tried to walk away.
He grabbed her hand and jerked her back. “Gillian?”
“Yes?” she replied, rudely refusing to look at him.
“Ramsey’s here.”
Her head snapped up. “He is?”
Brodick nodded. “You will remember my kiss when you meet him. In fact, you’re going to be thinking about it the rest of the night.”
It wasn’t a hope; it was a command, and she didn’t know which offended her more, his arrogance or his bossy disposition.
“I will?” she challenged.
He smiled. “Yes.”
Determined to have the last word, she took a step closer to him so she wouldn’t be overheard a
nd then said, “I will not love you.”
He took a step toward her, no doubt trying to intimidate her, she supposed, and then he leaned down close to her ear and whispered, “You already do.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Every unattached female in the Maitland clan sprang to attention the second Laird Ramsey and the Sinclair entourage entered the hall. A collective sigh went up from the young girls, who acted very like a covey of quail following Ramsey as he crossed the long hall to get to Iain Maitland.
Brodick watched Gillian’s reaction to the Adonis. Before Ramsey came inside, Brodick had suggested rather firmly that she sit in the corner and wait until the greetings were over to speak to him.
Her response to his friend pleased Brodick considerably. Unlike the other women, she didn’t leap to her feet and go chasing after the laird. Instead, she appeared curious and somewhat relieved when she spotted Ramsey’s little brother, Michael, trailing behind him. ’Twas a fact, she seemed far more interested in finding out who was with him. With a worried look on her face, she intently studied each man walking into the hall. When she suddenly relaxed in the chair, Brodick realized she had been waiting to see if the traitor was in the group.
Dylan was the last to enter. He immediately went to his laird to give his report, and when he was finished, he asked, “Where is Lady Gillian? I don’t see her dancing with the others.”
Brodick nodded toward the corner. Dylan turned, spotted her, and then smiled. “She wears our plaid,” he remarked proudly. “Is she not the most beautiful lady here?”
“Aye, she is,” Brodick agreed quietly.
“Laird, this is a celebration, yet I notice milady sits all alone. Why is that? Are the Maitlands ignoring her? Does the clan consider her an outsider? Hasn’t Iain told his followers that she is the sole reason they have something to celebrate? By God, don’t they realize Alec would be dead if it were not for her courage and strength?”
With each question he posed, Dylan became more outraged until his face was red with anger. The possibility that Lady Gillian was being slighted obviously infuriated him.
“Do you believe I would allow anyone to ignore Gillian? Find your soldiers and you’ll know the reason why she sits all alone. They won’t let anyone near her.”