Ransom

  “I swear to you, I’m telling the truth. Women like to look at Ramsey, and that’s why they chase after him. You don’t think him handsome?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it until now, but I suppose he is,” she said. “Yes, of course he is,” she added with a bit more conviction so Brodick wouldn’t think she was trying to find fault with his friend. “Iain’s also very handsome. I’m surprised that the ladies don’t chase after you. After all, you’re much more . . .”

  She stopped herself in time. Heaven help her, she was about to tell him how attractive he was. His earthy masculinity bordered on downright sinful. Just being near him made her want to think about things that were wanton and certainly unladylike, but strumpets had those kinds of thoughts. They were lustful; she wasn’t. At least not until Brodick came into her life and turned it upside down.

  Oh, she wasn’t about to let him know how he affected her. The last thing she wanted to do was build his arrogance. Brodick already had enough to last a lifetime.

  “I’m much more what?” he asked.

  She shook her head and tried to ignore his penetrating gaze. “I know why ladies don’t chase you,” she said. “It’s because you scare them.”

  He laughed. “That’s good to know.”

  “And you frown all the time.”

  “Ah, there’s Dylan.”

  Without so much as a fare-thee-well, Brodick strode away. She couldn’t believe his lack of courtesy; he hadn’t even bothered to glance her way first. He just took off.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” she whispered. “You’re not getting away from me.” Muttering to herself, she picked up her skirts and hurried down the hill.

  “Brodick, I insist on having a word with you, and I don’t care if you want to listen or not,” she called out, but since he was so far ahead of her, she doubted he heard a word she said.

  She didn’t mean to pick up the pace, but the hill was much steeper than she’d judged, and before she realized what was happening, she was running and couldn’t seem to slow down.

  She propelled herself right into the middle of a sword fight. “I beg your pardon,” she stammered when she bumped into a soldier.

  The man didn’t hear her, but he obviously felt her ram into his back. Believing another soldier was trying to best him from behind, he whirled around, raised his sword, and was swinging it downward in a wide arc when he discovered whom he was about to strike.

  His startled shout reached the treetops. Gillian jumped back and collided with another soldier. She quickly turned to him and said, “I’m so sorry.”

  Then he shouted. Mortified by the turmoil she was causing, and not knowing where to turn, she whirled in a circle and then stood in the thick of the mock battle, surrounded by large, panting soldiers who were fighting as though their lives depended on it. None of them seemed to realize they were merely training.

  In the chaos, she lost sight of Brodick.

  “Please excuse me for interrupting you,” she apologized as she gently pushed her way through the crowd.

  Brodick let out a roar that caused her heart to miss a beat. Then everyone began to shout. With a resigned sigh, she knew that she was the reason why.

  The fighting had stopped, and she was circled by a ring of incredulous warriors staring down at her as though she had just dropped out of the sky.

  “I’m so sorry, gentlemen. I didn’t mean to interrupt your training. I really am . . . oh, there’s Brodick. Please let me pass.”

  The men appeared too stupefied to move. Brodick’s bellowed command got through to them, however, and within seconds a wide path was formed. Brodick stood at one end with his legs braced apart, his hands on his hips, and a scowl on his face.

  She thought it would be a good idea to go the other way, but when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that Dylan and Winslow were blocking that end. Winslow looked as though he wanted to kill her. Dylan just looked plain astonished.

  Feeling trapped, she decided she was going to have to bluster her way through this embarrassment, and straightening her shoulders, she slowly walked to the man who she believed was solely responsible for turning her into a simpleton.

  “For the love of God, Gillian, what were you thinking? You could have been killed.”

  A loud grumble of agreement washed over the crowd. Her face burning, she forced herself to turn to her disgruntled audience. She folded her hands together as though in prayer and repeated, “I am so sorry. I started down the hill, and before I knew what was happening, I was running. I apologize, gentlemen, for interrupting you and causing you concern.”

  The sincerity in her voice and her heartfelt apology both placated and pleased the soldiers. Several actually bowed to her, while others nodded to let her know they forgave her her transgression.

  She was beginning to feel better, but then she turned back to Brodick, and that feeling immediately evaporated. His scowl was hot enough to make the sun break out in a sweat.

  “I wanted to speak to you,” she said.

  His head down like a bull, he charged toward her. When he reached her, he didn’t slow down. He simply clasped hold of her hand and kept right on going. She didn’t have any choice. She could either walk with him—which meant run, because his stride was much longer and quicker than hers—or she could be dragged along behind him like a rag doll.

  “Let go of me or slow down,” she demanded as she tried to keep pace with him.

  He slowed down. “I swear to God, you try the patience of a saint.”

  “You aren’t a saint, Brodick, no matter what your mother might have told you.”

  The bull actually smiled. “Ah, but you do please me, Gillian. ’Tis the truth you do.”

  She wasn’t in the mood for compliments, especially when given in such a bewildered tone.

  “Then I’m about to make you—”

  “Delirious?” he asked, remembering her comment from the night before.

  “Yes, you will be delirious, and do you know why?”

  “No,” he replied dryly, “but you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?”

  He sounded resigned. She refused to take insult. “I’m letting you off the hook.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You don’t have to worry about my reputation any longer. If I’m not going to be concerned about it, then why should you?”

  “I see.”

  “You don’t have to marry me.”

  “Is that right?”

  He suddenly veered to the line of trees where Ramsey’s admirers had gathered earlier.

  “Where are you dragging me now?”

  “We need some privacy.”

  She didn’t argue or point out the fact that she had asked him for a moment of privacy just minutes before he went chasing after Dylan. The sooner she explained her position the better, she thought, before they were interrupted or he went running away again.

  “I know why you offered.”

  “Offered what?” he asked with a glance at her.

  “Will you please pay attention. You were just being gallant when you made the suggestion to marry me.”

  “Suggestion?” he scoffed. “Gillian, I don’t make suggestions. I give orders. See the difference?”

  She refused to waste time trying to appease him. “This isn’t the time for diplomacy,” she said. “I have to make you understand that you don’t have to be noble. It’s all my fault, really it is. I realize that now. I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me to Ramsey’s home. I backed you into a corner, and that was wrong of me.”

  “No one’s ever backed me into a corner,” he said, highly insulted by her remark. “I did what I wanted to do and what I felt was necessary.”

  “You aren’t responsible for me.”

  He pulled her along to a secluded spot in the woods as she rambled on and on about his reasons for doing what he had done. She had obviously thought it over and worked it all out in her mind. She had it all wrong, of course, but he decided to wait until she w
as finished explaining his motives to him before he set her straight.

  When they reached an open circle of trees, he let go of her hand, leaned back against a fat tree trunk, folded his arms across his chest, and waited for her to finish lecturing him.

  He tried to concentrate on what she was saying, but he became distracted. She was such a sight with her cheeks flushed and her golden brown hair curling about her shoulders. He knew she didn’t have any idea how beautiful she was. Appearances weren’t important to her, and he thought that a refreshing difference between her and other women he’d known. Her eyes had turned a deep emerald color. There was definitely passion simmering below the surface, and he had a sudden, almost overwhelming need to take her into his arms and never let go.

  “Now do you understand?”

  What the hell was she talking about now? “Understand what?” he asked, realizing then he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

  “Haven’t you been listening?” she cried out in frustration.

  “No.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Brodick, I’m not going to marry you.” She shook her head. “I won’t let you be noble.”

  “Gillian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you like being with me?”

  She pretended not to understand because it was safer than allowing him to push her into admitting all those feelings she was desperately trying to keep hidden.

  “Do you mean . . . now?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “Brodick—”

  “Answer me.”

  She bowed her head. “Yes, I do like being with you . . . very much,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t matter,” she added in a rush. “We’ve known each other a very short time, and you have to go home. I’m sure you have many pressing duties waiting for you. You are the Buchanan laird, after all.”

  “I know what the hell I am,” he snapped.

  She snapped back, giving him a dose of his own tactics. “Don’t you dare take that tone with me. I won’t put up with it.”

  When he suddenly broke into a grin, her temper flared. “Do you find my criticism amusing?”

  “I find you utterly refreshing.”

  She had trouble catching her breath. “You do?”

  “Yes, I do. Not many women would speak to me the way you do. ’Tis the truth you’re the first,” he added a bit sheepishly. “I shouldn’t allow such insolence,” he added.

  “I don’t believe I was being insolent, and I’m not usually critical of others, but you make me lose my senses.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  Exasperated, she took a step toward him and shook her head. “I wish you would stop trying to confuse me by changing the subject. You’re making this very difficult for me. I’m simply trying to—”

  “Let me off the hook?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  He reached for her, but she backed away and put her hand out as a command for him to stay where he was. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Kiss me. That’s what you were going to do, isn’t it?”

  He leaned back against the tree again. “Do you want me to?”

  She threaded her fingers through her hair in agitation. “Yes . . . I mean, no. Oh, stop asking me questions,” she cried out. “You’re making me daft. I can’t marry you. I have to find my sister and that cursed box and go back to England. If I married you, you’d end up alone.”

  “Have you so little faith in me? Don’t you think I can protect you?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Of course I have faith in you. I know you can protect me, but this isn’t your battle. It’s mine, and I will not put you in the middle of it. If anything happened to you, I don’t think I could bear it.”

  A sudden thought struck him and shook him to the core. “Is there a man in England waiting for you?”

  For the first time since they had begun the heated discussion, he sounded unsure of himself. His vulnerability was endearing. Though she knew she could lie and end the discussion now and forever, she felt compelled and honor-bound to tell him the truth.

  “No, there isn’t any other man. I’m going home to my Uncle Morgan . . . but no other.”

  “Has your uncle chosen a husband for you?”

  “No.”

  He tilted his head as he studied her, and then quietly said, “He would find me acceptable.”

  She didn’t argue with him. “Yes, he would.”

  “Would it please him to know you married a laird?”

  Brodick’s armor was fully back in place, and any uncertainty she had glimpsed in him had completely vanished. The arrogant warrior faced her now, cocky and full of himself.

  “It would please my uncle to know you had attained such an important position in your clan, but that isn’t why he would find you acceptable.”

  “Why then?” he asked curiously.

  “Because he would easily see through your gruff exterior. You’re hot-tempered and passionate in your beliefs, and you’re extremely loyal to those you love. You’re an honorable man, Brodick, and you couldn’t fool my uncle. He would know what’s in your heart.”

  “What about you, Gillian? Do you know what’s in my heart?”

  His voice was whisper soft, and a jolt of longing rushed all the way down to her toes. In the sunlight filtering through the branches of the trees surrounding them, Brodick’s body had taken on an iridescent glow. His skin glistened and his long golden hair shimmered. Looking at such a fit man made her mouth dry and her stomach churn. Her fantasies heated her face, and when she realized she was staring at his mouth, she forced herself to look at the ground until she could get her errant thoughts under control. She had never thought much about mating with a man until she had met Brodick, and thanks to him, she knew she was going to have to spend a good deal of time in the confessional, telling a priest how depraved she had become.

  “Have you been with many women?” She couldn’t believe she had the nerve to ask him such an intimate question, and more than anything she wished she could take the words back. “Don’t answer,” she blurted out. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “You can ask me anything,” he said. “And yes, I’ve been with women,” he answered very matter-of-factly. “Would you like me to speculate on the number?”

  “No, I would not,” she answered. She continued to stare at the ground when she asked, “Is there a woman waiting for you?”

  “I imagine there are several waiting for me.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “You cannot marry several women, Brodick. Only one.”

  Her cheeks were flushed. It took all he had not to laugh. “There are always women waiting and willing to share my bed,” he explained. “None of them have the expectation of marriage.”

  She decided she hated every single one of those women. The burst of jealousy she felt didn’t make a lick of sense but made her feel miserable. She wasn’t going to marry him, yet she detested the thought of Brodick sharing his bed with another woman.

  Unable to hide it, the anger radiated in her voice when she asked, “And will these women continue to share your bed after you are married?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” he admitted.

  “Then think about it now,” she snapped.

  She realized he knew exactly what was going on inside her head when he smiled at her. Oh, yes, he knew she didn’t like hearing about his women, and he was thoroughly enjoying her reaction. She suddenly wanted to kick him and kiss him at the same time.

  She chose to behave instead. “Your wife would not wish you to take other women to your bed.”

  “Gillian, when we marry, I will have only you and no other. We will both be faithful to each other, during the good and the bad times we share. You needn’t worry about such inconsequential things. I want only you. Will your Uncle Morgan know I will take care of you?”

  “He would know I could take care of myself. I’m not a weakling. My uncle taught me how to d
efend myself. Did you get the notion that I was weak because Alec told you I was beaten?”

  “No,” he answered. “You showed strength, not weakness. You protected the boy from harm by turning the bastard’s rage on yourself. Besides,” he added arrogantly, “I would never marry a weakling.”

  The warmth in his voice and his praise were almost her undoing. Oh, how she wanted to throw herself into his arms and hold him. She didn’t know how to protect herself from him, and she was already beginning to mourn her loss, for when she returned to England, she knew she would never be the same.

  “Tell me you love me,” he said.

  “I do love you,” she confessed. “But I’m not happy about it. I don’t know how it happened . . . so fast . . . I didn’t have time to protect myself from you, and I certainly didn’t mean to fall in love.” She shook her head as if to settle her thoughts. “It doesn’t matter, though. I still can’t marry you.”

  Brodick’s entire body relaxed. Although he already believed she loved him, hearing her say the words reassured him. The tension eased out of him and he suddenly felt reborn. She made him feel clean and new and indestructible.

  “I will have you, Gillian.”

  Taken aback by the vehemence in his voice, she shook her head. “No.”

  “Yes,” he countered, his voice hard now, determined. “Know this. No other man will ever touch you. You belong to me.”

  “When did you make that decision?”

  “When you told me you loved me. I already knew, but it seems I needed to hear you say the words.”

  She burst into tears. “Why won’t you understand? I can’t ever have Annie Drummond’s house. Not now, not ever. You’re trying to put foolish thoughts into my head, and I want you to stop. It’s cruel to make me long for what I can never have. No,” she added in a near shout, “I will not dream. It’s dangerous.”

  “You want Annie Drummond’s house?” he asked, thoroughly puzzled by the bizarre wish. “Why?”

  “Oh, never mind. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Explain then so that I will understand.”

  “It’s what Annie’s cottage represents,” she said, her voice hesitant. “She has a home and a husband who loves her, and her life is . . . idyllic.”