"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 and 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."
Dylan glanced about the hall and relaxed. His anger quickly turned to satisfaction. Robert and Liam had stationed themselves near the hearth so that they could easily intercept any eager soldier foolish enough to attempt to get to Gillian. With the same determination, Stephen, Keith, and Aaron had taken up positions on the opposite side so that they could effectively block access to the lady from both the entrance and the south side of the hall.
Brodick changed the subject then. "How did Ramsey take the news that it was Michael they wanted?"
"I didn't tell him."
"Why not?"
"There were too many others there, including the bastard MacPhersons," he explained. "Not knowing who to trust—"
"You shouldn't trust any of them," Brodick interjected.
"That's true," Dylan agreed. "So I simply told him that Iain and you wanted a conference with him as soon as possible. I also insisted that Michael come with us. When I was finally able to get him alone, I told him that Alec had been found."
"I imagine Iain's telling Ramsey the full truth now," Brodick remarked when he saw the two lairds in deep discussion. Iain's anger darkened his expression and his gestures were animated as he related what had happened to his son, but Ramsey didn't show any reaction to the startling news. He stood with his hands at his sides, looking as though he were hearing complaints about the weather.
"Ramsey seems to be taking the news well," Dylan remarked.
Brodick disagreed. "No, he isn't. He's furious. Can't you see how his hands are clenched? Ramsey's better than Iain and me at masking his feelings," he added.
"Laird Maitland's beckoning you," Dylan said. Brodick immediately went to join his friends. He showed his affection for Ramsey by slapping him on his shoulder and shoving him hard in his side with his elbow. Ramsey shoved back. "It's good to see you again, old friend," Ramsey began. "There's a foul rumor spreading through the Highlands about you, Ramsey, but I refuse to believe it. They say you've taken the MacPherson weaklings under your wing, but I know such odious gossip couldn't possibly be true."
"You know good and well the MacPhersons have joined my clan. They wanted to be Sinclairs," he added. "But they aren't weak, Brodick, only poorly trained. They didn't have the good fortune of a chieftain like Iain to train them properly the way you and I did."
"That's true," Brodick conceded. "Iain, what have you told him?"
"I told him Alec was taken by mistake and that Michael was the target."
"Where's the woman who brought Alec home?" Ramsey demanded. "I would have a word with her now."
"And so would I," Iain announced. "The party is over."
Iain signaled to the elders, and within minutes the crowd of well-wishers left. Ramsey said good night to his brother and asked him if he would like to stay with the Maitlands for a while.
Michael was thrilled. "Alec said his papa would take us fishing and he won't let us drown."
"I would hope not," Ramsey replied. "While you are here, you will remember your manners and you will obey Lady Maitland."
Michael went running up the stairs with Alec and his older brother, Graham, as Winslow came back inside. The Maitland commander went directly to Gillian, who had just said good night to Frances Catherine.
"My wife was upset with me because I didn't introduce her to you. If you could make time tomorrow…"
"I would love to meet your wife before I leave."
"Leave?" he repeated, sounding puzzled. "Where will you be going?"
"To the Sinclair holding with Ramsey."
"Brodick's allowing this?" he asked incredulously.
"I haven't asked his permission, Winslow."
"My brother would never let you go anywhere with Ramsey," he announced.
"Why wouldn't he?"
"My wife's name is Isabelle."
The abrupt change in topic was deliberate, of course. He wanted to end the discussion. His behavior reminded her of his brother's, for Brodick was just as abrupt.
And just as bossy, she decided when he told her she would like his wife. He hadn't made the statement as a hope. No, he'd ordered her to like Isabelle.
"I'm sure I will like your wife, and I look forward to meeting her."
Winslow nodded approval and then said, "The lairds are waiting for you."
With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and nodded.
The hall was still ablaze with light from the burning candles and the roaring fire in the hearth. The imposing assembly was gathered at the far end of the massive oak table, waiting tor her to join them. Iain sat at the head with Ramsey to his left and Brodick to his right. As soon as the lairds saw Gillian coming, they rose to their feet. She pulled out a chair at the opposite end and sat down. Dylan and Winslow took their places behind their lairds.
"I would hear now exactly what happened to my son," Iain said.
Brodick dragged his chair to her end of the table, sat down next to her, folded his arms across his chest, and gave his friends a glare that suggested he'd bloody them if they said a word about his seating preference.
Ramsey kept his thoughts contained, but Iain looked quite smug and satisfied. Dylan actually nodded, as though giving his approval, and then walked over to stand behind his laird.
Iain seemed amused as he watched Brodick, and it suddenly occurred to Gillian that the Maitland laird was actually a very kind man. When she had first met him, she'd found him intimidating and gruff, but she didn't any longer. Perhaps it was the affection she had seen him show his wife and children that had changed her opinion.
Ramsey, on the other hand, was more difficult to judge. He seemed far more relaxed than Brodick, which was amazing, given the fact that he had just learned that someone wanted to harm his brother. What would he do when he heard the rest of the story?
"I should have thought to have Dylan tell you to bring your commander," Brodick said to Ramsey.
"I'll tell Gideon what he needs to know when I return home," Ramsey said.
"My commander, Winslow, and Brodick's commander, Dylan, are here for a specific reason, Gillian," Iain explained.
She folded her hands on the tabletop. "For what specific reason, Laird?"
Brodick's arm rubbed hers when he leaned forward. "Retaliation." He said the word in a hard voice that sent chills down her spine. She waited for further explanation, her mind racing with questions, but Brodick didn't say another word.
"What kind of retaliation? Do you mean war?"
Instead of answering her, Brodick turned to Iain. "Let's get on with it. She's tired."
"Gillian, why don't you start at the beginning, and I promise not to interrupt," Iain said. "We'll get through this quickly and you can get some rest."
She had half expected Ramsey to rant and rave at her and blame her by association for the treachery of other Englishmen. Thankful she had been mistaken, she relaxed, leaning into Brodick's side.
