Ransom (27 page)

J
ust as Judith had predicted, Gillian did indeed cause a commotion.

Quite a crowd had gathered to celebrate Alec's return, and the mood was festive and loud. The hall was awash with candlelight. A young man was playing the lute in the corner as servants threaded their way through the throng balancing silver trays of drinks. A pig roasting on a spit was being watched over by an older woman with a poker in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. She used the spoon as a weapon to discourage the soldiers from tearing off pieces of meat before it was ready to be served.

The lively music and joyful banter surrounded Gillian as she surveyed the great hall. She started down the stairs, and suddenly the music stopped. The lute player looked up, and then one by one the voices hushed as men and women turned their faces toward her.

Brodick was in the process of answering yet another question Iain had posed when he happened to glance up and see Gillian slowly descending the steps. He promptly lost his train of thought. He forgot his manners too, for he was in the middle of a sentence when he abruptly turned
his back on his brother and his friend and walked to the stairs.

While Brodick had certainly noticed her shape before, the gentle curves of her body were more obvious to him now. He didn't much like the cut of her gown, thinking it flattered her figure a bit too much, and he seriously considered fetching another Buchanan plaid and draping it around her neck so that it would hang down and hide her feminine attributes from the spectators.

Damn, but she was lovely.

Gillian took one look at the scowl on Brodick's face and felt a sudden urge to turn around and go back upstairs. But she was already halfway down and wasn't about to look like a coward by retreating now. The attention was mortifying, the silence defeaning. Several men, she noticed, appeared startled; others looked befuddled. Only Brodick's soldiers, loyal men, Robert, Stephen, Liam, Keith, and Aaron, smiled at her, and she decided to look at them and ignore the crowd, and Brodick, as she continued on.

Brodick wasn't about to be ignored, however. He waited at the bottom of the steps, and when she finally reached him, he put his hand out. Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his and looked up at him. Embarrassed to see that he was still glowering at her, she smiled sweetly and whispered, “If you do not stop glaring at me, I swear I will kick you soundly. Then you will have something to frown about.”

He was so startled by her puny threat, he burst into laughter. “You think you could injure me?”

“Undoubtedly.”

He laughed again, a wonderful booming sound, and, Lord, how his eyes sparkled with devilment. She suddenly
felt much more in control and sure of herself. She barely minded her audience at all. Besides, they couldn't gawk at her now, because Brodick's men surrounded her on all sides as was their peculiar habit.

“Laird, you shouldn't allow the Maitlands to stare at milady. It's unseemly,” Robert muttered.

“And how would you have me stop them?” he asked.

“We'll be happy to see to that task,” Liam offered, a glint of eagerness in his voice.

“Aye, we'll make them forget about their lustful thoughts,” Stephen muttered.

Shoving an elbow into Liam's side, Aaron said, “Don't use the word ‘lust' in front of milady.”

Blessedly, the music started again, and the crowd resumed their celebration.

Brodick continued to hold her hand as he answered a question Liam had asked, and since he wasn't watching her, she pretended to be listening to what he was saying so she could stare at him. He was so ruggedly good-looking, she wondered if he had any idea how he surely affected women.

He also looked dangerous tonight, with his long golden hair about his shoulders and his day's growth of whiskers. He'd obviously washed, as his hair was only partially dry, and he was wearing a clean white shirt that either he had packed with him or Iain had loaned to him. His skin looked even more bronzed against the white fabric, and a strip of Buchanan plaid was draped over one of his broad shoulders.

He caught her watching him. The gleam in his eyes made her feel breathless, and she had a sudden urge to move into his arms and kiss that scowl right off his face. She
sighed instead and thanked God the man couldn't read her unladylike thoughts.

“I say we take the Maitland soldiers outside and have a word with them, Laird,” Robert suggested.

“A fist is more powerful than a word, Robert,” Liam said. “What say we take them all on?”

Gillian hadn't been paying much attention to the Buchanan soldiers' grumblings until she heard the word “fist.”

“You will not fight tonight,” she ordered. “This is a celebration, not a brawl.”

“But, milady, a good fight is always cause for celebration,” Stephen explained.

“Are you telling me you enjoy fighting?”

The soldiers looked at one another, obviously perplexed by her question. The usually dour-faced Robert actually grinned.

“It's what we do,” Liam told her.

Gillian kept waiting for Brodick to put a stop to the outrageous talk, but he didn't say a word. When she squeezed his hand, he merely retaliated by squeezing hers.

“I don't care if you enjoy fighting or not,” she began. “Laird Maitland will be most displeased if you cause trouble tonight.”

“But, milady, his soldiers continue to stare at you. We can't allow that.”

“Yes, you can.”

“It's insolent,” Stephen explained.

“If anyone is staring, then it's my own fault.”

“Aye, it is your fault.” Brodick finally spoke. “You're too damned beautiful tonight.”

She couldn't make up her mind if she was pleased or
irritated. “Only you could make a compliment sound like a criticism.”

“It was a criticism,” he told her. “You simply cannot look the way you do and expect to be ignored. It's your own fault people are staring at you.”

She jerked her hand away from his. “And just exactly what could I do to change the way I look?”

“It's your hair, milady,” Aaron said. “Perhaps you could bind it up for tonight and cover it with a cloth.”

“I'll do no such thing.”

“It's also the gown she's wearing,” Liam decided. “Milady, couldn't you find something less . . . fitted . . . for tonight?”

She glanced down at herself and then looked up. “Would a wheat sack do, Liam?” she asked.

The daft soldier looked as though he were actually considering the possibility. She rolled her eyes in vexation. “Those soldiers who might have glanced my way were probably just perplexed because they've noticed I'm wearing the Buchanan plaid. I shouldn't have put the thing on.”

“Why not, milady?” Robert asked. “We like seeing you in our plaid.”

“Only a Buchanan should wear your colors,” she replied. “And I shouldn't proclaim to be something I'm not. If you'll excuse me, I'll just go back upstairs and put my old clothes on.”

“No, you won't,” Brodick said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along behind him. His goal was to get her to Iain and Judith so that they could introduce her to those they wanted her to meet, but the Maitland soldiers kept interfering with eager requests to meet Gillian. One upstart, built like a bull, was a little too enthusiastic and
persistent for Brodick's liking, and he had to knock the man to his knees to get him out of their path as they made their way forward.

Gillian was appalled by his behavior. “You're the Buchanan laird,” she reminded him in a whisper.

“I know who I am,” he snapped.

If he wasn't going to worry about being overheard, then she wouldn't worry about it either. “Then act like it,” she snapped back.

He laughed. “I am. In fact, I'm upholding our reputation and our traditions.”

“You and your soldiers are acting like bullies.”

“It's good of you to notice.”

She gave up trying to reason with him. Elbow shove by elbow shove, they finally reached Iain and Judith. The Maitland laird bowed to her before turning his attention and his obvious displeasure on Brodick.

“Control your soldiers,” he ordered. “Or I will.”

Brodick grinned. Gillian turned around to find out what Brodick's men were up to and was further distressed to see that they were all doing their best to incite the Maitlands to fight.

She had no right to give orders to the Buchanan soldiers, but she still felt somehow responsible for their actions. She had become quite fond of all of them in a very short while, and she didn't want them to get on Iain's bad side even though the five rascals seemed to thrive on trouble. Fighting, it appeared, was as enjoyable to them as sweets to a child.

“Pray excuse me for one moment, Laird Maitland. I would like to have a word with Brodick's soldiers.”

She made a curtsy to her host and hostess, ignoring
Brodick altogether because she was having to do his duty for him, and then hurried over to his soldiers, who were in the midst of antagonizing a large group of Maitland warriors.

In a voice loud enough to be overheard by the Maitlands, she said, “It would please me if you act like gentlemen tonight.”

They looked crestfallen, but quickly nodded their agreement. She smiled as she turned to the Maitlands.

“Your laird has decreed that none of his soldiers will fight tonight. I realize what a disappointment that must be for all of you good men, but as you know the Buchanans are honorable men, and they will not provoke you further.”

“If they cannot fight us, why bother?” Liam said. “Your laird has taken the fun out of the game.”

One of the Maitland soldiers slapped his shoulder. “Then what say we break open a keg of ale? We'll show you how Eric can down a full jug without once swallowing. I wager you can't top that feat.”

Aaron disagreed, and after bowing to Lady Gillian, the Buchanans followed the Maitlands to the buttery to fetch the ale.

The competition, it seemed, was on.

“Children, every one of them,” she muttered as she picked up her skirts and hurried back to the Maitlands.

Judith pulled her away from the men to introduce her to her dearest friend, a pretty, freckle-faced, redheaded lady with two full names, Frances Catherine.

“Her husband, Patrick, is Iain's brother,” Judith explained. “And Frances Catherine and I have been friends for many years.”

Frances Catherine's smile made Gillian feel at ease in a matter of seconds.

“Judith and I have been whispering about you,” she admitted. “You have captured Brodick's attention, and that is no small accomplishment, Gillian. He doesn't like the English much,” she added, softening the truth.

“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.