Ransom (43 page)

“Yet you told him you loved him?”

“Yes, I did.”

Bridgid was clearly impressed. “You're more courageous than I am. The fear of being rejected pains me to even think about, yet you boldly told Brodick how you felt, even though he hadn't spoken his feelings.”

“Actually, he told me I loved him.”

Bridgid laughed. “How like a man. They're all arrogant, you know.”

“Most are, anyway,” Gillian agreed. “But Brodick also happened to be right, and when he pressed me to admit I loved him, I did. I couldn't lie to him.”

“And he told you he was going to marry you. It's terribly romantic, but it's also a little . . . shocking.”

“Why?”

“Because he's a Buchanan. May I ask you a personal question . . . really personal? You don't have to answer it if you don't want to,” she hastened to add.

Gillian could hear the hesitation in Bridgid's voice. “What is it you wish to know?”

“Has Brodick ever kissed you?”

“Yes, he has.”

“What was it like?”

Now Gillian's face felt warm. “It was very nice,” she whispered. She glanced at Bridgid and grinned. “The man can make me shiver just by looking at me.”

Bridgid sighed with longing. “I've only been kissed once, and he didn't make me shiver. I wonder what it would feel like if the man I love kissed me.”

“Your knees will go weak, your heart will race, and you won't be able to catch your breath. And do you know what else?”

“What?”

“You'll never want the kiss to end.”

They sighed in unison, then laughed over their own behavior. Bridgid turned the topic then when she commented, “I have never understood how Ramsey and Brodick could be such close friends. They're nothing alike.”

“Oh, I think they have a lot in common.”

“No, they don't. Ramsey's generous to a fault, and kind, and thoughtful—”

“So is Brodick,” Gillian insisted. “He just growls while he's being generous to a fault and kind and thoughtful. Ah, there's the man of my dreams now,” she added with a laugh.

Brodick and Ramsey were crossing the courtyard when they spotted Gillian and Bridgid strolling toward them. The warriors came to an abrupt stop.

“We can't possibly look that bad,” Gillian remarked as she brushed her hair over her shoulder.

“Oh, yes, we do,” Bridgid replied. She turned to Gillian and tried to help her pull her sleeve up to her shoulder, but the material immediately drooped back down to her elbow.

“What the hell happened to you?” Brodick demanded in a lion's roar.

Bridgid grimaced at the sound of his voice.

“Bridgid, explain yourself,” Ramsey demanded.

Gillian leaned into her side and whispered, “What say we toss them down the hill?”

Bridgid bit her lower lip to keep herself from laughing as she followed Gillian across the yard.

“I asked you a question. What happened to you, Gillian?” Brodick repeated.

She stopped several feet away from the men, gave up trying to repair herself and folded her hands together. Bridgid moved to stand by her side.

“What makes you think something happened?” she asked innocently.

Given their appearance, Ramsey thought the question ludicrous.

Brodick wasn't amused, however. He took a step toward Gillian. “Your gown's torn; your face is covered with dirt, and your hair is full of grass and leaves.” The smudge on the side of her nose was driving him to distraction. He reached for her chin and used his thumb to wipe the dirt away. The sparkle in her eyes sidetracked him, and he couldn't make himself let go of her. In a much softer voice he asked her yet again to tell him what had happened. “Dylan said that you mentioned something about men on the hill with you. Who were they and what did they do?”

“There weren't any men with Bridgid and me.”

“Gillian . . .”

“There weren't any men with us.”

Before he could press her further, she placed her hand on his chest, leaned up on tiptoes, and whispered into his ear. “I was having a lovely time, and that's all there is to it. I missed you, though. Did you miss me?”

“I'm a busy man,” he replied gruffly, trying to ignore her wonderful scent. Her hand was warm against his skin, and it occurred to him then how he liked her casual and open show of affection. He'd learned early on to shield his feelings, and it had become second nature for him to back away. She was the complete opposite. All he had to do was look at her face to know exactly what she was thinking and feeling. There was no speciousness or guile in her. She was refreshingly honest, headstrong, and apparently unafraid. She was also irresistible. He hadn't even had time to guard himself; she'd gotten to his heart that quickly.

She tried to step back, but his hand covered hers against his chest.

“Do you think you could spare me a moment of privacy?” she asked.

“For what purpose?”

Her voice dropped to a whisper again, her sweet breath tickling his ear. “I wish to shamelessly throw myself into your arms and kiss you passionately until your head begins to spin.”

She kissed him on his cheek and stepped back, looking quite pleased with herself.

“And you believe you can accomplish all of what you have just proclaimed in one minute?”

“I do.”

“Accomplish what?” Ramsey asked.

Brodick grinned. “She thinks she can—”

“Brodick!” She cried out his name with a gasp.

“Yes?”

“What I said was private.”

Ramsey let the matter go. “Gillian, all of the Sinclairs will gather here at sunset.”

She had trouble concentrating. The way Brodick was looking at her made her stomach flutter. It was sinful, really, the effect he had on her.

“I'm sorry. What were you saying?”

“Everyone will be here at sunset,” he patiently repeated.

“Men and women?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

“Perhaps you'll see your sister then,” Bridgid exclaimed.

“Yes,” Ramsey replied, smiling over her enthusiasm. Directing his question to Gillian he asked, “Did Brisbane and Otis tell you she was here?”

“Not exactly,” she replied. “One of them let it slip that he knew who she was, though, and when I pressed, he said that if the woman was indeed Christen, then she lives on MacPherson land. I don't know how far away that is.”

“Not far,” Ramsey said.

“If you'll excuse me, I'd like to go to the lake with Bridgid and wash. I must do something about my appearance before sunset.”

“Not yet,” Brodick said as he grabbed Gillian's hand, practically swept her off her feet, and headed toward the castle. She had to run to keep up.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He didn't answer her. Throwing open the door, he gave her a decisive jerk. The entrance was dark and musty when
the door slammed shut behind them. She could barely see him as he backed her against the door, braced his hands over her head, and leaned into her. She could feel the heat and strength in him, yet he was so incredibly gentle when he touched her.

“It's your minute, Gillian. Are you going to waste it or are you going to make good your boast.”

Suddenly feeling a bit uncertain, she battled her shyness and then slowly reached around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair drawing him closer. Her mouth touched his. Her teeth caught his lower lip and gently tugged on it. She heard his sharp intake of breath and knew her boldness had pleased him. Tightening her grip, she tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and kissed him with uninhibited enthusiasm.

His knees buckled.

Trained to be the aggressor, he couldn't let her have the upper hand. Growling low in his throat, his strong arms lifted her up as his mouth slanted over hers again and again, his tongue sweeping inside to duel with hers, his control damn near shattered when she made that seductive sound of pleasure. He couldn't get enough of her. His hands stroked her back, then moved lower to lift her up against his groin.

They were both panting for breath when she ended the kiss. She clung to him, her faced pressed into his neck as she placed fervent kisses along the column of his throat.

“Don't let go of me,” she whispered, knowing that if he did, she'd collapse. The kiss had temporarily robbed her of her strength, and yet all she could think about was kissing him again. She was thoroughly wanton and didn't care a twit.

“Never,” he answered. “I'll never let go of you.”

He slowly eased her down until her feet were touching
the floor again, but he continued to hold her in his arms as he nuzzled the side of her neck. Her sigh was filled with longing.

Reluctant to let go of him, she lay her head down on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Her hand rested over his heart, and she could feel the rapid beat.

“I did make your heart race, didn't I?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “You're a temptress, Gillian. You cannot kiss me like that and expect to go on your merry way.”

“What would you have me do?”

God, she was innocent. “I'll explain tonight,” he promised.

He slowly pulled her arms away from him and reminded her that she was going to the lake with Bridgid.

She had turned toward the doors when he stopped her. “Dylan told me he thought some of the Sinclair soldiers were bothering you.”

“There weren't any men with Bridgid and me,” she told him once again. “But if there had been and they had been bothering me, I would have handled them.”

“No, you would not,” he insisted. “You would tell me who they were and I would handle them.”

“And what would you do?”

He didn't have to think about his answer long at all. “If any man ever touched you, I would kill him.”

The glint in his eyes and the set of his jaw told her he was serious. He suddenly looked quite dangerous. She wasn't the least afraid and she wasn't about to back down.

“You cannot kill—”

He wouldn't let her finish. “It's the Buchanan way,” he said emphatically. “You belong to me, and I would not allow any other man to touch you. Now enough of this.
There's something I've been meaning to tell you, and now is just as good a time as any.”

She waited a long minute for him to continue before she prodded him. “Yes?”

“We do things different here.”

“We?”

“The Buchanans,” he qualified. “When we want something, we take it.”

“That doesn't seem right.”

“It doesn't matter if it seems right or not. It's what we do.”

“But it does matter. You could get into trouble with the Church if you take something that doesn't belong to you.”

“I'm not worried about the Church.”

“You should be,” she countered.

Gritting his teeth, he said, “Don't argue with me.”

“I'm not arguing. I'm simply stating fact. You needn't get surly.”

He gripped her shoulders and hauled her close. “I'm starting over. I'm going to explain, and I want you to follow along.”

“Are you insulting me?”

“No, sweetheart. Just listen.”

She was so surprised by the endearment, her eyes got misty. “All right,” she whispered, “I'll listen. What is it you want to explain?”

“You told me you loved me. You did admit it, didn't you? You can't take the words back.”

His vulnerability was showing, and she immediately sought to assure him. “I don't want to take the words back. I do love you.”

He relaxed his grip on her arms. “Tonight . . .”

“Yes?”

“I . . . that is, we . . . ah, hell.”

“Brodick, what in heaven's name is wrong with you?”

“You,” he muttered. “You're what's wrong with me.”

She pushed his hands away. “Your moods change with the wind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more important things to do than to stand here and listen to you grumble at me.” She swung around, pulled the door open with both hands, and marched outside.

He gave up. He knew he'd made a muck of things, but he figured everything would work tonight. Gillian was an astute woman. Surely by the time he'd taken her clothes off her and carried her to bed, she'd have worked it all out in her mind. If not, then he'd tell her.

Ramsey walked inside, saw Brodick, and immediately guessed what had happened. “You still didn't tell her, did you?”

“No, but God knows I tried.”

“It's simple enough, Brodick.”

“No, it isn't.”

“How about, ‘Gillian, you're married'? How complicated is that?”

“I'm telling you, I tried, damn it. If you think it's so easy, you tell her.”

Ramsey laughed. “By God, you're afraid to tell her, aren't you?”

“Of course not.”

“Yes, you are. What do you think she'll do?”

Brodick quit trying to bluster his way through the conversation. “Yes, I am afraid. She'll run. She'll panic, and then she'll try to run. Damn it, I tricked her, and I shouldn't have done that.”

“You also deceived a priest.”

“Yes, well . . . I'm more worried about Gillian. I'm telling you, I shouldn't have tricked her. It was wrong.”

“But you'd do it again, wouldn't you?”

With a shrug he admitted he would. “Yes. I can't imagine living without her, and if you laugh at me for admitting such a weakness, I swear I'll put my fist through your face.”

Ramsey slapped Brodick's shoulder. “Take heart,” he suggested.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Gillian might panic when she first hears she's married to you. Hell, any woman would.”

“Ramsey, you're not helping.”

“But she won't run, Brodick.”

“I'll tell her at supper. Yes,” he added with a firm nod, “I'll tell her then.”