Ransom (49 page)

N
o one was more surprised than Brodick when his sweet, she'll-do-whatever-I-tell-her-to-do wife refused to give him the names of the Englishmen.

Astounded that she would deny him, he was at a loss as to what to do next. Gillian sat at the table with her hands folded in her lap, as calm as could be in the eye of his storm.

“What do you mean, no?” he demanded.

“You forgot to kiss me when you came inside. I think you should.”

“What?”

“You forgot to kiss me.”

“For the love of . . .”

He hauled her to her feet, planted a hard kiss on her mouth, and then sat her back down again. “You're going to tell me who those bastards in England are.”

“Yes,” she agreed, and then qualified her answer. “Eventually.”

“What does that mean?”

She refused to answer. She picked up her brush and ran it through her hair. Damn, she looked pretty tonight, he thought. She wore a flowing blue sleeping gown that delicately
clung to her soft curves. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were bright, and she smelled like roses. The woman was nearly irresistible. He glanced at the bed, then back at her before he realized where his thoughts were leading.

It was already way past sunset, and he still hadn't gotten the names from her, though in truth, he hadn't seen her since he'd left at dawn, and he'd been too busy until this minute to think about it. Now, however, he was determined to get what he wanted before they went to bed, and with that thought in mind, he said, “A wife must do whatever her husband orders her to do.”

The command didn't sit well with her. “This wife doesn't.”

“Damn it, Gillian, don't turn stubborn on me.”

“A husband doesn't curse in his wife's presence.”

“This husband does,” he snapped.

She didn't like hearing that either. Tossing her brush on the table, she got up and took the long way around him to get to the bed. Then she kicked her slippers off and sat down.

Ramsey had been right after all. Some wives really didn't like taking orders from their husbands, and Gillian obviously fit into that category. He noticed the tears brimming in her eyes and knew he'd injured her feelings. Marriage was far more difficult than he'd anticipated.

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Cry.”

“I wouldn't think of it,” she haughtily replied. She stood up, pulled the covers back, and got into bed.

He blew out the candles and was going to bank the fire in the hearth when she asked him to please add another log. “It's hot in here.”

“I'm cold.”

“I'll keep you warm.”

When he sat on the bed to take his boots off, she rolled to her side to face the wall. In a whisper, she asked, “Are you sorry you married me?”

The question caught him off guard. Gillian was obviously feeling a bit insecure, and he knew he was responsible because he'd been acting like a bear from the moment he'd joined her.

“It's too soon to tell,” he told her with a straight face.

She didn't appreciate the humor. “Are you sorry?”

He put his hand on her hip and forced her to turn toward him. “I'm sorry you're so stubborn, but I'm happy I married you.”

“You aren't acting happy.”

“You defied me.”

“And you aren't accustomed to anyone refusing you, are you?”

He shrugged. “'Tis the truth I'm not.”

“Brodick, when we are with others, I will never argue with you, but when we are alone, I will tell you exactly what's on my mind.”

He thought about that for a moment and then nodded. “Did something happen tonight that's upset you? When I left you this morning, you were happy.”

“When you left, I was sleeping.”

“Aye, but you had a smile on your face,” he teased. “You were no doubt dreaming about me.”

“As a matter of fact, I've had an aggravating day.”

“Tell me about it,” he suggested.

“You really want to hear my complaints?” she asked, amazed.

His nod was all the encouragement she needed, and she
sat up and proceeded to tell him everything. “First, Ramsey made me sit in the hall all morning long and look at face after face as more of his followers came inside. Then when I still hadn't found the man who betrayed him, he dragged me all over kingdom come to look at more faces. He was too busy to speak to Christen on my behalf,” she added. “And Brisbane had already come back to report that my sister still hasn't changed her mind. I'm not going to continue to be patient, Brodick. I'm giving Ramsey until noon tomorrow to order Christen to come forward, and if he doesn't, then I'm going to take matters into my own hands.”

She took a deep breath and then continued. “I finally met Bridgid at the lake, but it was already close to suppertime by then, and when she joined me, she had disappointing news.”

“What was her news?” he asked.

“She asked a friend to follow Brisbane to find out where Christen lives, but the friend didn't return to the holding. Bridgid thinks he forgot.”

Brodick stood up and stretched. Gillian watched the muscles across his shoulders flex and was taken aback by the sheer might of his body. Then he removed his belt and stripped out of his clothes, and she promptly lost her train of thought altogether. Her husband was so incredibly beautiful.

“So you thought that if you knew where Christen lived, you would simply go to her?”

He waited a long minute for her to answer, then repeated the question.

“Yes,” she stammered, flustered. “That's what I thought.”

“Christen's a MacPherson and now part of the Sinclair clan.”

“I realize that.”

“Ramsey's her laird and you shouldn't interfere. Let him handle this. He promised you he'd force her to see you.”

He dropped to the bed on his stomach, his weight all but knocking her to the floor.

Though he was loath to admit it, he was exhausted.

“Ramsey promised me he'd talk to her today, but he didn't.”

With a loud yawn, he said, “He's a busy man, Gillian.”

“I know he is. People are constantly hounding him with problems, and the women here won't leave him alone. They make up all sorts of petty worries just so they can talk to him. It must drive him to distraction. Still, he promised me, Brodick, and he has until noon tomorrow to speak to Christen.”

He didn't want her to stop talking because he loved the husky sound of her voice.

“What else happened today?”

“I hid from Father Laggan,” she confessed. Brodick laughed, and she had to wait until he'd stopped to ask, “Did you perchance have an opportunity to speak to him?”

“Yes,” he replied. “He had a hell of a hangover.”

“Ramsey got him drunk on purpose, didn't he?”

“Laggan was already well on his way, but Ramsey helped.”

“That's a sin,” she decided. “Why did he do it?”

“Because he's my good friend and he knew that one way or another, I was going to take you to my bed.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, noticed how tense he was, and began to rub his muscles. He groaned with pleasure, and so she pulled her gown up, straddled his hips, and used both hands to work the tension out of him.

“Damn, that feels good.”

She was also feeling relaxed, and she realized it was because she had shared her day with Brodick. “What did you do today?”

“I went home.”

“But you told me your holding is a long way from here.”

“I rode hard,” he said. “But it was past sunset by the time I got back.”

“What did you do at home?”

“Settled a few problems,” he said.

She remembered another bit of news to share with him then. “Do you know what Bridgid told me today?”

“What's that?”

“A woman tried to sneak into Ramsey's room . . . at least that's what Bridgid thought. So she went in after her, and the sinful woman had taken her clothes off and was going to . . . you know.”

Grinning, he said, “No, tell me.”

“Seduce Ramsey, of course. Bridgid threw her out and made quite a scene. Now she's furious with her laird because he bluntly told her he had invited the woman to share his bed. If he's going to have women parading into his bedroom every night, Bridgid's made up her mind to leave.”

“And where will she go?”

“We discussed that very problem on the way to chapel. We wanted to light a candle for Gideon's father and another one for Ramsey's soul. Bridgid is convinced he's on his way to purgatory.”

The heat of her thighs pressed against his was starting to interfere with his ability to concentrate. “Why would you light a candle for Gideon's father? You don't know the man.”

“Because the poor man took a turn for the worse. Bridgid
heard Faudron tell Ramsey so when he was explaining why Gideon has been delayed. Faudron and Anthony will share the commander's duties until he returns.”

“You've got a good heart, lass.”

“Wouldn't you light a candle for me if I were dying?”

“Do not talk about such things. I would not let you die,” he said vehemently.

She leaned down and kissed his shoulder. “I told Bridgid she could come and live with the Buchanans. She tried to hide her reaction to my suggestion, but it was obvious she was horrified by the idea. Isn't that peculiar?”

“It would be a difficult adjustment for her. Ramsey treats his followers like children. I don't.”

“I won't have a difficult adjustment.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I won't, because you'll be there. I don't care where I live or how I live as long as you are by my side.”

He was humbled by her faith and love. “Now that I'm married, I'll have to make some changes,” he remarked.

“Such as?”

“You'll probably want a home.”

“You don't have a home now?”

“No.”

“Where do you sleep?” she asked, trying not to sound appalled.

“On the ground. I much prefer it to a soft bed.”

“But what do you do when it rains?”

Her voice sounded strained, and he knew she was having difficulty staying calm. Her hands weren't rubbing his shoulders now; they were pounding them.

“I get wet.”

She began to pray he wasn't serious. “What about your followers? Do they also sleep outside?”

“Some do, but the married men live in cottages like this one with their women.”

“Why doesn't their laird?”

“I've had no need for one.”

“You do now. I don't want to sleep outside.”

“You will sleep with me.”

“Yes, but I want a home.”

“Like Ramsey's?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. “It doesn't have to be grand. One just like this cottage would be nice.”

She stopped rubbing his shoulders and traced a crescent-shaped scar below his right shoulder. “How did you get this?”

“I don't remember. It happened a long time ago.”

“It must have hurt,” she said. She kissed the jagged gray line, noticed his muscles tightened, and kissed him again. Then she stretched out on top of him and put her head down on his shoulder.

He groaned. “You're killing me, Gillian.”

“Am I too heavy for you?”

“That isn't what I mean. If you don't stop wiggling, I'm going to make love to you, and I know you're tender.”

The heat radiating from his body warmed her. “Not so very tender,” she whispered. “And you weren't worried about that during the night.”

“Then you remember? I thought you slept through it.”

She knew he was teasing her. “Yes, I did sleep through it. It must have been a dream that made me scream.”

“Aye, you were screaming,” he agreed, smiling over the memory. “I made you burn, didn't I?”

“How would I know? I was asleep.”

She began to stroke his arms, loving the feel of him. “You're so hard,” she whispered.

She was far more accurate than she realized. He was hard from wanting her, but he was pleased by her boldness and curiosity.

“Brodick?”

“Yes?”

“Could we . . . if you're not too tired and you didn't have to move . . . could I . . .”

“Could you what?” he asked.

She finally got up the courage to get the words out. “Could I make love to you?”

“But I won't have to move?”

“No,” she insisted.

He laughed. “Sweetheart, moving is a definite requirement.”

Her hands caressed the sinewy ripples of his back as she slowly moved down his body. She wanted to kiss him everywhere.

“Gillian,” he began gruffly.

“Hush,” she whispered. “I'm making love to you this time. You said I could.”

“May I offer a suggestion?”

“What is it?”

“It'll work better if you let me turn over.”

He rolled onto his back, grabbed her, and kissed her hungrily as he helped her untie the ribbon of her gown and watched her blush as she pulled the gown over her head and tossed it aside.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. He kissed her again.

The teasing ended then as passion flared. Trembling in his arms, she became more demanding. He entered her swiftly, completely, and the pleasure was so intense, so blissful, he closed his eyes and groaned loudly, “Lord, you feel good.”

And then he began to move within her, slowly, deliberately until she was writhing out of control. The thrilling sensations drove him on, and when he felt her tighten around him and heard her cry his name, he climaxed deep inside her.

Spent, he collapsed on top of her and stayed there long minutes until his heart stopped slamming inside his chest and he could draw a decent breath.

“You've exhausted me,” he whispered gruffly as he rolled to his side and pulled her up against him. Her back was against his chest and her sweet derriere was pressed against his groin. The scent of their lovemaking clung to their bodies; the only sound was that of the logs crackling in the hearth and Gillian's occasional sigh.