Ransom

Chapter Sixteen

"Brodick, I would like a word in private with you." Her clipped words didn't leave room for discussion, and she didn't even try to mask her anger. She wanted him to know she was furious.

"Not now, Gillian," he replied impatiently, seemingly unaffected by her show of temper. "Ramsey, we'll leave in ten minutes. Can you be ready by then?"

"Of course," Ramsey answered, and after bowing to Gillian and Judith, he started back up the hill.

Iain threw his arm around his wife's shoulders and turned to the west. "Before I go back to my duties, let's look in on the boys. They just went to Patrick and Frances Catherine's home."

Judith didn't have much choice, for her husband was pulling her along. "You promised to take them fishing," she reminded him.

"No, Alec promised on my behalf."

"But you will take them?"

"Of course I will." He laughed. "And I won't let them drown," he added, repeating Michael's promise to his brother.

Brodick continued to stand beside Gillian, but he wasn't paying any attention to her. He was fully occupied trying to locate Dylan in the field below, where over a hundred Maitland soldiers were training.

Gillian watched the group of women as they picked up their skirts and ran together up the hill. Most of them were giggling like little girls.

"What are they doing?"

Brodick glanced at the women. "Chasing Ramsey," he answered very matter-of-factly before returning to his task of scanning the field.

"Why?"

"Why what?" he asked as he continued to search.

She sighed. "Why are the ladies chasing him?"

The question startled him, for what should have been obvious to Gillian appeared not to be obvious at all. With a shrug, he said, "It's what they all do."

"All the ladies chase him?" she asked, still not understanding.

He finally gave her his full attention. "Yes, they do," he said quietly.

"But why?"

"You don't know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I knew, Brodick," she said, thoroughly perplexed.

"They find him… handsome," he finally said for lack of a better word. "That's what I've been told anyway."

"He's very nice and quite polite, but I can't imagine chasing after him just because he's attractive."

"The women don't care about his behavior or his character. They like looking at him."

She shook her head. "I know what you're trying to do. You're just trying to make me laugh so I'll forget about your arrogant claims in front of your friends."

"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 was 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 defend 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."

"You cannot know what her life is like unless you walk in her shoes," he countered.

"Stop trying to be logical," she demanded. "I'm simply trying to make you understand that I can't ever have a life like Annie's. I have to go back to England."

Brodick suddenly stiffened. The truth struck him hard. He finally guessed her real reason for refusing to marry him, and he realized that even now she was trying to protect him.

"You believe you're going back to England to die, don't you, Gillian? That's what you're not telling me."

She looked away when she answered him. "There is that possibility." She burst into tears again.

"I don't like seeing you cry. You will stop it at once."

She blinked. Only Brodick could give such a ludicrous command. Did he think she was crying on purpose just to upset him? "You are the most difficult man, and I will not marry you." He moved so quickly she didn't have time to react. In two long strides he had her in his arms.

"You've already made your commitment to me when you admitted you loved me. Nothing else matters. I don't give a damn how complicated it all becomes. You're mine now. Do you honestly believe I'm ever going to let you go?"

Telling herself she had to remain strong and not give in to him, she shook her head and struggled to get free. She pushed against his chest with all her might, desperately trying to put some distance between them. When she was close to him, all she wanted to do was wrap herself in his warmth and let the world pass her by. She wanted time to stop… and that was impossible.

Her struggles proved useless. She couldn't get him to budge. His superior strength was at least ten times her own, and after a moment she ceased squirming and bowed her head.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered, once again on the brink of tears.

She had no idea how telling her question was. She hadn't asked what she was going to do, but what they would do. Content for the moment to simply hold her, he bent down, kissed the top of her head, and closed his eyes as he inhaled her light feminine scent. Her hair smelled of roses. She was unlike the Buchanan women, and he realized he was actually a little in awe of her. Her skin was as smooth and soft as he imagined a cloud would be, and her smile enchanted him. It was as beautiful as baby's first, and just as pure. There wasn't a hint of cunning in her. No, she wasn't like other women. He remembered that when he'd first met her, he'd judged her almost painfully prim and proper, and frail, too frail for his way of life. Yet almost immediately he had seen the steel strength inside of her. She was courageous and honorable, and those were but two of the hundred or so reasons he was never going to let her leave him.

"I'll give you a promise," he said gruffly. "And then you will cease your worrying."

"And what is this promise?"

"If you go back to England, I'll go with you."

"If I go back?"

"It hasn't been decided yet."

"What are you saying? I don't understand. The decision is mine to make."

He didn't argue, and his silence worried her. She once again tried to get him to explain his remark, but he stubbornly refused.

"When I go back, I'll go alone. You must stay here. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

Her voice shivered with emotion, and the fear he heard surprised and pleased him. He'd never had anyone care about him the way she did. His only family was his brother, Winslow, but it was a distant, rigid relationship. They loved each other as brothers did, but never showed any outward affection.

"You will have confidence in my ability to protect you," he ordered.

"You don't know what you're up against. These aren't ordinary men. They have the king's support and friendship, and surely the Devil's on their side."

"None of them have Highland blood running through their veins, and that makes them vulnerable."

"Will you be serious?" she demanded. "A Highlander can bleed as easily as an Englishman."

"You will have faith in me. I command it."

She gave up arguing with him, feeling as though it would be easier to get a stone wall to understand.

"I do have faith in you, and I will try not to worry, but that's all I will promise. You can give me as many commands as you wish, and it won't change how I feel."

"Every man has a weakness," he patiently explained. "I'll find theirs, I promise you."

"Every man?"

"Yes," he answered emphatically.

His hand moved to the back of her neck. Twisting her curls around his fist, he jerked her head back. His face loomed over hers, his breath warm and sweet as he stared down into her eyes.

"What is your weakness, Brodick?" she asked.

"You."

Chapter Seventeen

He lowered his head and kissed her, effectively sealing any protest she might have made. It wasn't a gentle caress of his lips against hers, but a hard, demanding kiss that let her know in no uncertain terms how much he wanted her. His tongue sank into her sweet warm mouth to stroke and caress, and within seconds she was kissing him just as thoroughly. Timid at first, the tip of her tongue touched his fleetingly, but when she felt him tighten his hold and heard him growl low in his throat, she grew bolder. His passion overwhelmed her, yet she wasn't frightened, trusting him to know when to stop. He didn't seem inclined to at the moment, though, and, Lord, his mouth was doing such magical things to her body. A yearning deep in the pit of her stomach burned for more, and as his mouth slanted over hers again and again, all she could think about was getting closer.

His hands stroked her back, then splayed wide as he lifted her up against the junction of his thighs so that they were pressed intimately against each other. Her breasts rubbed against his chest and his thighs felt like hot steel. He made her burn for more of him, and she couldn't seem to catch her breath as she frantically returned his kisses.

"Brodick, I want-"

He kissed her once again, almost savagely, and then he abruptly pulled back and let her slowly slip down to the ground. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, and he took several long deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to regain his discipline.

She didn't want to let go of him, and when he began to nibble on her earlobe with his teeth and his tongue stroked her sensitive skin, she felt a jolt of pleasure course through her.

"Don't…" Her voice cracked and she shivered in his arms.

He kissed his way down the side of her neck. "Don't what?" he asked.

She tilted her head to the side to give him better access and with a sigh said, "Don't stop."

He gently lifted her away from him and would have let go of her if she hadn't swayed. Displaying a wicked look of male satisfaction, he was arrogantly pleased he'd been able to arouse and confuse her in so little time. Her passion matched his own, and he knew that once he rid her of her shyness, she would be as uninhibited and wild as he planned to be on their wedding night. God help him, they'd better be wed soon because he didn't think he could wait much longer, and he certainly didn't want to disgrace her by taking her before their vows were spoken and blessed. But she was making it difficult. Just looking at her stirred a burning desire in him. Those incredible green eyes looked thoroughly ravaged now. Her hair was a riot of curls about her shoulders, and her mouth was rosy and swollen from his kisses.

Waiting for her to come to her senses and agree to marry him was out of the question. By the time she got around to making up her mind, they could have at least two children.

The world around them intruded, forcing both of them back to the present. Ramsey shouted Brodick's name, and with a long, regretful sigh, Brodick stepped back.

"Go and collect your things. It's time for us to leave." He turned and started back toward the fields.

She ran after him. "Thank you for understanding."

"Understanding what?"

"That I cannot marry you."

As he continued on his way, his hardy laugh echoed back to her.

By the time Gillian returned to the Maitland home, Helen, the housekeeper, had her things packed, and as Gillian was thanking her for her help, she remembered a promise she'd made. Fortunately, Helen was able to help and showed her a shortcut to her destination out the back door.

Ten minutes passed and then ten more, and Brodick, impatient by nature, was growing more irritated by the second as he waited for Gillian in the courtyard.

Ramsey and Winslow waited by his side, and every couple of seconds one or the other would glance toward the doors.

"What in thunder's keeping her?" Brodick muttered.

"Maybe she's waiting for Iain and Judith. Here they come now. Gillian surely wants to say good-bye to them."

Ramsey was the first to see Gillian walking toward the courtyard from the opposite side of the hill.

"Here she comes."

"She didn't forget," Winslow said, smiling.

His wife, Isabelle, was walking with Gillian, and Winslow's two boys trailed behind. His younger son, Andrew, soon to be five years old, ran forward and took hold of Gillian's hand. Winslow watched her as she smiled at his son and spoke to him. Whatever she said amused Andrew, for he burst into laughter. Isabelle was trying hard not to laugh.

"What didn't she forget?" Brodick asked his brother.

"I told her Isabelle was upset with me because I hadn't introduced her. She didn't forget."

Winslow suddenly figured out why his family was so amused with Gillian. "I don't think Isabelle understands a word she's saying. Your woman's Gaelic needs improvement."

Brodick nodded. "She has a quick mind. She'll learn."

"Are you going to keep her?"

"Yes."

"Does she know it?"

"Not yet."

Ramsey overheard the conversation and laughed heartily. "I assume you've considered all the problems, Brodick."

"I have."

"It won't be an easy life for her living with-" Ramsey began. Brodick finished his sentence for him. "Living with the Buchanan clan. I know, and I worry about her adjustment."

Ramsey grinned. "That's not what I was going to say. It won't be easy for her living with you. Rumor has it, you're a difficult man to be around."

Brodick didn't take offense. "Gillian's aware of my flaws."

"And she'll still have you?" Winslow asked.

"As a matter of fact, she has refused to marry me."

Knowing Brodick as well as they did, both Ramsey and Winslow began to laugh again.

"So when's the wedding?" Ramsey asked.

Chapter Eighteen

Love wasn't supposed to happen this suddenly.

Gillian spent most of the ride to Ramsey's holding thinking about Brodick and wondering how in heaven's name he had managed to capture her heart so completely in so little time. The man had all but robbed her of her senses. She was well aware of his flaws, most of them anyway, but she still loved him all the same, and how was such a thing possible? Love was supposed to be nourished. It was a slow realization that occurred after months and months of courting, and sometimes that awareness took years. Love certainly didn't strike like lightning.

Maybe it was lust, and if it was, then how was she ever going to be able to tell that atrocious sin in the confessional without dying of mortification? Was it lust? Brodick was a handsome devil, and she would have had to be dead not to notice. Yet Ramsey and Iain were also handsome, and her heart didn't race when either of them was near. Brodick had a mesmerizing effect on her, though. All he had to do was glance her way and she became quite breathless.

He wasn't paying her the slightest bit of attention now. He and Ramsey rode well ahead of their soldiers and Gillian, and Brodick never once looked back to see how she was doing. She spent a good deal of time staring at his broad shoulders while she tried to figure out how she could regain her senses.

She didn't want to think about her reason for going to Ramsey's home, yet reality kept intruding, no matter how she tried to block her worries. What if her sister wasn't there? What if she had married and moved away from the MacPhersons? Worse, what if Christen didn't remember her? Her sister hadn't had Liese to help her keep the memories alive the way Gillian had, and what if Christen had forgotten everything that had happened?

So caught up in her thoughts, Gillian didn't notice that Brodick and Ramsey had stopped. Dylan reached over and grabbed Gillian's reins, forcing her mount to halt. She and the soldiers waited a good distance behind the lairds, and just as she was about to ask the commander why they weren't continuing on, she saw a horse and rider galloping up the hill from the west. Making a wide sweep around them, the stranger rode on ahead to join Brodick and Ramsey.

Gillian patiently waited to find out what was going on as she watched what appeared to be an argument between the stranger and Brodick. It couldn't have been much of a disagreement, though. Even though Brodick was scowling and the stranger was repeatedly shaking his head in obvious disapproval, Ramsey, Gillian noticed, was smiling.

"Dylan, who is that man shaking his head at your laird?" Gillian asked.

"Father Laggan. He serves the Sinclairs, the Maitlands, and many others."

"Does he serve the Buchanans as well?"

"When there's no getting out of it, he does."

"I don't understand. Doesn't he like the Buchanans?"

Dylan chuckled. "No one likes us, milady. We're proud of that fact. Most of the clans leave us alone, as do the clergy, including Father Laggan."

"Why don't they like you?"

"They fear us," the Buchanan commander explained cheerfully. "Father Laggan believes we're savages."

"Where would you get such an idea?"

"From Father Laggan. It's what he calls us."

"I'm certain he doesn't really believe any such thing. You aren't savages. You're just a bit… intense… that's all. The priest seems to be holding his own with Brodick now. Do you see how he's shaking his head?"

"Brodick will still win," Dylan predicted. "He always does."

As though he knew they were discussing him, Brodick suddenly turned in his saddle and looked at her while the priest continued to argue with him. Obviously upset, Laggan was now waving his hands in agitation.

Then Brodick winked at her. She didn't know what to make of his behavior. It wasn't like Brodick to be flirtatious in front of others, and the silly little gesture warmed her heart.

"Do you know what they're discussing?" she asked Dylan.

"I do," he answered.

Father Laggan then twisted in his saddle to look at her. He had shocking white hair and deeply tanned and leathered skin. His lips were pinched together, indicating his displeasure, and for that reason she neither smiled nor waved to him. She simply inclined her head in silent greeting.

As soon as the priest turned back to Brodick, Gillian demanded, "Tell me what they're arguing about."

"You."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I do believe you're the topic of their discussion, milady."

"Surely not," she said. "The priest doesn't even know me."

"Iain sent him to Brodick, and I do believe that now Laggan is acting as your guardian. He wants to make sure you aren't being forced to do anything you don't want to do."

"But I want to go to Ramsey's," she countered. "Iain must have explained my situation to Father."

Dylan sincerely hoped she wouldn't ask him to elaborate on the priest's motives. In his opinion, the less she knew, the better.

Brodick motioned for her to come forward as the priest, still frowning, nudged his horse to the side to give her room. Ramsey flanked Gillian on one side and Brodick on the other. Gillian smiled at the priest as Ramsey made the introductions, but that smile vanished in a heartbeat when she realized where she was. She had thought Brodick had stopped at the edge of a gentle slope, but now that she was only a few feet away from the edge, she could see the sheer drop below her. So forcefully did she pull on the reins, the horse reared, but Brodick's quick action saved her from being thrown.

He had to pry the reins away from her hands. "Gillian, what's come over you?"

She made herself look at him and only him. "I don't like looking down at such depths," she whispered. "It makes me lightheaded."

Seeing the panic in her eyes, Brodick quickly forced both mounts to back up several feet. Ramsey did the same.

"Better now?"

She exhaled as she relaxed. "Yes, much better, thank you," she whispered before turning to Father Laggan.

"Ramsey, I'll need your help with this," Brodick said quietly.

"I'll do what I can," his friend promised just as softly.

Curious, Gillian looked at Brodick. "Would you also like my help?"

He grinned. "Your help is a definite requirement."

"Then tell me, please, what it is you need assistance with, and I shall be happy to help in any way that I can."

He glanced at Ramsey, who quickly said, "The priest is waiting to speak to you. Do you want him to think you're ill-mannered?"

The possibility that she might have inadvertently insulted a man of God made her blush. "No, of course not," she said hastily. "Good day to you, Father. I'm happy to meet you."

"Good day," he replied with a hint of civility that was gone in the blink of an eye when he continued. "Now, I have a few important questions to ask you to satisfy the Church."

"You wish to satisfy the Church?" she asked, jarred by his sudden abrupt manner and his strange announcement. Surely she hadn't heard correctly.

"I do," he answered emphatically. After pausing to give Brodick what could only be interpreted as an extremely hostile glare, the priest added, "We will not move forward until I know for a certainty that you have not been coerced."

"Father, it's extremely important that I go to-"

Before she could finish her explanation, Ramsey forcefully interrupted. "Didn't Gillian have to climb into a gorge to get Alec Maitland? Iain told me his son was trapped on a ledge."

"She's right in front of you, Ramsey. Ask her," Brodick suggested.

She wasn't paying any attention to the two lairds now. "Father, why would you need to ask-"

"Did you, Gillian?"

Once again Ramsey had interrupted her, and had she not known better, she would have thought that he'd done it on purpose, but that was ridiculous, of course. Unlike Brodick, Ramsey wouldn't deliberately be impertinent. If anything, he was diplomatic to a fault.

"Did I what?" she asked somewhat absentmindedly as she continued to study the priest. Why in heaven's name did she have to satisfy the Church before she could continue on to Ramsey's holding?

Repeating his question, Ramsey demanded that she look at him when she answered. Because he was so insistent, she begged the priest's indulgence before turning her back on him.

"Yes, Ramsey, I did climb into the gorge to get Alec."

Before he could ask her another question, she gave the priest her undivided attention once again. "Father, are you telling me that I cannot go any further until I satisfy the Church? Did I hear you correctly?"

"Yes, milady, that's exactly what I said. No one's going to budge from this very spot until I'm completely satisfied. I mean what I say, Laird," he added with another piercing glare at Brodick.

"You will be satisfied," Brodick assured him.

"I don't understand…" she began.

"I will make certain you do understand," the priest said. "The Buchanans are experts in trickery and deception. They will do whatever it takes to get what they want, and since your parents and your confessor are not here to protect you, I feel it's my duty to speak as your guardian and your priest. Now do you understand?"

She didn't understand at all. She started to shake her head and thought to ask Father why he felt she needed someone to look out for her. Didn't he realize that Brodick was there to help?

"Father, I asked Brodick-"

The priest was so startled, he didn't let her finish. "You asked him? Then you weren't coerced?"

Gillian was beginning to think that Father Laggan might be a bit addled in the head. Once again she patiently tried to explain. "If anyone has done any coercing, it is I. Brodick would have gone back home if I hadn't asked him to-"

Brodick cut her off. "She has her own mind, Father. I have neither forced nor manipulated her. Isn't that so, Gillian?"

"Yes, it is so," she agreed. "But Father, I'm still not understanding why you feel it necessary to play my champion. Can you not see that I am in good hands?"

Father Laggan looked as though he wanted to weep for her. "Dear Lady, you cannot possibly know what you're getting into," he cried out, stunned by her calm acquiescence. "Answer me this, he demanded. "Have you ever been to the Buchanan holding?"

"No, I haven't…"

The priest threw up his hands in despair. "There you have it," he said triumphantly and in a near shout.

"What I have seen of the Highlands is very beautiful," she said. "And I imagine that Brodick's land is just as lovely."

"But you've never met any of the savages who call themselves Buchanans, now have you, lass?" the priest asked in a shrill voice.

It was more than apparent that Father Laggan was highly upset, and hoping to soothe him, she responded, "No, I haven't met many of his followers, but I'm sure they're very pleasant people and not savages."

"Dear God above, she thinks they're pleasant. Did you hear her, Ramsey? Did you?"

Ramsey struggled not to laugh when he answered. "I heard, Father, but I would remind you of what Brodick has said. Gillian has her own mind. 'Tis my belief she will find his followers very pleasant."

"How could she-" the priest began.

"She finds the Buchanan laird pleasant enough. He wouldn't be by her side if she did not. Brodick can be quite… charming… when he puts his mind to the task." Ramsey choked on the last of his words and then burst into laughter.

The priest returned to Brodick. "She can't possibly know what's in store for her."

"Are you suggesting that I will not look out for her or that any of my clan will mistreat her?"

Father Laggan realized he'd overstepped his bounds and hastily tried to repair the damage he had done. Raising his hands he said, "No, no, I was merely suggesting… the lass appears to be such a gentle lady… and I cannot imagine how she will survive such a harsh environment."

Gillian couldn't understand what had precipitated this peculiar conversation and why Father Laggan was so obviously distressed. She looked at Brodick, hoping he would explain what in heaven's name was going on, but he ignored her as he spoke to the priest in rapid Gaelic. His brogue was thick, his hostility apparent, and she was horrified that he would speak to a man of the cloth in anger.

He was telling the priest how much Gillian meant to him and that he would die before letting any harm come to her. He knew she didn't understand a word he was saying, but Father Laggan did, and at the moment that was all that mattered.

Brodick was vastly amused when Gillian blurted out, "You mustn't speak to a priest so harshly. God won't like it." Turning to Father, she said, "He doesn't mean to be insolent."

"You need not apologize for me," Brodick said.

"I'm guarding your soul," she snapped.

"You are mindful of his soul?" the priest asked.

"Someone has to be," she answered. "He isn't going to get to heaven without assistance. Surely you realize that, Father, for you have known him longer than I."

"Gillian, enough of this foolish talk," Brodick ordered.

She ignored him. "But he also has a good heart, Father. He just doesn't want anyone to know it."

The priest smiled. "You have seen this goodness within him?"

"Aye," she answered softly. "I have seen it."

The priest squinted as he studied her. "You were raised in a peaceful household?"

"Yes, I was. My uncle's home was very peaceful."

"Yet you're willing…" Father Laggan shook his head. "As I said before, I do not know how you will ever survive in such a harsh environment."

"Father, Brodick and I are going to Ramsey's holding," she said, hoping to correct any misunderstanding.

"But you will not stay there forever," he shouted in frustration. "You will have to go home sometime."

"Yes, of course I will. I must go back to-"

"Gillian, how did you manage it?" Ramsey shouted.

Startled, she turned to him. "Manage what, Ramsey?"

"If you're afraid, how did you manage to climb into the gorge to get Alec?"

"You want to discuss this now?"

"I do."

"But I was just explaining to Father Laggan that I must-"

"Answer Ramsey's question, Gillian," Brodick ordered.

She gave up trying to control the conversation then and there. "How did I climb down to get Alec? It was simple. I closed my eyes."

"It must have been difficult for you. I saw how your face turned gray a few minutes ago when you were close to the ledge."

"I didn't have a choice, and I didn't have much time. Alec's rope was tearing."

"Now, lass, if I could gain your cooperation for a moment, I would like to ask a few pertinent questions," Father Laggan insisted.

At the very same time Ramsey said, "Of course you had a choice. To do something you're so obviously afraid of required bravery."

"Gillian did what needed to be done. Of course she's brave," Brodick said.

She disagreed. "No, I wasn't brave at all. I was so scared I was shaking. And I cried," she thought to add.

"Gillian, you will not argue with me about this. I have said that you are brave, and you will accept that I know what I'm talking about."

She didn't like being contradicted. "Brodick, the pope is infallible. You are not. Therefore, you cannot possibly know-"

"I really would like to continue," the priest urged. "Now, lass, I need to know this. Are you in good standing with the Church?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"He wants to know if you're in good standing with the Church," Brodick repeated.

She looked from one to the other. "I believe I am."

"And when was your last confession?" Laggan asked.

She hesitated.

"Answer him," Brodick ordered.

Her temper flared. "I have asked you not to take that tone with me," she whispered. "I don't like it."

Father Laggan heard her. His mouth dropped open, his eyes bulged, and he stammered, "You dare to criticize Laird Buchanan?"

Embarrassed because he had heard her rebuke, she tried to justify her actions. "He dared to snap at me, Father. You heard him, didn't you? Shouldn't I stand up for myself?"

"Yes, of course you should, but, lass, most women wouldn't. They would fear his retaliation."

She scoffed at the notion. "Brodick would never harm a woman."

Father Laggan surprised her then by laughing. "I have heard it said that there is a special woman for every man, no matter how contrary and barbaric that man might be, and now I must admit that it is certainly so."

"Can we get on with this?" Brodick demanded.

"Yes, of course," Father agreed. "Lady Gillian, I ask you again. When was your last confession?"

She blushed. "It's been a long while."

Laggan didn't like hearing that. "And why haven't you partaken of this most holy sacrament?"

"I must answer these questions before I can continue to Ramsey's?" she asked.

"You must," Ramsey said.

"Father's waiting for your answer," Brodick reminded her.

Her head was beginning to ache. She seemed to be the only one who thought the priest's inquisition was strange, but when she got Brodick alone, she was going to demand that he explain. For the moment, she decided to placate all of them. "I haven't gone to confession because England has been placed under an interdict and priests are not allowed to administer the sacraments except in dire emergencies. Surely you've heard of our pope's… unhappiness… with King John. The two are waging war over who will be the Archbishop of Canterbury."

Father Laggan nodded. "The interdict. Yes, of course. What was I thinking? I forgot you came to us from England. Now then, would you like me to hear your confession now?"

"Now?"

She hadn't meant to shout the question, but she was so appalled by the suggestion that she recount her sins in front of Brodick and Ramsey, and without a veil separating her from Father Laggan, she simply couldn't control her reaction.

"She hasn't done anything to warrant forgiveness," Brodick assured Laggan.

"How would you know?" she asked, clearly rattled.

Brodick laughed. "I know."

She glared at him. "I have sinned," she said, inwardly groaning because she sounded as though she were boasting.

"No, you haven't."

His contradiction was the last she was going to put up with. "I have too," she insisted. "Thanks to you, I've been plagued with impure thoughts, and they've all been about you, so you see? I have too sinned."

Only after the words were spoken did she realize what she had said. "My sins are all your fault, Brodick, and if I have to go to purgatory, then by God, you're going with me. Ramsey, if you do not stop laughing, I swear I shall toss you over this cliff."

"Do you love him, lass?" Father asked.

"I do not," she answered emphatically.

"It isn't a requirement," Laggan pointed out.

"I should hope not," she cried.

"But it would make your life easier," he countered.

"Gillian, you will tell the truth," Brodick demanded.

He grabbed hold of her hand. She tried to pull back, but he wouldn't let go.

"I have told the truth. I don't love Ramsey, and if he doesn't stop laughing at me, the Sinclairs will soon be looking for a new laird."

"Not Ramsey," Laggan shouted so he could be heard over Ramsey's laughter. "I'm asking you if you love Brodick."

"Did you tell Father I love you? Who else did you tell?"

In Brodick's opinion, the question didn't merit an answer. He quietly asked her to tell him again that she loved him.

"Brodick, now is not the time…"

"It's the perfect time."

She didn't agree. "What I said to you was private."

"Do you love me?"

Reluctant to admit the truth in front of an audience hanging on her every word, she bowed her head. "I do not wish to discuss matters of the heart now."

Brodick wouldn't be denied, and after nudging her chin up, he asked her again, "Do you love me?"

He squeezed her hand to get her to respond. "You know that I do," she whispered.

His expression solemn, he pulled the strip of plaid from behind his shoulder and draped the end over their joined hands.

Gillian understood what was happening then. In a panic, she tried to pull her hand free, but Brodick wouldn't let go of her, and after a few seconds of struggling, she stopped fighting.

Her heart belonged to him.

Staring into her eyes, he commanded, "You will give the words."

She stubbornly remained silent. He stubbornly persisted. "I want the words, Gillian. Don't deny me."

She could feel everyone watching her, and she knew how relentless Brodick could be. He would continue to prod her until he had what he wanted. Besides, it wasn't possible for her to deny him her love, and if he needed to hear the words again, then she would say them.

With a sigh she realized she had lost the battle, yet victory was hers. "I love you," she said in the barest of whispers.

"Now and forever?"

She paused for a moment and then put all her worries and fears aside, and made up her mind.

"Yes."

"And I will honor and protect you, Gillian," Brodick said. His hand moved to the back of her neck, and he roughly pulled her close. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Father Laggan raise his hand and make the sign of the cross.

She was powerless to resist when Brodick lowered his head to kiss her. There was such blatant possessiveness in his touch. Her hand stroked the side of his face, and for the moment she ignored her audience and the cheers echoing in her ears. When he finally let go of her, she had to grab hold of the pommel to keep from falling off her horse. She tried to repair her appearance while Brodick tossed the strip of plaid back over his shoulder and secured it in his belt.

She kept waiting for Brodick to say something to her, but he seemed content to remain silent, and so she turned to Father Laggan.

"God be with you," he said.

Ramsey, grinning like a culprit, slapped Brodick's shoulder. "We must celebrate tonight."

"Celebrate what, Ramsey?" she asked innocently.

"You have satisfied the Church."

"Then we may continue on?"

"Yes."

Before she could ask him any further questions, he hastily turned to the priest. "Father, will you be dining with us tonight?"

"I promised Laird MacHugh that I would stop by, but if darkness doesn't catch up with me on my way back, I'll gladly accept your hospitality. 'Tis the truth these old bones of mine have grown accustomed to a warm bed at night. An empty warm bed," he added with a glare in Brodick's direction.

"An empty bed will be waiting for you," Ramsey promised with a grin.

After giving Gillian a pitying look, Father Laggan blurted out, "There's still time… it isn't unheard of for a lass to change her mind before it's too late. Lady Gillian, if you should have second thoughts before tonight, or if you should come to your senses and realize the folly-"

"What's done is done, Father. Let it be," Ramsey said.

Laggan's shoulders sagged. "I warn you, Laird Buchanan. I'm going to continue to watch out for her."

Ramsey laughed. "Does that mean you'll break your own vow and return to the Buchanan holding? I seem to remember you telling Iain Maitland that the Buchanans were all heathens and that you would never step foot on their soil again."

"I remember what I said," the priest snapped. "And I certainly haven't forgotten the unfortunate incident. However, my duty's clear to me. I'm going to keep an eye on Lady Gillian, and if I see that she is unhappy or wasting away, then you'll be answering to me, Laird. You'd best take good care of her. You've got a treasure here, you realize."

After giving his passionate speech, Laggan took up his reins and guided his horse through the throng of soldiers. "God be with you," he called out.

Gillian watched the priest ride away, but Brodick tugged on her hair to get her attention. He brushed her curls over her shoulder. "I'll treat you well," he fervently promised.

"I shall make certain that you do," she responded. "Shall we go now?"

Brodick motioned to Dylan to take the lead, then turned to speak to Ramsey. Gillian saw the commander ride ahead to the cliffs. Instantly horrified, she goaded her mount in the opposite direction. One second she was beside Brodick and the next she was halfway down the southern slope.

"Where the hell is she going?" he asked Ramsey as he goaded his stallion into a gallop. He caught up with her, grabbed her reins, and tried to turn her around. She resisted by pushing his hand away and urging her horse forward again.

"You're going the wrong way."

"Is the right way over that cliff?" she asked, frantic.

"Now, Gillian, it isn't…"

"I won't do it."

"If you'll only let me explain…" he patiently began again.

He swore he had never seen anyone, man or woman, move as quickly as Gillian did then. Since she couldn't get him to let go of the reins, she slipped off her horse and was walking at a fast pace away from him before he could summon a good argument to persuade her to take the shortcut.

He caught up with her again. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm walking. I feel the need to stretch my legs."

"Give me your hand."

"No."

"It isn't a cliff," he began.

"I'm taking the long way around."

"All right," he agreed.

She came to a quick stop. "Do you mean it? You won't force me?"

"Of course I won't force you. We'll take the long way around."

He let out a shrill whistle and raised his hand. Dylan immediately turned back.

She knew she must be embarrassing Brodick because she couldn't go down a stupid hill. All of the soldiers were watching her, but fortunately they stayed where they were and therefore couldn't hear what she was saying.

"I don't wish to disgrace you in front of your good friend and your soldiers, but I swear that if you make me go down that cliff, I'll do just that."

"As terrified as you are, your concern is in the possibility of disgracing me? Ah, Gillian, you could never disgrace me. We'll take the long way around."

Anxiety blended with relief. "How much longer will it take us?"

"It depends on how fast we ride."

"How long?" she persisted.

"A full day," he admitted as he once again put his hand down to her.

"That long? Even if we hurry?"

"That long," he replied. "Give me your hand."

"I can ride my horse."

"I would rather you ride with me."

She backed away. "Brodick?"

"Yes, lass?"

"I have to go down that cliff, don't I?"

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and then clasped hold of his hand. Instead of swinging her up behind him, he changed his mind and lifted her onto his lap.

He could feel her shaking and sought only to comfort her. Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her tight. "This worry of yours…"

"It's most unreasonable, isn't it?"

"Do you know what has caused this fear? Did something happen that has made you so cautious?"

"Don't you mean cowardly?"

Clasping her chin in his hand, he forced her to look up at him. "Don't ever let me hear you say that about yourself again. You are not a coward. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"Say it," he commanded.

"I'm not a coward. You can stop squeezing me now," she suggested.

She waited until he had relaxed his hold, then said, "I've made up my mind. We'll go down the cliff. We should go last, though," she hastened to add, hoping she'd find a little courage while they waited their turn.

"You're certain?"

"Yes," she insisted, though her voice was so weak she wasn't sure he heard her. "And I'll ride my own horse," she added in a much stronger voice. "I'll not have your men think I'm a weakling."

"They could never think such a thing," he said as he prodded his horse back up the hill.

He didn't stop at the crest, nor did he slow his stallion's pace as he started down the narrow, winding path that led to Ramsey's holding. She buried her face in his plaid, wrapped her arms around his waist and demanded that he wait until everyone else had gone first.

He told her no.

There was still time to stop before they reached the steepest drop in the path, and she was going to make certain he did just that. She needed time to gather her courage. Why couldn't the mule-headed man understand that?

"I want to be last."

"I like to be first."

"We're going to wait," she demanded shrilly. Panic was making her throat close, and all she could think about was falling down into an endless dark hole and never, ever stopping. The need to scream was overtaking her control, and, God help her, she was either going to throw up or faint at any second.

"Brodick… I can't…"

"Tell me about all those impure thoughts you've been having about me."

"What?"

He patiently repeated the question. His stallion stumbled, rocks trickled down the sheer rock into the mouth of the ravine below, making quite a clatter, but Brodick merely shifted his position in the saddle to help the horse regain his footing, and continued on.

Gillian, hearing the noise, was turning to look down when Brodick asked, "In these impure thoughts, did we have our clothes on?"

Her blush warmed her face. "Our clothes?" she whispered.

"In your fantasies about me…"

"They weren't fantasies."

"Sure they were," he countered cheerfully. "You told Laggan you were having impure daydreams."

"Impure thoughts," she cried out.

"And you also said these… thoughts… were about me. Is that not so?"

"Oh, do be quiet."

He laughed. "So did we?" he asked again.

Her shoulders sagged. "Did we what?"

"Have our clothes on?"

Thoroughly rattled, she shouted, "Of course we had our clothes on."

"Then they couldn't have been very interesting impure thoughts."

"Will you stop talking about this?"

"Why?"

"It isn't proper, that's why."

"I think I have a right to know. You did say your impure thoughts were about me, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Well then? I want to know what I was doing."

She closed her eyes. "You were kissing me."

"That's it? Nothing else?"

"What did you expect?"

"A whole lot more," he said. "Where was I kissing you?"

"On my lips," she answered. "Now will you stop this-"

"Nowhere else?" he asked, sounding disappointed again. "Shall I tell you about some of my fantasies about you?"

Her eyes widened. "You've had… thoughts… about me?"

"Of course I have, but my daydreams are far more interesting."

"Is that so?"

"Would you like me to tell you about them?"

"No."

He laughed and ignored her protest. "You weren't wearing anything in my fantasies. No, that's not exactly true. You were wearing something."

She knew she shouldn't ask, but she couldn't stop herself. "What was I wearing?"

He bent down and whispered into her ear, "Me."

She jerked back and pushed against his chest with both hands. "Oh, Good Lord," she cried out. "We're both going to land in purgatory if we continue this sinful conversation. How could you know what I look like without my clothes on?"

"A calculated guess," he answered. "You're perfect, by the way."

"No, I'm not."

"Your skin's silky and smooth, and in my fantasies, when I lie between your soft-"

She clasped her hand over his mouth to get him to stop. His eyes sparkled with pure devilment. He was outrageous, and perhaps it was that very trait that drew her to him. Brodick had somehow managed to free himself of all restrictions. He didn't seem to care what anyone else thought about him, and he didn't particularly want to impress anyone.

She wished she could be that free. "Being with you is a… liberating… experience," she whispered.

"That wasn't so bad, was it, milady?"

Gillian jumped at the sound of Dylan's voice. "I beg your pardon?" she asked as she slowly removed her hand from Brodick's mouth. He grabbed it and kissed the palm. Shy all of a sudden, she pulled her hand back before Dylan caught up with them.

"The ride down wasn't so bad, was it?" Dylan repeated.

She glanced up at the rocks, shook her head, and burst into laughter. "No, it wasn't bad at all."

A few minutes later, she was once again riding her own horse. Deciding to take the lead, she nudged the mare into a trot, and as she passed Brodick and Ramsey, she called out, "You used trickery."

"Yes, I did," he admitted. "Are you angry with me?"

She laughed again. "I don't get angry. I get even."

Unbeknownst to her, she had just recited the Buchanan creed.

Chapter Nineteen

Ramsey Sinclair's home was majestic. It sat atop a plateau rising up in the middle of a magnificent valley that was bordered by steep cliffs on one side and lofty, rolling hills on the other. A glistening carpet of grass, sprinkled with the new sprigs of heather the wind had planted, covered the land for as far as the eye could see, and the scent of heather and pine drifted on the afternoon breeze and blended with the pungent aroma of smoke pouring from the thatched cottages. The laird's massive stone castle towered protectively over the houses that dotted the landscape beneath it, and a wall of timber and stone circled the perimeter of the entire community, offering safety to the clan within.

The heavy, iron-hinged gates opened, and Ramsey and his guests entered his estate. A resounding cheer echoed around them as soldiers came running to greet their laird. A fair number of young ladies also came running.

Immediately Gillian was surrounded by Brodick's overly protective guard. Aaron moved in front or her, Dylan and Robert positioned themselves beside her, and Liam rode behind.

As impossible as it was for her to see much of anything with the guards' wide shoulders blocking her view, she still tried to look at every face in the crowd. Though it would be wonderful, as well as miraculous, if she could find Christen immediately, Gillian knew it wasn't going to be that easy. Yet each time she spotted a yellow-haired woman, her heart leapt with that impossible hope.

Brodick and Ramsey had dismounted and were now surrounded by soldiers. Gillian patiently waited for Brodick to remember her.

"Do you see him, milady?" Dylan asked in a low voice.

"Him?"

"The traitor," he whispered.

"No, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking for…" she said as she once again tried to search through the crowd. "Not yet," she whispered back. "There are so many here…"

"Most of Ramsey's men aren't here," Dylan explained. "They are most likely still training in the field behind the castle. Aye, I'm certain they are, or Gideon would be here to greet his laird."

While Gillian continued to look over the crowd, a few curious and bold MacPherson soldiers, wearing their clan's plaid, moved closer to get a better look at her. One young, foolish man dared to step a little too close.

Black Robert nudged his mount forward, forcing the man to step to the side or be run over. In a voice dripping with venom, he ordered, "You will stop staring at the lady."

The burly soldier glanced at his friends, then turned back to Robert with an insolent sneer on his face. "Or what?" he challenged.

Robert wasn't impressed with the man's bluster. Before the soldier realized his intent, Robert leaned down, grabbed him by the throat and lifted him up to eye level.

"Or I'll break every bone in your body."

The MacPherson soldier was a big man, but Robert had lifted him as though he weighed no more than a twig. The remarkable feat of strength astounded her. And so did his poor manners. "Robert, please put that boy down."

"As you wish, milady," Robert grumbled.

Brodick happened to turn just as Robert sent the soldier flying. The man landed in the center of his friends. Shaking his head, Brodick threaded his way through the crowd, but stopped in front of the prone and dazed MacPherson. "Robert?"

"I didn't like the way he was staring at milady, Laird."

The soldier tried to get up, but Brodick put his booted foot on his chest to hold him down. "How was he staring at her?"

"With insolence," Robert answered.

"She's very beautiful," the soldier said somewhat defiantly. "If I want to look upon her, I will."

Brodick glanced down at the man and began to apply pressure on his chest with his foot. "Yes, she is very beautiful," he agreed pleasantly. "But I don't like it when any other man stares at her." Increasing the pressure until the soldier's face was bright red and he was gasping for breath, Brodick added, in a decidedly menacing voice, "I don't like it at all."

Ramsey appeared at his side. "Let him up," he ordered. Brodick stepped back and watched as the soldier regained his feet. Then Ramsey stepped forward and shoved the man so forcefully he landed on his backside again.

"You will apologize to Laird Buchanan now," he roared.

"Buchanan?" he gasped. "He's Laird Buchanan? I didn't know…"

Ramsey took another threatening step toward him. The soldier scrambled to his feet and blurted, "I apologize, Laird Buchanan. I will not ever look upon your woman again. I swear it on my father's head."

Ramsey wasn't satisfied. He'd noticed that the soldier and his friends were still wearing the MacPherson plaid. "You will wear my colors or you will get the hell off my land."

Gillian watched Ramsey in amazement. Until that moment she had thought he was a mild-mannered gentleman. Judith Maitland had told her that whenever Iain wanted an alliance, he always sent Ramsey as his spokesman to work out the details because he was so diplomatic. He certainly wasn't being diplomatic now. In fact his temper rivaled Brodick's. Knowing that she was the cause of his anger embarrassed her, and she glared at Robert to let him know what she thought about his behavior in inciting the incident, but the soldier defended his actions by whispering, "He was being insolent, milady."

"I did not think he was," she whispered.

"But I did, milady."

The set of his jaw indicated he thought he was right, and Gillian decided not to argue further with him.

"There's Gideon," Aaron said. "You should speak to him, Dylan. Word has it he believes he's your equal."

A large group of soldiers came swarming over the hills on both sides of the castle, and Gillian, squinting against the sunlight, couldn't see their faces.

Robert drew her attention when he remarked, "Gideon is Ramsey's commander. Is he not then Dylan's equal?"

"No one is my equal," Dylan answered as he swung down from his mount. "But I will placate Gideon by lowering myself to speak to him. If you'll excuse me, milady?" Dylan asked as he took the reins in preparation to lead the horse away.

"Of course," she answered. "I, too, would like to dismount, Robert. Would you please move your horse so that I may have room?"

"You must wait for your laird," he answered.

"Aye, you must," Liam agreed as he reined his horse forward to take Dylan's place. "Milady, you could make it easier for us if you would wear our plaid."

"Make what easier?" she asked.

"Letting them know that you are…"

He suddenly stopped. She prodded, "That I am what?" she asked.

"With us," Robert said.

He was saved from having to give further explanation when Ramsey motioned for him to move his horse so that he could get to Gillian's side.

He lifted her to the ground. "Do not judge my clan by a handful of boys," he cautioned.

"Her feet are on the ground now," Brodick said from behind his friend. "You can let go."

Ramsey ignored him and continued to hold Gillian. "Come inside. It's nearly noon, and you must surely be hungry."

Brodick shoved Ramsey's hand away from Gillian and gestured for her to come to him. Annoyed with his behavior, she stood her ground and made him come to her.

"I'm not hungry," she told Ramsey.

"Then tonight we will have a fine feast," he promised. "But before then, you'll have met every one of my soldiers in the holding. If the man you saw isn't among them, then tomorrow we'll head out to look over the others. It will take time, Gillian," he warned. "Now that the Sinclairs and the MacPhersons have joined, there's a vast amount of land to cover."

"What about her sister?" Brodick asked.

"I would like to meet all the women as well," she said, slipping her hand into Brodick's. "I know the importance of pointing out the man who betrayed you, and I will do all that I can to help you find him, but I implore you to do the same for me. I must find Christen."

Ramsey nodded. "You have told us that she was taken in by the MacPhersons, and as Iain suggested, the elders will have surely heard about her."

"Then why were the requests for information ignored? King John sent emissaries to all the clans, and no one responded."

Ramsey smiled. "Why would they?"

"I don't understand."

"We don't like King John," Brodick bluntly explained.

"No, we don't," Ramsey agreed.

They continued to walk toward the chiseled stone steps that led up to the broad timbered doors of the castle, the crowd giving them a wide path. Gillian noticed two elderly men hovering near the steps. One was tall and as thin as a walking stick, and the other was but half his size and as round as a full moon. Both men bowed to Ramsey as he strode forward.

After presenting them to her, Ramsey turned to Gillian, "It's my hope that Brisbane and Otis will be able to help you find Christen. Both are MacPhersons."

Ramsey filled the men in on the necessary details about Gillian's sister. "With your memories, I'm sure you'll be able to recall a family taking in a young girl. She would have been around six years old."

"But if the family came to us from the Lowlands with the child, how would we know the lass wasn't actually theirs?" Brisbane said.

"You'd know. You know everything that goes on here. You both would have heard the gossip."

"Perhaps we can be of service to the lady," Otis said. "But I'm wondering why you're helping her, Laird. Has the lady come to mean more to you than she should?"

"She has come to mean a great deal to me," Ramsey said, his voice curt now.

"But she's English." Brisbane pointed out the obvious. "And that is why Otis is concerned, Laird."

"I know what she is," Ramsey said. "Lady Gillian is Brodick's woman, and Brodick is my friend."

The announcement cheered both men. Otis looked vastly relieved. "Then you are not-"

"No," Ramsey interrupted. "Her heart belongs to Brodick."

Brisbane turned to Brodick. "Even though she's English… you still claim her?"

"I do."

Annoyed by the turn in the conversation, Gillian said, "I'm happy to be English."

Otis gave her a sympathetic look. "Ah, lass, you cannot possibly be happy being English, but it's courageous of you to pretend. Come along with me," he added as he motioned Ramsey out of his way so that he could latch onto her arm, "and we will talk about your sister."

Brisbane wasn't about to be left out. "My memory's much stronger than yours, Otis," he said as he took hold of Gillian's other arm, rudely nudging Brodick out of his way. "Why don't we take a stroll around the lake and put our heads together. I do recall one family in particular. They have a lass about your age, and they did come to us from the Lowlands."

Because both men were holding on to her, she couldn't curtsy and beg permission to be excused from her host. She glanced back at Brodick, caught his nod of approval, and then gave her full attention to her escorts as they led her away.

Ramsey and Brodick watched her leave. "She'll be all right?" Brodick asked, though he was already motioning to Robert and Liam to follow.

"Of course she'll be all right," Ramsey replied. "Let your men relax their guard."

"Very well," Brodick agreed, and quickly rescinded his command to his men. He followed Ramsey inside, where a crowd had gathered to speak to their laird.

"Do you think Otis and Brisbane will be able to help Gillian?" he asked.

"The question isn't if they can help, but rather, will they help." Ramsey poured a cup of wine and handed it to his friend and then poured one for himself. "They probably have a good idea where Christen is," he explained. "But they'll talk to her family before telling Gillian anything. If Christen wants to meet her sister, then they'll arrange it. If not…"

"You'll command it."

"Yes," he agreed. "But it will be difficult. The old men will be stubborn."

"They would seek to protect her because she's a MacPherson?"

"Yes."

"Why would they think they have to protect her from her own sister?"

"Her English sister," Ramsey said. "Stop worrying, Brodick. If Christen is here, we'll find her. Ah, there's Gideon with Dylan. Let me take care of any pressing business, and then we, too, will put our heads together and decide our plans."

An hour passed quickly as Ramsey first listened to the concerns of his clan, then heard Gideon's report on the problems that had arisen while he was away from the holding. He wasn't surprised to hear that the majority of those problems involved the MacPherson soldiers. Ramsey held his patience while Gideon recounted incident after incident on the training fields.

By the time the Sinclair commander was finished listing the grievances, his face was bright red. "You've ordered me to be tolerant," Gideon reminded his laird. "But I tell you this: It's dangerous to allow such insubordination. The leader of this group of misfits grows more powerful with each passing day. When I give an order, the majority of MacPhersons look to him first, and if he gives his nod of approval, then they follow my command. It's unacceptable," he added in a voice shaking with anger.

Ramsey stood calmly in front of the hearth and watched his commander pace about the hall. Brodick leaned against the table as he, too, listened to the tirade against the MacPhersons. Dylan stood beside him.

When Ramsey had heard enough, he raised his hand for silence. "And what would you have me do, Gideon?" he asked softly.

The commander whirled to face his laird. "Throw the bastard out."

"Does the bastard have a name?" Dylan asked.

"Proster," Gideon replied.

"And you want me to banish him?" Ramsey demanded.

"I would rather you let me kill him, Laird, but I would be content if he were cast out."

"What about his followers? What would you have me do to them?"

"The truth?"

"Of course."

Gideon sighed. "I would have you throw them all out. You know I was against this union of clans, Laird, and I do recall telling you that it wouldn't work."

"And you believe your prophecy has been fulfilled?"

"I do."

"You knew there were going to be problems, Gideon. It is your duty to find a way to solve them, but not by casting the misfits out," he added curtly. "Find Proster and send him to me," he commanded then. "I'll deal with him and his cohorts."

Gideon seemed relieved to be rid of the problem and eagerly nodded. "I welcome your interference, Laird, for I swear the troublemakers have pushed me to the wall. I do not have your patience."

No one had Ramsey's patience, Brodick thought to himself. Gideon obviously didn't know his laird well, for if he did, he would have known that under that thin layer of civility and diplomacy beat the heart of a savage warrior whose temper put Brodick's to shame. Unlike Brodick, Ramsey was slow to ignite, but once he had reached his limit or had been prodded too far, his reaction was explosive and most impressive. He could be far more brutal than Brodick, and perhaps that was one of the reasons they had become such good friends. They trusted each other. Aye, Brodick trusted and admired Ramsey as much as he trusted and admired the man who had trained them to be leaders, Iain Maitland.

Now there was a ruthless leader, Brodick thought. Iain rarely showed mercy, and was known for his impatience, which was why in the past he had relied on Ramsey to speak on his behalf at council meetings. Whereas Iain would have killed anyone who disagreed with him, Ramsey used persuasion to get what he wanted, and only if and when that didn't work, did he, like Iain and Brodick, resort to brute force.

Once Gideon had aired his complaints, his disposition improved dramatically. "There's one more matter to attend to before you rest," he announced with a grin.

Ramsey raised an eyebrow. "The matter amuses you?"

"Aye, it does," Gideon replied.

Ramsey sighed. "Let me guess," he said. "Does the matter involve our Bridgid KirkConnell?"

Gideon laughed. "You're most perceptive, Laird, for it does indeed involve our Bridgid. There has been yet another request for her hand in marriage."

A resigned look on his face, Ramsey asked, "Who is it this time?"

"The soldier's name is Matthias," Gideon said. "He's a MacPherson and I would warn you that if Bridgid agrees to marry him after turning down so many of our worthy and proud Sinclair soldiers, there will be hell to pay."

Now Ramsey laughed. "If Bridgid is anything, she's predictable. We both know she isn't going to agree to have this Matthias, so you needn't worry about the repercussions. Send her in, and I'll put the question to her. I'd like Brodick to meet her."

"Why? "Brodick asked.

"She's… intriguing," Ramsey explained.

"Begging your indulgence, but her mother requests an audience first, Laird. She wishes to speak to you before Bridgid is summoned."

"Is she waiting now?"

"No," Gideon answered. "I'll send someone to fetch her."

"When we're finished," Ramsey said. "I want you to give the order for all the men to gather in the courtyard at sunset. Every single man must attend," he added.

"Accept no excuses," Brodick interjected.

Gideon immediately nodded. "As you wish," he said. He studied Ramsey for several seconds and then asked, "Are you planning to make an announcement then? Do I congratulate you?"

"No," Ramsey replied.

Curious about Gideon's remark, Brodick asked, "Congratulate you on what?"

"I've been asked by the elders to consider marriage to Meggan MacPherson. I still haven't decided what I'm going to do. 'Tis the truth I haven't had time to think about it. I'll admit it would make my life easier if the two clans were joined by marriage."

"You'll break a lot of hearts," Dylan couldn't help remarking. "There were quite a few pretty young ladies following after you, but I noticed none had the courage to come forward and speak to you."

"They usually hound him," Gideon said. "Today, however, they were most timid. I believe I know the reason why they stayed away."

"And what would that reason be?" Brodick asked.

Gideon decided to be blunt. "You, Laird. You were standing with Ramsey, and that's why the women didn't come forward. Though they're clearly besotted with their laird, they're more frightened by you."

Dylan grinned. " 'Tis good to know that you can still make the ladies fainthearted, Brodick."

"We don't have time for foolish banter," Ramsey muttered, clearly uncomfortable with the talk about the young ladies' behavior. Brodick knew it embarrassed Ramsey to be chased after because of the way he looked, and as his friend, Brodick used that knowledge to his advantage. Whenever he could increase Ramsey's discomfort, he did exactly that.

"It must be sheer hell for you to be cursed with such a pretty boy's face," he drawled. "The agony of finding a different woman in your bed every night must wear you thin. I don't know where you get your stamina with this terrible burden you bear."

The muscle in Ramsey's jaw flexed, which pleased Brodick considerably.

"We know you've had as many women in your bed as I have," Ramsey snapped. "But I meant what I said. There are more important matters to discuss."

Weary now, he walked to the table, deliberately shoving Brodick out of his way when he tried to block him and gaining a good laugh from his friend. Motioning to Dylan and Gideon to take their seats, Ramsey sat down at the head of the table, grabbed a pitcher of cold water, poured another drink, and asked the young squire waiting by the doorway to fetch them some warm bread and cheese to ease their hunger until supper was ready.

As soon as the boy left the hall, Ramsey suggested that Brodick fill Gideon in on all that had transpired. "Our commanders are going to have to coordinate their efforts for the attack," he said. "Iain wants Winslow and Dylan and you to handpick the soldiers who'll ride with us into England."

"We're attacking England?" Gideon asked, astonished.

"No," Brodick answered. "Though the thought of it warms my heart."

He leaned back and then told Gideon what had happened and how Gillian had saved Alec Maitland. Gideon had trouble taking it all in. When Brodick finished, the soldier, shaking his head, whispered, "Dear God, it's a miracle Alec survived."

"His miracle was Gillian," Brodick said. "If it were not for her, Alec would be dead."

"And no one would have known there was a traitor in our midst," Ramsey pointed out.

"Who would do such a thing?" Gideon asked the question, then pounded his fist on the tabletop as he offered an answer. "It must be a MacPherson because they are the only ones who would gain in this. There are many who would cheer your death, Laird, and all of them are under Proster's thumb. Though he's little more than a boy, he has gained their loyalty. They are rebels, pure and simple."

"My mind is not so set as yours, and I will be certain before I act," Ramsey said.

He raised his hand for silence as the squire came hurrying into the hall with a platter of bread and cheese. After the boy placed the food on the table, Ramsey ordered him to wait in the kitchens and then resumed the discussion. "We must help Gillian find her sister. I have given her my word."

"It's a certainty that the woman is a MacPherson?" Gideon asked, rubbing his jaw as he considered the matter.

"Yes," Ramsey answered. "Her name's Christen, and she's a few years older than Gillian."

"The family surely changed her name in order to protect her," Brodick interjected.

"Still, I'm hopeful that Brisbane and Otis will know who she is. Nothing escapes their notice."

"I might be able to help," Gideon said. "My father also has a strong memory and knows most of the MacPhersons. He hates them, but he's civil to them," he added. "His sister married a MacPherson. She's dead now, but she was ill-treated by her husband, and my father will never forget that. Still, he would help you, Laird, if he can. If a family took a child in, then my father would most likely know about it. Now that he's feeling better, he detests being confined and this puzzle will help distract him. With your permission, Laird, I'll go to him as soon as possible."

"Gideon's father broke his leg in a bad fall," Ramsey explained to Brodick and Dylan. "It's good news to hear that he's going to mend. For a time, we thought he wasn't going to make it, and Gideon rushed home to be by his side."

"If he cannot walk again, he would rather die," Gideon commented. "But now there is a glimmer of hope. If you don't need me for a couple of days, I could leave now. I could be halfway there before darkness falls."

"Yes," Ramsey agreed. "The sooner you speak to your father, the better. Brisbane and Otis will take days worrying about their duty to the MacPhersons, and you could be back with the information we need before those old men make up their minds to tell us the truth."

"Christen might come forward on her own," Dylan suggested.

Gideon started to stand up, then changed his mind. "Laird, you said that we'll be riding into England, but where exactly will we be going?"

"We don't know… yet," Ramsey admitted. "Gillian hasn't given us the names of the Englishmen who held Alec captive and made the bargain with the traitor."

Perplexed, Gideon asked, "Why hasn't she told you, Laird?"

Brodick answered. "She has it in her mind that if she tells us who the men are, then we'll attack, leaving her uncle vulnerable. She also worries that I'll force her to stay here."

"But that is what you're going to do, isn't it?" Ramsey asked. "You surely won't allow her to return to England."

"It's complicated," Brodick said. "Gillian's headstrong."

"Which is why you were drawn to her," Ramsey pointed out.

Brodick shook his head. "How can I demand her trust knowing all the while in my heart that I'm going to betray that trust? Hell, I don't know what to do. I don't like the idea of breaking my word to her, but the thought of her in such danger is unacceptable."

"You're going to have to work this out with her and quickly. We need the names," Ramsey said.

Gideon stood and bowed to his laird. "With your permission, I'll take my leave now."

"Give your father my good wishes for a full recovery."

"I will," he promised. He started toward the entrance, then turned. "Laird, with all this news I forgot to ask…"

"Yes?"

"Do you still want the men to gather in the courtyard tonight? I'll have Anthony give the order," he hastily added. "But if you aren't going to announce your decision to marry Meggan, then may I ask why you wish to address your men? Perhaps I should stay."

Ramsey realized then that an important detail had been left out of the telling. "We have an advantage in finding the traitor," he said. "Gillian saw the man as he was riding toward her estates."

"She saw him?" Gideon asked, astonished.

"Aye, she saw the bastard," Dylan confirmed. "From the description of where she was hiding, I'd say she was close enough to spit in his face, but the fool never knew she was there."

"And that's why I want every man to come to the courtyard. Gillian will look at each one of them, and if the man is there, she'll spot him," Ramsey said.

Gideon shook his head. "And she'll recognize the traitor for a certainty?"

"Yes," Ramsey said.

"Then she must be protected at all costs. If this man knows she can point him out, he'll surely try to silence her before-"

"She's well protected," Dylan announced. "We Buchanans aren't going to let anything happen to her. She belongs to us now."

Gideon blinked. "Lady Gillian belongs to the Buchanans?" he asked Ramsey, confused by Dylan's boast.

His laird nodded. "Aye, she does. She just doesn't know it yet."