California Caress (47 page)

Gabrielle chewed swiftly, barely noticing that the once-tasty soup now had the flavor of mud. A wave of irritation swept though her. Oh, but it was difficult to suppress the urge to finish what she'd started, and tell this heathen exactly what she thought of him and his impatient preacher.

She swallowed down the soup and was in the process of opening her mouth to vent her mounting ire... only to find she had no breath left in her lungs to vent it with. Her breathing had paused just beneath her hammering heart when Connor plucked the cloth from her hand and wiped the residue of broth from her chin.

Gabrielle stared at him. The gesture left her speechless. Nay, that was wrong. It wasn't the gesture that stunned her so much as the
gentleness
with which he'd accomplished it.

While The Black Douglas was known for many things, consideration wasn't one of them. Was it possible the rumors and ballads about this man were wrong? That he wasn't in truth the heartless, barbaric monster they all painted him?

Gabrielle suppressed a groan. Dear Lord, she must be sicker than she originally thought to even be considering such a notion. Was this not, after all, the same man who'd flagrantly—and much too easily, as far as she was concerned—stolen her, his brother's fiancée, right out from under the other man's nose? Was this not the same man who claimed it a rightful theft, the same man who'd then boldly bragged about marrying her himself?

Aye, it was. But, Gabrielle found all of those misdeeds hard to remember when the feel of Connor's strong, cloth-covered fingers gently skimming her jaw still lingered and tingled in her veins.

"Here, lass, swallow down another bite. 'Tis good and hearty fare, just the thing for a sick wench." He'd dipped the spoon back into the bowl and now held it close to her tightly compressed lips.

Gabrielle shook her head. She was wise enough this time not to open her mouth to voice the protest that itched the tip of her tongue.

Her attention had been locked on the closed door at the foot of the bed. It now lifted to his face.

From a distance, his eyes had looked... well, merely gray. Up close, she saw that there was nothing "merely" about them. The irises
were
predominantly slate colored, yet now she noticed they were also flecked with intriguing shards of brilliant blue. The darkness of his eyebrows, and the uncommonly long, thick black eyelashes, contrasted sharply, complementing and enhancing their color.

She shook her head to clear it, ignoring the way the gesture set her temples to throbbing anew. "I'll not be marrying you, Connor Douglas, so get that notion out of your head right now."

This time, Gabrielle was prepared. She kept her teeth clenched together as she talked, giving him no opportunity to shove more food into her mouth.

Connor frowned and looked vaguely disappointed.

Gabrielle gritted her teeth until her jaw hurt almost as much as her pounding head and aching throat. Did he truly think her so stupid she would fall for that trick more than once? If so, the man had a good deal to learn about Careltons and their intelligence... not to mention their stubborn determination!

"Right now me main concern is nursing ye back to health. What's done is done, and cannot be undone. What happens after ye're well will happen. There's naught ye can do aboot it. Ye're... er, a robust lass, I'll grant ye that, but naught more than a lass all the same. If I chose to wed ye, there's not a thing ye can do to stop me."

"That's where you're wrong. There are
several
things I can, and
will
, do," Gabrielle replied tightly, even as her fevered mind scrambled to think of what even one of those things might be. "You realize that..."—
ah-ha!
—"that Elizabeth will have your head when she finds out what you've done, do you not?"

"Elizabeth isn't
my
sovereign, she's yers." Connor replaced the spoon in the bowl, then sat back in the chair, his shrewd gray gaze never leaving her. "And aye, the messenger she sent this afternoon did mention something aboot separating me head from me shoulders, but I paid the threat no heed."

She sucked in a quick breath. The Queen had sent a messenger? And The Black Douglas had blatantly ignored the threat the messenger carried? Was the man insane?! Did he not know that, while Elizabeth could ignore much, never could the woman stand to be ignored herself?

"What about your young king?" Gabrielle asked, and winced. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded weak, shaky, lacking its previous conviction. "Methinks James will be equally displeased with what you've done."

A reckless grin that made Gabrielle's heart skip a beat tugged at one corner of Connor's mouth. "Och! but there's the rub. Ye're right aboot him not being pleased, but I've gotten him angrier in the past. Jamie threatens only a fine." When she regarded him suspiciously, he shrugged and added, "His messenger arrived as the Queen's was leaving, and shortly a'fore twa sent by the March Wardens. Squeezed in between those was a messenger from the Maxwell. Er, I think that be the order. Truth to tell, I dinny remember exactly, there were so many messengers coming and going. 'Tis been a busy afternoon."

That even one messenger had come was music to Gabrielle's ears. Surely with so many protests and threats The Black Douglas would
have
to let her go now.

Wouldn't he?

Her gaze raked his face; Connor's features were ruggedly carved, his expression decisive. A glint of persistence shimmered like liquid gray fire in his eyes.

An uneasy feeling prickled along the nape of Gabrielle's neck. The Black Douglas looked more determined than ever to keep and wed her.

She shuddered. This would never do!

Excerpt from

Montana Wildfire

by

Rebecca Sinclair

© 1991, 2011 by Rebecca Sinclair

A shiver of heat splashed through Amanda when the stranger's gaze raked the partially dried hair scattered around her face and shoulders. His attention dipped, lazily taking in the water-darkened bodice of her cream-colored shirtwaist and the dark rose skirt that clung to her hips like a clammy second skin.

She'd heard rumors of men who could strip a woman bare with one smoldering glance, but she'd never met one who would dare. Until now. As the man's attention poured over her, Amanda had the unpleasant feeling he could see right through the saturated barrier of cloth. A warm, tight sensation curled in the pit of her stomach: unfamiliar, alarming.

She tipped her chin up defensively. Crossing her arms over her chest, she cut his lewd investigation short.

His gaze took its sweet time lifting to hers. His grey eyes shimmered in the mid-morning sunlight, telling her it was far too late for modesty. His appreciative expression said something else again; that he'd already decided what "type" of lady she was... and that he could tolerate her sort with little trouble.

"I suppose you'll be wanting my help now, ma'am?" The way his tongue wrapped around the word "ma'am" sent an odd, warm-cold tremor down Amanda's spine. Somehow, he made it sound less like a title and more like a sensual endearment.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," she replied stiffly, and thought, why not? Her left leg throbbed from supporting her idle weight for so long. She was wet and chilled to the bone. She knew if she didn't allow this man to help her, she might never get out of this frigid water.

He nodded and turned his attention to Roger. "Go find some sticks and get a fire started. Don't skimp; I want it blazing. The lady's going to need all the heat she can get once she's out of there. And get some blankets, too. All you can spare. There's a couple rolled and tied on my horse. Use them."

Roger's golden brows slashed high, disappearing beneath the curls that kissed his forehead. He glanced up at the stranger as though the man had lost all grip on reality. "You want
me
to do
what?"

"Get a fire started," the man gritted impatiently, even as he sank to the ground and began yanking off his knee-high moccasins. "What the hell are you waiting for, kid? I want that fire started, and I want it started
now!"

It must have been the ring of authority in the man's voice, Amanda decided. Either that, or the veiled threat glistening in his eyes. Whatever the reason, Roger spun on his heel and sprinted into the woods with unheard-of speed.

"Looks like it's just you and me, princess," the man said as, lithely pushing to his feet, he took a step toward the river. His attention rose from the spot where the water lapped at her hips. His gaze ascended—slowly, hotly—over her breasts, her shoulders, her chin, and lips. Finally, he locked onto her fear-widened eyes.

In that instant, Amanda knew why Roger had run. If her foot wasn't stuck, she would do the same thing. The savage glint in the man's eyes, coupled with his insolent perusal, had a terrifying affect on her.

"You have a name?" His question was instantly followed by a loud splash. He'd just taken his first swaggering stride into the icy river.

"O-of course." Closing her eyes, Amanda stifled a groan in the back of her throat. Her voice deserted her. Not for all the money in the world could she have forced her eyes open at that moment, forced herself to watch as that dangerous-looking man stalked toward her like a hungry wolf hunting down its trapped, defenseless prey.

"You going to tell me what it is?"

His voice was closer. Amanda thought that reason enough not to answer him. That, and the feel of the water being disturbed around her. The icy current lapped at her stomach. She rolled her lips inward and ordered herself not to shiver. It wouldn't do for this man to think her tremors were caused by his nearness and not the water's numbing coldness.

And he was near. She could sense it
, feel
it.

"Okay, princess, let me put it another way. You want to get out of this river any time soon?"

Amanda's eyes snapped open. A split second too late, she realized it for the mistake it was. The stranger
was
standing close. Too close. The span of his shoulders and chest cast a chilly shadow over her, blotting out the warmth of the late morning sun, blotting out
everything.
The water was cold, but it would have needed to be covered with a thick sheet of ice to counterbalance the intense male heat his lean body radiated.

The earthy, leather-and-spice smell of him surrounded her, seeped through her, seeped
into
her. The scent warmed her blood, thawing what Amanda had begun to think would be an everlasting chill. She didn't feel chilled right now. Just the opposite; she'd never felt so hot in her life!

The man angled his head to look down at her, and Amanda saw that he'd removed his hat. His straight black hair scattered flatteringly around his face. The breeze tossed the inky strands around his shoulders. Her gaze picked out a thin, tight braid, no thicker than her pinkie, woven into the underside of his hair, just behind his left ear. She trailed the braid down to a small brown feather, anchored by a leather thong tied to the end of it.