Authors: Connie Mason
Highland Warrior (15 page)
“Take up your sword, MacKenna. Doona be a coward. Fight me for my right to direct my own fate.”
“I promised your father I wouldna harm you. If I take up a sword against you, you would lose the battle and mayhap die. Is that what you want, wife?”
“What I want is to be treated with respect and dignity. There is naught between us but mistrust.”
A slow grin curved Ross’s lips. “You are wrong, lass. We are good together in bed. Have I not proved that to you?”
The sword wavered in Gillian’s hands but did not lower. Ross thought she looked adorably distraught. He did not doubt, however, that she would run him through if he continued to provoke her. But would she actually aim to kill? He rather doubted it, but wasn’t willing to take that chance. He waited for the opportunity to disarm her without hurting her. As for drawing his sword against her, he simply wouldn’t do it.
“Doona treat me like a frail female, MacKenna, for it willna work.”
“You realize, do you nae, that if you leave my home and protection, the truce will be broken? ’Twas part of the agreement between me and your father.”
Gillian seemed to mull that over. Ross thought she had never looked more beautiful or desirable. The flame that was her spirit burned bright.
“If we make a private agreement to duel for my freedom, it will have naught to do with the truce.”
Ross was beginning to grow angry. “Forget it, Gillian. You’re coming home with me, and that’s final. Drop the sword.”
Gillian really didn’t want to hurt Ross, but she could not give in. If she returned meekly home with Ross, what would stop him from accusing her of betrayal another time and dragging her to Braebum again? She couldn’t bear the ridicule. This had to be settled here and now. One way or another.
“Nay, MacKenna. Fight me or let me stay where I willna be accused of betrayal at the slightest provocation.”
Gillian was more than a little surprised when Ross drew his sword. “Verra well. We will take this outside.”
“You’re going to fight me?”
“’Tis what you want, so we might as well get on with it.”
“Aye. Aye,” she repeated more forcefully.
“After you,” Ross said, indicating that she should precede him down the stairs.
Gillian didn’t trust him. “Nay, after you.”
Ross shrugged, turned, and proceeded down the stairs. “You wouldna take advantage of me while my back is turned, would you?” he taunted.
Affronted, Gillian gave a huff of disgust. “I amna an assassin. Keep walking, MacKenna.”
Tearlach, Murdoc, and Nab were in the hall, talking to several of their kinsmen. Conversation ceased when they saw Ross and Gillian walking toward the front door with swords drawn.
“What’s this?” Tearlach asked, reaching for his own weapon. “Is there an enemy within?”
“I’m going to fight MacKenna for the right to remain at Braeburn, Da,” Gillian said.
All eyes swung to Ross. “Is that right, MacKenna?”
Ross shrugged. “’Tis what Gillian wants.”
“Are you daft, lass? You are no match for a Highland warrior. Did you learn naught from your last encounter with MacKenna?”
“This is my life, Da. Doona question my motives or belittle my skill.”
“Be reasonable, Gillian,” Murdoc pleaded. “Challenging your husband will gain you naught. And you, MacKenna, are you eager to do grave injury to your wife?”
“I promised your father I wouldna hurt your sister, Murdoc, and I intend to keep my promise.”
“MacKenna canna hurt me,” Gillian claimed. “I willna let him. You and I crossed swords in practice many times, Murdoc, and you didna hurt me, not once.”
“Da would have thrashed him if he did,” Nab inter jected. “Be sensible, Gillian. Stop this now lest you live to regret it. No one, neither Da nor I, can stop MacKenna from punishing you for this folly if he so chooses.”
Gillian sent Ross a sidelong glance. He didn’t seem particularly angry. He appeared calm, far too calm for her peace of mind. She squared her shoulders and marched out the door. If she didn’t show him the error of his ways she would never earn his respect.
“Are you coming, MacKenna?” she threw over her shoulder.
“Nay, but I hope to verra soon,” he said, tongue in cheek.
Behind her, Gillian heard her father and brothers chuckle. Her face reddened until it matched the color of her hair.
Tearlach caught up with Ross. “Surely you’re not going to fight the lass, are you?”
Ross pulled away. “If I doona, she will think me a coward. If naught else, this will teach Gillian a lesson. Fear not, MacKay; Gillian will come out of this unscathed.”
“I pray you are right, MacKenna,” Tearlach warned. “For if my lass is harmed ...” His sentence trailed off, but his meaning was clear.
“Have our horses saddled and Gillian’s trunk loaded in the cart,” Ross said in an aside to Murdoc. “I’m taking Gillian home to Ravenscraig as soon as this is finished.”
Gillian halted in the courtyard just short of the gate, where there was sufficient room for maneuvering. Then she took a fighter’s stance and whirled to challenge Ross. He ambled toward her, seemingly unfazed as he watched her through narrowed lids.
“Make your move, Gillian, but be sure your heart is in it before you attack me.”
“Of course my heart is in it,” Gillian shot back. “You embarrassed me in front of your kinsmen. You called me a traitor, a viper, and other hurtful names. You jumped to conclusions without proof and dragged me to Braeburn in shame. You care naught for me, MacKenna. Not that I expected more from you. We are enemies, forced to wed to save our clans.”
“We are enemies no longer, lass. You could be carrying my bairn.”
Gillian lowered her sword a little, confusion marring her smooth brow.
“’Tis possible, you ken?” He made a slashing motion with his sword. “Would you risk the life of our bairn to satisfy your pride?”
Gillian hesitated. She truly didn’t believe there was a bairn growing inside her, but that brief moment of hesitation nearly undid her. Ross lunged for her sword. Regaining her wits, she whirled away.
“Doona even think it, MacKenna.”
She tightened her grasp on the sword hilt and thrust it forward. She had initiated the fight; now she waited for Ross to retaliate so the battle could begin in earnest. Ross sidestepped Gillian’s thrust easily and made no move to engage her. Gillian thrust again. She didn’t want to kill Ross, but she had no compunction about nicking his skin and drawing a wee bit of blood. Her pride demanded that she make an effort to punish him for shaming her.
Angry and frustrated, Gillian began to stalk Ross, willing him to stand still so she could gain satisfaction. But the pompous ass kept evading her blade. Then, like a streak of lightning, Ross made his move. When Gillian responded, Ross whipped his sword upward, catching the hilt of Gillian’s blade. With a twist of his wrist, Gillian’s sword flew into the air. It landed near Nab. He calmly picked it up and handed it to Tearlach.
“’Tis done, lass,” Tearlach said. “Go home with your husband.”
When Gillian looked as if she were going to protest, Ross reminded her of their pact. “I disarmed you with little effort. ’Tis time you acknowledged that I am the better swordsman.”
“Mind your husband,” Tearlach advised. “Return to Ravenscraig and give him an heir or two.”
Before Gillian realized what Ross intended, he scooped her into his arms and deposited her onto the back of her horse. “We will return for the wedding, MacKay. Count on it. Meanwhile, learn what you can about the reivers, and I shall do the same.”
“Are you going to let him do this, Da?” Gillian pleaded. “What about you?” she cried, turning to her brothers. “Help me!”
Murdoc and Nab were laughing so hard, Gillian would have bashed them with a weapon if one had been available. The final indignity occurred when Ross refused to hand over Silver’s reins to her. He led her mount as if she were a disobedient child in need of chastising.
“If I canna handle my own horse, let me ride in the cart with my trunk,” Gillian said.
Ross’s answer was to knee his horse into a gallop, forcing Silver to keep up. The fact that she was able to remain in the saddle was a testament to Gillian’s superb horsemanship.
Gillian was cold, hungry, and exhausted by the time they reached Ravenscraig a good three hours later. A light snow had begun to fall, and the wind had risen. Gillian looked forward to warming herself before the hearth, even if it was MacKenna’s hearth.
Gordo met them at the door. “Why did you bring her back, lad?”
“I was wrong, Uncle. MacKay wasna behind the raid.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Let’s just say that sufficient proof existed to exonerate the MacKays. By the way, we’re invited to a wedding. Murdoc MacKay is marrying his sweetheart.”
Ross lifted Gillian to the ground and guided her up the stairs into the warmth of the hall. Gillian headed straight for the fire blazing cheerfully in the hearth.
“Bring food and drink to my chamber,” Ross said to a passing servant.
Gillian was aware that everyone was staring at her, and not in a good way. “They hate me,” she said when Ross joined her.
As if aware of the animosity aimed at Gillian, Ross held up his hand for silence. “I was wrong,” he announced. “The MacKays didna break the truce; nor was my lady responsible in any way for the raid. Gillian is my wife, and I willna have her treated with anything but respect. Is that clear?”
Gillian heard a scattering of
cryes
that were half-hearted at best.
cryes
that were half-hearted at best.
“Only a fool would believe a MacKay,” Seana snarled, sashaying up to join them. “You are thinking with your cock, Ross MacKenna. Mayhap when you’ve had your fill of the red-haired witch you will listen to your head and toss her out on her arse.”
Gillian had had all she could take of Seana’s insults. In fact, this day had been one disaster after another. She had to retaliate or burst. Hauling back her arm, she swung at Seana. Her fist connected with Seana’s jaw, sending her sprawling at Ross’s feet.
Stunned, Ross looked first at Gillian and then at Seana, who was just beginning to stir. Holding back his laughter, Ross seized Gillian’s waist, flung her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat, and headed toward the stairs, one hand planted firmly on her curvy bottom.
Chapter Eight
“What do you think you’re doing?” Gillian demanded when Ross set her on her feet in their bedchamber. “I am perfectly capable of walking up the stairs on my own.”
Ross grinned. Are you capable of walking away from Seana without killing her?”
“That’s a different matter. She may have started this brawl, but I’m willing to finish it.”
“Forget Seana. Do you recall what I said about drawing a sword on me the last time you attempted it?”
Gillian sent him a wary look. “You said I would be sorry.”
“Are you
?
”
?
”
She raised her chin. “Not yet.”
Ross reached for her. She tried to sidle away, but he was too fast for her. “Every instinct tells me you deserve to be punished.”
Her chin rose even higher. “Go ahead, if you dare.”
“Your father and brothers wouldna stop me.”
“Nay, they wouldna,” Gillian acknowledged, sounding not at all repentant.
“I have never raised a hand to a woman. Nor do I make a habit of engaging in swordplay with one. You, my spirited wife, have made me rethink my position.”
Gillian blinked. “What are you going to do?”
Winding a lock of flame-bright hair around his fist, he pulled her face close, until their noses were touching. “What do you think I
should
do? If you were me, what mode of punishment would you advise?”
should
do? If you were me, what mode of punishment would you advise?”
Gillian forced a smile. “Were I you, I would congratulate you for showing spirit in face of adversity. Few wives have the courage to protect themselves against brutal husbands.”
Ross’s brows flew together. “You think me brutal?”
Gillian could not lie. “I... Nay, you have shown considerable restraint for a man of your sort.”
“This keeps getting better and better,” Ross growled, clearly not amused. “What sort am I, pray tell?”
Gillian stared directly into his blue eyes; she couldn’t have looked away even if she’d wanted to. “You are a MacKenna; does that answer your question? We wouldna have wed had circumstances not demanded it of us.”
His mouth was nearly touching hers when he said, “You are a MacKenna now, too, Gillian. As badly as I want to beat you, I canna do it. I will, however, have your promise that you will never take up a sword against me again.”
“Does that include a dirk?” Gillian asked sweetly.
“Let me rephrase that. Your promise encompasses all weapons, including your fists, which you just proved can be dangerous. My clansmen will think me weak if I doona break your habit of wielding weapons. They already think me pathetic for not beating you.”
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