My Fair Highlander (9 page)

Read My Fair Highlander Online

Authors: Mary Wine

BOOK: My Fair Highlander
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“Nae.”
He turned his back on her and moved toward the doorway with purposeful strides.
“Wait.”
He didn't stop, didn't even slow down.
“Gordon Dwyre, don't you dare turn your back on me like a coward.”
He growled and turned around in a swirl of Barras tartan, pointing a finger at her.
“Do nae ever call me coward, Jemma, unless ye want to experience just how much daring I have inside me.”
“Then do not turn your back on me just because you do not care for the fact that I am correct in saying that honor demands I return home before I am ruined, and you named as the blackguard who did the deed.”
He chuckled, but it was not a kind sound. “Ye would enjoy the deed, lass, be very sure of that.”
Her throat tightened, forcing her to swallow hard. His eyes filled with enjoyment to see it.
“Exactly why I must remain firm and return home today.” Jemma drew in another breath to force her passion to cool. “I will take my mare and do what is proper before this sinfulness has the chance to go any further. It is best for us both. Go and ask your priest if you think otherwise, but I am firm in this decision.”
“I can see that.” His expression became guarded and his tone too controlled to gain any hint as to his mood.
“Good. We are agreed then. Where is my mare?”
His face remained unreadable. “Where did ye leave her, lass? I'm not accustomed to looking after ye and yer possessions.”
“But surely your boys brought my mare back last night . . .” Her eyes widened with the horror of the possibility that she was without a horse. Amber Hill was too far to walk to.
“I surely did bring ye back with me, and that was were my attention was.”
A soft gasp betrayed just how disturbing she found the idea of being without her mount.
“Well then, I shall need to have the loan of a horse.” Jemma tried to ask nicely, but her voice was sharp with her rising distress.
“I've none to spare.”
Jemma felt her cheeks heat. “I watched your men gather up every English horse last night, sir.”
Gordon shrugged and closed the distance between them again. She felt his approach keenly, the quiver instantly returning to the back of her knees. Her insides tightened with anticipation, her breath freezing in her throat as she stared at his hand when it stretched out toward her. His hand cupped her cheek, smoothing over the bright spot, and his lips twitched up.
“Well now, lass, those wouldn't be my horses to loan to ye.”
“Oh, fye upon you, Gordon Dwyre.” She slapped his hand away, unable to play their polite game any further. “You are toying with me yet again.”
He chuckled, his eyebrows lowering in smug satisfaction. “Maybe so, lass, but I promise ye that ye'll be locked in the stocks if ye take anything that isna yers by my word.”
Her hands curled into fists and she snarled, but the man turned and left the room before she might hurl another insult at him.
Troll!
Black-hearted, muck-dripping troll!
 
Gordon rode out of the courtyard moments after she emerged from the room he'd taken her into. His men had assembled and were waiting for their laird while he was with her.
While he was kissing me . . .
Jemma wanted to strangle the voice inside her head. Never had she been plagued by such impure thoughts. Well at least she knew exactly who to blame for their uprise.
She watched the source of her disquiet ride down the road that led to the main castle gates. He moved with the stallion in perfect grace, power radiating from him. Her attention was glued to him as fascination renewed its grip. It wasn't that she couldn't tear her eyes away, it was the fact that she failed to think to do so. Finally, Gordon began to blend into the mass of riders in the distance, and she forced herself to investigate her surroundings.
By the light of day, Barras Castle was quite impressive. Four towers rose into the sky, each one amazingly different. They were all built in different styles, standing as a sort of tribute to the longtime prosperity of the Barras clan. Building cost a great deal of money. Many clans used fortresses handed down from the generation before when a noble had brought enough money with him to lay the foundation. Barras Castle was growing, fresh mortar along one portion of the curtain wall proving that this year had been a good one.
The sun shone off the cannons that faced onto the road. Smooth cannon balls were stacked into pyramids nearby, the heavy guns driving home the fact that Gordon backed up his position with blood if necessary.
She sighed, suddenly enduring a surge of longing for home. Amber Hill was very much like Barras Castle. Cannons stood at the ready there, somewhere on the other side of the hills that separated the two fortresses. Shame bit into her for the worry that her absence must be causing, but the row of wooden stocks standing in front of the church confirmed that Gordon had not been teasing her.
His threat stood as firm as those creations of public punishment. There were even flat wooden planks below each one for the writing of the offender's crime in chalk. It wasn't that she feared being clamped into the stock because of the public viewing. What she dreaded was the fact that those wooden racks would ensure that she was waiting for Gordon when he rode back into the yard.
She would prefer to keep their battles private.
Which allows for kissing . . .
She snarled and turned around to find Ula. She needed something to do before her own thoughts drove her insane and left her a mindless creature who would happily toss her skirts for Gordon Dwyre.
 
Gordon pressed his stallion and his men hard. The stakes were high, making every mile they covered more important than the last. His muscles were tight and his senses straining to capture every detail. Each hill that they crested was climbed with a care for the fact that there might be hostile English on the other side. But he headed toward England despite the fact that he was heading toward the enemy.
He spotted the banners of the Baron Ryppon just after midday. Pulling up on the crest of a hill, he surveyed the lines of men. They were on his ground, but it was the border land, far from either fortress. This spot had been disputed for centuries. By night it was haunted with the spirits of the men who had been marched onto it, only to die for the cause of a monarch who sat well behind the lines of battle.
“It looks like we found what ye were looking for.” Kerry leaned toward him so that his words would reach him.
“Of the two possibilities, I think this is the least likely to see us all arriving on Saint Peter's path. But there is still a fair chance we'll end up a bloody mess.”
“Ye could just give the man his sister back.”
Gordon didn't answer. He stiffened as rejection of that idea flooded him. It was immediate and complete. There was no room for any argument, only the absolute desire to keep Jemma where he'd put her.
Which meant he'd have to deal with her brother or face being invaded. Kicking his horse, he moved down the slope toward the one man who had every right to demand he relinquish Jemma.
“You cannot expect me to accept that.” Curan Ramsden glared at Gordon with barely contained violence showing on his face. The man forced himself to try to reason with him. The afternoon breeze whipped around them while their men watched. It was not a relaxing meeting as they had shared in the past. This time the English glared at the Scots, and every man waited to see if Gordon and Curan might resolve their dispute before the order was given for swords to be employed because diplomacy had failed. More than one man's lips moved in silent prayer just in case a fight was coming.
Curan Ramsden, Baron Ryppon, leveled a hard look at Gordon. “I am grateful for the fact that you saved my sister from her own foolishness, but I must insist that you return her to me now.”
“She made that same demand, and I refused.”
Curan's face darkened with rage. “Enough, Barras, my patience is wearing very thin with you. No man holds my sister. I won't stand for it. You cannot believe that I would, so explain what you are planning.”
“Maybe it's time ye rethought that position, Ryppon. Jemma is a woman, no longer a girl, and it's time ye let her be one.” The horses shifted, sensing the tension of the moment.
“What are you saying, man?” Curan pushed his helmet back so that he could aim a hard look toward Gordon. “That I should let her remain with you, because she's a grown woman?”
“She's still a maiden.”
Curan drew in a stiff breath, calming down.
“But I wonder if it isna time to be changing that.”
“Enough!” Curan made a slashing motion with his hand that drew dark looks from his waiting men.
Barras snorted at Curan. “I do nae think so. I've already gone to a great deal of effort to ask ye for permission to court her, so do nae insult me by implying that I'd no honor her if I took her to my bed.”
“Is that what you plan, Barras?” Curan curled his hand into a fist. “I cannot stand idle while you keep my sister imprisoned.”
“Well, it's sure to be better for her if one of us keeps her from riding out without a care for what danger lurks on this land.”
Curan drew in a stiff breath. “I concede that you are correct. Jemma cannot be allowed to continue as she has. She was changing her habits, which accounted for how late she went riding yesterday. She is a woman and doesn't know the details of how violent our land has become. Neither my father nor I felt politics a suitable subject for her. I wish I might be so ignorant, for the current policies coming from London do not please me. It was my decision to keep such dark tidings from her.”
Gordon felt the tension between them ease. For all that he was Scottish and Curan pure English, they had discovered a common ground between them. Neither felt the need to hate one another simply because they had been raised to do so. They judged each other by their deeds, which was something their countrymen might benefit from learning.
“I want to court her.”
Curan narrowed his eyes, and Gordon shrugged. “In my own manner, and mind the way ye are glaring at me, man. I seem to recall ye using a few direct tactics to bring yer bride to yer bed. Ye didna want anyone telling ye how to proceed, either.”
“She is my sister.”
Gordon couldn't resist grinning at the strained tone that Curan used. “Aye, lad, but the fact is Jemma has grown into a woman who needs to be allowed to deal with a man who wants her. That will never happen beneath yer roof. If I come courting to yer home, she'll discover herself wed to a stranger because she will never see the true side of my nature while everyone is watching us. Besides, I've no more patience for sitting there while she runs away and ye will nae allow me to chase her.”
“So you want me to allow her to remain beneath yours? Is that it, Barras?”
Gordon stared straight back at Curan without flinching. “Aye, lad, I do.”
The English baron held his thoughts for a long moment, studying him.
“Why? To bed her before wedding her?”
“Why do ye want her returned so quickly, Ryppon? Is there another offer that is better? I'll match it if I bed her.”
“If?” Curan raised one eyebrow in question.
Gordon shrugged. “I told ye, Ryppon, I want to court the lass. It may be that I will send her back to ye happily.”
“Careful, Barras. Jemma might have made a mistake yesterday, but she took my father's passing very hard, for she tended him for the years that he was ill. A woman's heart is tender, as I am discovering with my own wife. Don't make the mistake of thinking ill of Jemma for loving our father so greatly she faltered under the pain of his passing. That capacity to love is the thing that makes a woman worth more than any treasure on this earth. Women love deeply, and sometimes that sends them into despair when they lose the person they give their heart to.”

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